by Jan Coates
One afternoon, they passed a Dinka village still full of people. Somehow it had escaped being bombed.
“This makes me want to go home. Our village is just like this one!” Jacob said to Oscar, his brown eyes shining with excitement in his dusty face. Oscar’s arm had stopped seeping pus, but it was permanently bent, like a boomerang. He was no longer able to straighten it.
“Was like this, don’t you mean?” Oscar reminded him.
“You’re no fun, Oscar. It will be again,” Jacob said stubbornly, poking him in the stomach. “Someday ...”
“Mine too,” Willy said. “I’m tired. I want to go home. I want to see Mama. Home is more fun.”
“Not yet, Willy,” Jacob said. “But someday ...”
The people of the village stood silently, watching the long line of boys approach. They did not smile or hold their arms open wide in a warm Dinka welcome. “There are simply too many of you,” a village elder said. “We have some food, but not enough for all of you. This is a hard year. Last year’s food is all gone, and this year’s harvest was poor. But please, drink from our river—its swift water is fresh and clean.”
The boys trotted toward the river. They threw themselves down on their bellies in the grass and plunged their whole heads into the water. They drank and drank until their throats ached and their bellies bulged. “Listen,” Oscar said, dancing around and flapping his arms. He looked like a fat crane with one broken wing. His stomach made a funny sloshing sound, like a clay jug full of water. Willy found a shiny silver stone in the water.
“Look, Jacob! A Mama stone, like yours!”
Jacob leaned over to admire the treasure. “Keep it safe in your pocket, Willy. It will help you sleep tonight.” At last, Jacob sat up and stuck his feet into the river. “Ahhh ...” He closed his eyes and leaned back on his bony elbows. “I think this must be what it is like in Heaven!”
Oscar and Willy laughed loudly and splashed him. “You’re a crazy boy—a hyena!” Oscar said. Jacob lay back on the dirt and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. Other than hyenas in the night, he couldn’t remember the last time he had heard the sound of happy people laughing ...
Chapter Nine
They rested by the river for most of that glorious afternoon. As purple and red streaks began coloring the darkening sky, a group of rough village boys began taunting the travelers. “You are filthy bushmen; you look like dead boys walking. Move on—we don’t want skeletons or SPLA boys here.” They began throwing hard clumps of red sun-baked clay at some of the boys resting on the riverbank.
“Time to move on,” Monyroor said quietly, pulling his feet from the water.
“Just a few more minutes?” Jacob pleaded.
“One more drink?” Oscar begged. To Jacob he added, “There are so many of us, we should chase those boys away! They would probably run like chickens from a jackal.”
Willy reached out to touch Monyroor’s lion tail belt. “Monyroor, you are a fierce lion hunter. One roar from you, and they would disappear like a herd of antelope.”
“But this is their village—not ours,” Jacob reminded him. “And we are weak and hungry, and they are not.”
“Quickly, boys,” Monyroor said impatiently as he filled their jug. The smaller boys plunged into the river one final time, then reluctantly fell, dripping, back into line. Jacob stared at the village families as they passed. Mothers laughed quietly together as they helped their children gather wood for the fire. Boys and girls chattered and shrieked as they chased each other around the village. Jacob’s hand went to his blue stone. He rubbed it hard with his thumb, concentrating on its smoothness. I will not cry ... I will not cry ... Dinka men do not cry. He forced himself to continue walking, looking down at the feet in front of him to hide his wet eyes beneath his lashes.
“Are you crying, Jacob?” Majok stuck his ugly face in underneath Jacob’s. “Awww ... does the little baby need his mama?”
“No, of course not. It’s just some dirt in my eye,” Jacob answered, wiping his eyes and pushing Majok away. “Go bother somebody else.”
“Hurry up; you are supposed to be a hare, not a turtle!” Oscar called back.
Jacob walked quickly to catch up to his friend.
“They are waiting for us in Ethiopia. They’ve prepared a great feast, and Majok sss ... sss ... says we can’t be late!” The river had given Oscar back a little of his old energy. “He says there will be more bananas than even a monkey boy like me can eat!”
