Hare in the Elephant's Trunk

by Jan Coates

  Jacob looked around at the other boys, nudging each other, giggling, and daring one another to speak up. He remembered Mama’s word. Would Matthew understand it? The teacher caught Jacob’s eyes, pointed at him, and smiled encouragingly. “Yes? Do you have an idea?”

  And Jacob answered, a one-word answer that he hoped the teacher would understand. “Wadeng,” he said to the ground, almost whispering as the other boys turned quickly to stare at him.

  He heard Majok hissing loudly to his school friends. “Wadeng! What is he talking about? Jacob has never gone to school. He knows nothing!”

  But the teacher clapped his hands. “A perfect answer! With an education, the ability to read, you will all be able to look with hope to the future, you will all be able to follow your dreams, make your world bigger. When I was a young boy, my parents told me wadeng whenever times were hard. It is a very good word, a strong Dinka word that doesn’t exist in English.”

  Jacob kept his eyes on the ground, embarrassed by the teacher’s praise, as Matthew passed each of the boys a straight, skinny stick. “We will begin with the English alphabet. There are only twenty-six letters. Watch carefully.” Matthew printed a.b.c. very slowly on the board. He repeated the names of the letters several times. Then the students tried to pronounce the letters. They felt strange on Jacob’s tongue. Oscar rolled his eyes as he tried to imitate the teacher.

  “The ground will be your blackboard,” Matthew said, kneeling to show them how to make the letters in the dirt. “Hold your stick like a pencil—see? Put your thumb and the first two fingers close to the bottom of it.”

  As the day wore on, the boys shuffled around the tree, seeking the shade as the sun blazed across the sky.

  “I am already tired of school.” Oscar squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position. “My bum is fast asleep. All these letters are making my head dizzy.”

  “We should be working on our tent, making it stronger,” Jacob said. “We have been here forever, it seems.”

  “Is it bedtime yet?” Willy asked sleepily. The others laughed.

  “This is too boring for me. I already know all of this,” Majok complained. The other boys ignored him.

  “Let’s play soccer after supper, Oscar,” Jacob said. “Or, hey—we can play now. Here, we can draw a field and use this pebble for the ball. Our sticks can be the players.”

  “It is always a good idea to mix work and play,” Matthew said, looking over their shoulders. “But remember, the main reason you are here is to learn English. Of course, soccer is an English game.”

  Their mini soccer games made the time pass quickly; by the end of the day, they had traveled in a complete circle around the massive trunk. Letters of all shapes and sizes, as well as many small soccer fields, were scratched in the dirt surrounding the tree.

  “Like our hen yard at home.” Oscar perked up as it appeared class was almost over for the day. “Maybe those chickens were writing secret messages to us in English, and we just didn’t know!”

  “Probably your chickens were the smartest,” Monyroor said, laughing.

  “Can chickens really read?” Willy asked. The others laughed, and Monyroor explained the joke to the little boy.

  At Jacob’s suggestion, Willy kept his eyes open as they walked home from school each day. “You are the best finder, Willy. This is a good job for you.” Each evening, Willy brought home two or three scraps of plastic, string, or fabric he’d scrounged. He kept it in a grain sack buried under his sleeping mat.

  “I think we finally have enough,” Jacob announced one evening. “Let’s start.” Oscar scrunched up a small ball of plastic, then the others wrapped bits and pieces around it, in layers, tying it with strips of plastic and rope they’d found. “I’ll tie the knots—we have to make sure they’re nice and tight,” Jacob said. “Put your finger here, Willy.”

  “We can put my old purple shorts on last so we’ll always know it’s ours,” Willy suggested.

  “Good idea, Willy,” Oscar said.

  “We will call it ‘The Purple Raven,’” Jacob said.

  “Yes, it will fly through the air—when I kick it, anyway.” Oscar gave it a test kick, then ran to retrieve it.

  “Well, it is not my fine cow skin ball.” Jacob held it up and examined it critically. “But at least it’s a ball.”

  “Our rainbow ball,” Willy said, admiring it. “It will bring us good luck.”

  Jacob remembered Sissy and her rainbow butterfly. He looked at the blades of long grass he had knotted around one of the tent poles. He tied a new one each time the moon was full. Have we been here already for twelve moon cycles? The day of the bombs seems so long ago ...

  When they arrived at the open field, proudly carrying the Purple Raven, Majok stood scowling at them, his tongue clamped between his teeth. “It looks like a pile of trash,” he said as they prepared to play. “Was that the best you could do?”

  “At least it is better than your ball—oh, that’s right, you don’t have a ball!” Oscar stole the ball from between Majok’s feet and dribbled across the field. “You have to be clever, like Jacob the Hare, to make such things from nothing.”

  On days when a haboob blew in, there was no soccer game, as the entire camp was taken over by nasty swirling dervishes of dirt. “Dust devils,” Monyroor said. “Hold tight to your skin, Oscar!” The boys huddled inside their tent until the storm passed, then took their brooms and swept up as best they could. Fine grains of sand filled every tiny crack and fold of their shelter.

  “I knew our tent would be the best,” Oscar said, looking around as other boys struggled to put their destroyed homes back together. “Hey, Majok—do you have a problem?” he shouted.

  “No, we are fine. It’s just that the wind is much stronger over here,” Majok replied, struggling to help straighten out his tent’s poles.

  “Of course it is,” Jacob said.

  Jacob began sneezing. Brown dirt sprayed from his nose. “My whole body is full of dirt!” he said, coughing. For days afterward, he dug dirt from his ears. “Grandmother would say I could grow potatoes in my ears!”

  “Think of me with these monkey ears!” Oscar jumped up and down on one foot and clapped a hand against his ear. “I could grow enough potatoes in these things to feed everybody in this camp.”

  “Can I see inside?” Willy pulled Oscar’s head down for a look. “There is not enough room for potatoes in there, Oscar!”

  Oscar rubbed his knuckles on Willy’s fuzzy head. “You must learn to recognize a joke, Willy!”

  As they were preparing to leave for school one morning, they heard a familiar voice; a loud, booming voice, like a trumpeting elephant. “Well, if it isn’t the famous lion hunter! I see you and your little friends made it safely to Ethiopia.”

  The boys looked up and recognized Adam’s elephant tooth necklace at once.

  “Yes, uncle,” Monyroor replied.

  “You have grown much taller—more like a warrior than a boy.” Adam looked Monyroor up and down, raising his eyebrows in approval.

  “This is the second dry season since our arrival in Ethiopia,” Monyroor said. “Our life in Sudan seems a very long time ago, now.”

  “The soldiers of Sudan have come to help you plant crops.” Adam gestured toward the other young men gathered behind him, then crouched down next to Monyroor. “We must help the future men of Sudan grow even bigger and stronger.”

  “But we have no tools, and I think crops will not grow very well with these dry winds,” Monyroor said. “The soil here is very poor and thin.”

  “We have brought some tools; we will plant closer to the small river. It’s a long walk, but the soil is much richer there,” Adam said.

  “Thank you, uncle. We have been working hard to build our shelters and start a life here. We will be happy to have your help—we never have enough food, and one meal a day is not enough for growing boys,” Monyroor said.

  “If you join our army, you will have two, maybe even three mea
ls each day, Monyroor.”

  “I have many boys to look after now, Adam. At least a thousand are in my care in Pinyudo.”

  “Ah ... you are a leader now. Even more reason to join the SPLA. We are always looking for leaders,” Adam said.

  “If we are going, we should go to the river now, then.” Monyroor stood up. “There is never enough time to get everything done in a day, and we cannot miss too much school.”

  “Can we come too, uncle?” Jacob asked. “We can help.”

  “We don’t need to go to school,” Oscar added, putting his good arm around Jacob’s shoulders. “We are going to be soldiers.”

  The soldier saw Jacob’s eyes resting on his gun. “Would you like to carry my gun for me?” he said.

  “Oh, yes, uncle. Yes, please. But, is it safe?”

  “Just keep your fingers away from this part, and strap it over your back.”