“Ha! You are dreaming,” Jacob replied, joining him in line.
Day 45, 46, 47 ...
On Day 48, they came upon a small field of sorghum, uncut and amazingly untouched by the fire that had raged through the nearby village. “Lucky for us, the militia must have been in a hurry,” Monyroor said. The boys poured into the field, plucking the few green leaves they found and chewing them for what little moisture they held. Some tried eating the seeds from the giant yellow flowers, but they were difficult to open, the pods tough and stringy.
“Yuck!” Oscar said, spitting a pulpy mouthful on the ground. “I’m not that hungry—yet ...”
“Remember kisra?” Jacob asked.
“What a dumb question. My mother’s kisra were always perfect,” Oscar answered. “Crispy and brown on the outside; chewy and sweet on the inside. My stomach is talking, just thinking about it.” He grabbed the thin flesh covering his ribs and made his belly button talk. “Please feed me—I’m so very hungry I could eat an elephant—even the tusks—like Col Muong in my grandmother’s stories!”
“We should remember the lessons learned from greedy Col Muong,” Monyroor said seriously. “We must always make the best of what we have.”
“It is difficult to make the best of nothing,” Jacob said quietly.
“Your nephew is no fun!” Oscar stuck out his tongue when Monyroor turned his back.
“Who is Col Muong?” Willy asked.
“Long, long ago, Col Muong was the most greedy man in all of Africa,” Jacob began. “He did not live a life of cieng; he wanted everything for himself, and he did not share with the other villagers. One day, he went to visit his wife’s mother. She did not care that he was a glutton, and she served him the same portion of food as the others. He became very angry, and stormed out into the yard. Seizing the first thing he saw, he grabbed her best milk goat, her pet, and swallowed it whole, horns and all! As you can guess, he was never invited to dinner again.”
“I am not as greedy as Col Muong, but just think how good it would be to have a nice cup of laban, right now,” Willy said. “Can’t you taste it? Yum! Yum!” He closed his eyes and rubbed his swollen belly.
“Mmmm ... sweet milk, swishing around, covering your tongue with sugar ...” Jacob licked his lips.
“How about this, instead?” Oscar asked, sticking out his own tongue. It was coated with thick white scum, the result of not drinking for many days.
The other boys stuck out their tongues to show the same chalky coating. “Maybe tomorrow we will find water,” Monyroor said, rubbing his cracked lips.
“A giant lake maybe,” Willy added.
“How about an ocean?” Oscar said.
“But isn’t the ocean full of salt?” Jacob asked. “How about a heglig tree, full of ripe, juicy fruit, instead!” His hands went automatically to his empty belly. “Just imagine ...”
They stopped for the night close to the sorghum field. Jacob settled in between Oscar and Willy and rubbed his stone. He saw his mother, kneeling on her worn flat rock, grinding sorghum. Back and forth, pushing and pulling her heavy gray stone across the grains. Over and over again. Then she poured the ground grain into a small grass basket and tossed it lightly in the air, using the wind to separate the good flour from the chaff. A gentle breeze came up as darkness descended, and Jacob fell asleep to the familiar swishing of sorghum leaves and the comforting music of his mother at work.
Day 62, Day 63 ...
Each morning, they awoke with the sun, and each evening
, fewer boys remained to say goodnight to the moon. It was a very bad sign when boys stopped talking. They were often the same boys who gave up, too hungry, too thirsty, and too tired for even one more step. They just sat down and quietly waited to die. Jacob tried not to stare at these boys as he walked past, but he couldn’t help glancing out of the corner of his eye. How can they give up—don’t they know we are almost there? Sixty-three days of walking; Ethiopia must surely be just over the next hill. Some boys appeared to have simply fallen asleep—forever.
Other boys were lured away by the Sudan People’s Liberation Army, the SPLA. The soldiers rattled past in noisy, battered trucks, looking for the oldest and strongest of the walkers. Jacob looked at them eagerly, hoping to see his Uncle Daniel.