  “Excuse me, Adam. But why do you have cloth stuffed into the end of your gun?” Jacob asked. “Is it for cleaning?”

  “A good question,” Adam said. “Guns do not work well when they are filled with sand. This strong wind would fill my gun barrel with sand in no time; the cloth keeps the dirt outside, where it belongs.”

  The heavy gun banged against the backs of Jacob’s calves as he walked behind Monyroor and Adam to the river. The other soldiers had stayed behind, continuing to recruit boys to help with the crops. Jacob held his head high and tried not to think of Mama as he listened to the older boys talking.

  “Can I have a turn, Jacob?” Oscar asked.

  “Ssshhh! Oscar—I want to hear!”

  “So, Monyroor, you have been forced to leave Southern Sudan. The northern militia has succeeded in driving all these young Sudanese boys from their own country, like cattle.”

  “Unfortunately, that is true,” Monyroor admitted. “But we are safe here, and the war will not last forever. We will return to Sudan someday.”

  “I have heard that things may not always be so peaceful in Ethiopia, either,” Adam said. “There is talk of a new government coming into power soon.”

  “We are fine, for now, at least,” Monyroor answered.

  “If you join us, you can help ‘someday’ come sooner, rather than later, Monyroor. We need brave, young men like you in our army. If we all work together, Sudan will belong to us once again.”

  Jacob’s thoughts began to wander as he followed behind; Adam’s gun continued banging against the backs of his legs. He tried to shift it to the side, but then it knocked into his knees. What will happen to us if Monyroor joins the SPLA? Who will look after us? But maybe Adam is right—maybe everybody must work together so we can all return to Sudan. I am glad we are safe in Ethiopia, but it is not my home ...

  “Is it my turn yet?” Oscar asked.

  “All right; it doesn’t fit me very well, anyway.” Jacob leaned forward and pulled the grimy strap over his head. He passed the heavy gun to Oscar, then hurried to catch up to Adam and Monyroor.

  “You are very strong, Adam. Were you a wrestling champion in your village, like my Uncle Daniel?” Jacob asked, admiring the soldier’s bulging arm muscles.

  “My older brother was champion in our area, but I am even stronger now that I am working with the SPLA. We are training all the time to become faster and tougher, but we are too busy fighting the northern devils, the militia, to bother with wrestling right now.”

  “I am sure your ox is also big and strong,” Jacob said. “Like you.”

  Adam and Monyroor laughed. “I must talk to your nephew. Stay with your friend.”

  “We should also start soldier training,” Oscar said. “This gun is heavy.”

  “Maybe Adam will give us some exercises to do, so we can grow such big muscles, too.” Jacob sprinted ahead. “I think I am already fast enough.”

  When they arrived at the river, the boys were given hoes, axes, and spades to use. With the soldiers’ help, they worked hard for several days, turning the earth, picking out rocks, and planting beans, carrots, maize, onions, and sorghum. Jacob remembered the neat rows of tiny green sprouts in Grandmother’s spring garden, just outside her hut. These gardens were a long walk from Pinyudo, close to the river where the soil was darker and moister. He hoped their carrots would taste as sweet as Grandmother ’s.

  When it was his week to work in the gardens, Jacob resented the long walk to the small river, but he and Oscar didn’t mind missing school. Plus, having a few fresh vegetables to add to the dried beans and sorghum made the walk worthwhile. They tried planting closer to the camp, but much of the barren rocky land near Pinyudo was a difficult place for anything to grow— crops or boys.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “This is your week for Zone Eight,” Monyroor said to one unlucky pair of boys each Sunday evening after church, as he announced the work assignments. Pinyudo was divided into Zones, One through Seven. Carrying a boy to Zone Eight simply meant that unlucky boy’s long journey was over; his time in the Zones of Pinyudo was finished.

  “It’s not fair,” Jacob said when he heard of yet another boy’s death. To have walked so far, only to end up being bitten by a poisonous snake or scorpion or attacked by diseases like malaria or dysentery, just didn’t seem right. Each week, a different pair of boys was assigned the task, and it was a grim job.

  “We cannot permit the smell of death to linger in the camp,” Monyroor said to his assembled boys. “There are always plenty of hungry lions and hyenas just outside our boundaries.”

  “I am too sick this week, Monyroor,” Majok pleaded when it was his turn to work in Zone Eight.

  “You said that last week, Majok, and the week before that. It is hardly fair for the other boys to take your turn every time,” Monyroor replied.

  The dead boys were not often friends of Jacob’s, but they were still boys almost the same age as him. When it was their turn, Jacob and Oscar wrapped the stiff bodies up in blankets to carry them to the burial ground, but still it was impossible to avoid looking at them.

  “He looks so small,” Oscar whispered.

  “But he was taller than us, just last week,” Jacob whispered back. Why him? Jacob wondered, as he carried his end of the blanket-covered body. Why him and not me? He preferred to walk ahead for the carrying—the person walking behind had to fix the blanket if it blew away from the face. Sometimes, the faces looked like peacefully sleeping boys. Other times, they looked like scared, lonely little boys.

  Jacob thought often of Willy’s brother when he was assigned to Zone Eight.

  “I wish we had a cow’s tail, like Matthew’s. Then we could protect these boys on their journeys to Heaven,” Jacob said.

  “I wish their mamas had been here to fix them,” Oscar said.

  “I hope we will not get sick, too.”

  “We are tough and strong, Jacob. The Hare and the Monkey will be all right,” Oscar said, punching him in the shoulder. “We are a team!”

  In the early days at camp, groups of boys were given a half-holiday from school to honor one of their friends who had gone to Zone Eight. As time passed, the ceremonies were canceled; there were simply too many half-holidays. The boys who were still alive had to continue to learn, continue looking to the future.

  “We must keep looking ahead,” Monyroor said. “The past is over, it cannot be changed. But we can change the future, make sure the past is not repeated. In school, we can learn ways to make Sudan stronger when we return. As our parents always told us, wadeng.”

  “If we return,” Jacob said. “It feels like we’ve been here forever.” He counted his yellowing blades of knotted grass. “Twenty—we have been in Pinyudo for twenty full moons.”

  “I’m starting to forget things,” Oscar said. “I can’t picture whether our goat pen was on the sunrise side of our hut, or on the sunset side.”

  “Don’t you mean the east or west side?” Majok yelled across the row.

  “I knew that,” Oscar shouted back. “I like sss ... sss ... sunrise and sss ...
sss ... sunset better, though.”

  “Sorry, I can’t help you, Oscar,” Jacob said. “I was just trying to think the other day if Jenny’s face was more brown, or more white—I know her ears were brown, but I can’t see her face anymore. My tongue can’t even remember the taste of her sweet milk.”

  “I think her face was mostly brown,” Oscar said. “No, wait—maybe it was white ...”

  “Well, we can’t waste time worrying about things like that,” Jacob said. “We’ve got lots of work to do today—and, of course, again tomorrow!”

  As Jacob worked, the letters of the alphabet sometimes drifted into his mind. Listening to the aid workers and the Dinka teachers speaking together in English made him curious. He wanted to know what they were talking about. They laughed and smiled a lot as they spoke, and he wondered if they were telling jokes. The English lessons at school moved at the speed of a snail because many boys missed days, causing Teacher Matthew to return to the beginning. Jacob and Oscar preferred working in the garden, cooking or collecting wood, to sitting in school.

  When Matthew brought in other Dinka men to tell the boys stories, Jacob was more interested. One elder in particular was an excellent storyteller. Jacob listened closely when he told the story of Elephant and Hare.

  “This is an ancient event. In the days of our forefathers, Elephant had a sack of honey that he was about to carry across the river. Hare was waiting to cross the river as well, and he asked Elephant to carry him on his back. While they were crossing, Hare discovered Elephant’s sack of honey and began dipping his foot into it, over and over again, until the sack was empty. Thinking quickly, Hare asked Elephant to pick up some stones from the river and pass them to him so he could play with them when he got home. Elephant did so, and Hare soon had the sack full of heavy stones.