The soldiers scanned the line, picking out the heads that towered above the others. “You there, boy, big boy,” one especially tall and powerful-looking soldier shouted, pointing at Monyroor. “You have already been initiated into manhood. What is your name?” He jumped down from the truck and approached Monyroor.
“I am Monyroor Deng, son of Adang,” Monyroor replied.
“You can call me Adam,” the man said. His eyes were very small, his teeth were pointed, and he wore tattered gray clothing and a strip of leather around his neck, from which three yellow elephant teeth hung. He reminded Jacob of an elephant, an angry, stampeding elephant. “Don’t you want to save Southern Sudan, Monyroor—free your country from the grip of the northern devils?” he said loudly. “We will take you to our training camp at Bonga. You will have plenty of food and fresh water, every day.”
“I am sorry, uncle, but I must refuse your kind offer. I must look after my small brothers.” Monyroor continued walking and looked straight ahead as he spoke to the soldier, his lion’s tail swishing at his side. “They need me to help them get safely to Ethiopia.”
“Perhaps you will change your mind after you have arrived in Ethiopia,” Adam said.
“Maybe—I will wait and see how the war goes,” Monyroor replied.
“Where did you get that fine lion’s tail?” The soldier marched alongside Monyroor. Jacob couldn’t take his eyes off the big gun strapped across his broad back. It was as tall as he was.
“I killed the lion with my own spear,” Monyroor answered. “During my initiation time.”
Jacob jogged alongside them and tapped the soldier on the elbow. “Please, uncle, are we winning the war?” he asked. “Do you know my Uncle Daniel?”
“Did you kill the elephant to get those teeth?” Willy asked.
The soldier laughed, with only his mouth, not his eyes; a big booming laugh, like thunder. “Southern Sudan is a big country, and we are many soldiers. No, I do not think I know your Uncle Daniel. And yes, we are winning the war, but the SPLA needs strong, brave boys, like your friend here.”
“He is my nephew,” Jacob said proudly. “When I am bigger, I will be a soldier,” he said.
“Me, too!” Oscar said, sticking out his scrawny chest. “I will be the best soldier in all of Southern Sudan!”
Adam laughed again. Jacob jumped at the harsh sound. The man rested his thick arm across Monyroor’s shoulders. His arms were even more muscular than Uncle Daniel’s. “I will see you again, my friend. Your country needs you ...” He slapped Monyroor on the back, then moved on down the line.
“I am sure all this walking is making us stronger. When we finally get to Ethiopia, we will be so strong, the SPLA will be begging all of us to fight for Sudan,” Oscar said.
“Then why do I feel as weak as a baby bird most of the time?” Jacob asked.
“You are the chief of our pride, Monyroor,” Willy said, patting the older boy on the shoulder. “You are the king lion, keeping us safe.” And it was true; the younger boys often relied on Monyroor to look after them.
“I’ve got another stupid chigger in my foot,” Oscar complained first thing one morning, hopping about on one foot. “I don’t think I can keep walking on it.”
“You must protect your valuable soccer tools,” Jacob said.
Monyroor looked at the foot. He brushed away the dry dirt. “I see where it went in, but what can we use to get it out?”
“Would this help?” Willy asked, digging a small piece of dull metal out of his bulging pocket. “I found it yesterday.” He handed the metal to Monyroor, who examined Oscar’s foot and began rooting around for the chigger. Oscar leaned back against Jacob and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, his swollen lower lip clamped between his white teeth.
“Got it!” Monyroor said finally, holding the ugly creature up for the others to see. It looked like a seed pod with wiggling legs, only it was full of brown blood, Oscar’s blood.
“Hey, I needed that blood!” Oscar said. He dug a small hole in the sand and buried the insect. “Goodbye forever, you nasty thief!”
“Thank you, Monyroor,” he said, getting back on his feet and hobbling along. “It still hurts, but at least my blood will be safe now.”
By the time the sky began to radiate pink, gold, and purple once again, Oscar’s foot had turned a dark angry shade of red and the skin around the chigger hole was puffy and swollen. Without water, it had been impossible to clean the wound. “I feel so hot, and so dizzy,” Oscar said. “Like I’m not really here.”
“I’m sorry, Oscar. I guess I didn’t get all of it,” Monyroor said. “I hope it is not infected. If we had some cattle here, we could use their urine to clean the cut.”
“I am sorry, but I don’t think I have any pee inside me,” Willy volunteered.
“If Mama were here, she would make the perfect muti to fix your foot,” Jacob said.
“It could not be as good as the cream my mama made— hers was the best,” Oscar said, grinning, despite his pain.
“Did they use heglig flowers?” Willy asked.
“Yes,” Jacob said delightedly. “Your mama, too?”
“Do you see any heglig flowers around here?” Oscar asked glumly, slumping against a stone and gesturing at the vast wasteland surrounding them.
The boys climbed a small hill and looked in all directions. “There are a few trees,” Willy said, squinting and pointing.
“You are like the raven, Willy. You always find treasure. Let’s go see,” Jacob suggested. They began jogging as they neared the stand of trees. Tufts of yellow peeked out between the small green leaves.
“Can you believe it? This must be our lucky day!” Willy exclaimed.
“It’s magic—we have not seen any trees for many days.” Jacob gave him a boost, and Willy scrambled up into the rough, thorny branches and tossed armfuls of the sweetsmelling blossoms into Jacob’s open arms. Burying his face in them, Jacob breathed deeply, closing his eyes. Where are you Mama—are there flowers there, too?
“Ahhh ...” he said. Remembering Oscar, he opened his eyes and looked up at Willy. “Do you know how to make the cream?” he asked. Willy wrinkled up his nose, then shook his head.
“I think we need milk,” he answered.
“If we only had a cow ...” Jacob said hopefully, looking around just in case it really was their lucky day. “Maybe just rubbing the flowers on his foot will help—it can’t hurt.”
“Maybe ... I’m happy for Oscar that we found the medicine blossoms, but ... but just think if they’d been fruit!” Willy jumped down and looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry ... Oh, well ...” They turned and began walking slowly back toward the other boys, cradling the yellow blossoms in their skinny brown arms.
“What took you so long?” Oscar said when he saw them approaching.
“You should be kissing our feet—look what we’ve found for you!” Jacob answered.
Oscar lay back in the dirt and allowed the boys to crush the flowers gently against his tender foot.
“Oooohh! My toes will smell so sweet,” he said, laughing and squirming like a worm. “Stop tickling me!”
Several more boys came for treatment when they saw what was happening. Other boys returned to the tree and collec
ted more blossoms to take on the journey. Oscar was not the only wounded one missing his mother’s muti. “Thank you, Medicine Man Willy and Medicine Man Jacob,” he said, as they lay waiting for sleep. “It is very nice to smell sweet and clean instead of sour and dirty.”
The next morning, they awoke to dark clouds scudding across the sky. They could hear the distant rumble of thunder thudding across the savannah. It sounded very far away. Jagged white streaks of lightning were faintly visible. Oscar’s foot was not nearly so red, and the puffy pink flesh had shrunk. He began walking gingerly on it, limping, but was soon striding along with Willy and Jacob. “I must keep up with my doctors.”
When the sun was a small white dot high above the black clouds, and the dizzying waves of heat made it difficult to breathe, Jacob heard something. He looked to the sky, thinking it might be another air raid, but saw only kite hawks swooping and circling, probably in search of mice. He flared his nostrils and sniffed. What is that smell? He thought of his clay cattle—mud! Beautiful, wet mud!
“Can you smell that, Monyroor?” he asked his nephew, tapping him on the shoulder. “Can you hear it?” Everywhere, heads turned as the sound grew louder. The boys ahead began walking more quickly, practically running.
“Frogs!” Jacob said suddenly, recognizing their distinct croaking. “There must be water ahead!” He wanted to take bigger strides but slowed down. Oscar had begun limping again.
“I hear water, I hear it!” Willy’s eyes lit up with excitement.
Jacob grabbed Oscar’s good arm and began tugging him toward the rushing and splashing.
“Water, what’s that?” Oscar said. “I forget, but just the word makes me thirsty!” He grabbed his throat and stuck out his tongue, making his brown eyes bulge.