Hare in the Elephant's Trunk

by Jan Coates

  “I wonder if Oscar had some water, too. Why hasn’t he caught up to us yet? He is like a snail instead of a monkey. He can’t be swinging through the branches—there aren’t any trees!”

  That night, there was no singing and dancing. Instead, boys filled the cool African air with the sounds of retching and vomiting. The vomiting quickly turned to dry heaves as their empty stomachs were soon drained of what little they contained. “I am sorry, but the water didn’t smell good,” Willy said, as they finally lay exhausted, holding their sore stomachs, waiting for sleep and trying not to smell the stink of stomach bile all around them.

  “I think the truck was once used for carrying oil,” Jacob answered, his voice bitter with anger. “We would not give such water to animals; how could they give it to us poor, hungry, thirsty walking boys?”

  “They were only trying to help, Jacob,” Willy said.

  “The SPLA soldiers say they want to help us grow big and strong; I think it is only so we can join their war. They do not even care enough about us to bring us clean water.”

  “You are right; no water would have been better,” Willy agreed. “But we are almost there—maybe tomorrow?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  KAKUMA REFUGEE CAMP, JUNE 1992

  The following day, when the water truck rumbled alongside the boys, Jacob spoke firmly, “No—we are almost to Kakuma. We can make it—remember how sick we were last night? We are still weak.” Willy held up a trembling hand as proof. Jacob’s legs felt as weak and wobbly as a new baby calf’s. Many of the other boys, including Majok, who were desperately thirsty from vomiting, crowded around the tank again; they took a chance and spent that night throwing up all over again.

  As the parched, tired centipede crawled slowly up and over a hill of sand the next morning, the boys caught their first glimpse of Kakuma Refugee Camp, sprawled out in front of them. It didn’t look real, plunked down in the middle of the desert; waves of heat rising up from the sand caused it to shimmer and wiggle. It was enormous, many times larger than Pinyudo had been. Jacob squinted and looked around at the barren, lifeless landscape. “No one would choose to live there.” He made tubes with his fingers and put them around his eyes so he could see without grains of sand getting in them.

  “There aren’t any trees,” he said. “I don’t even see any grass. There’s nothing but brown dirt and rocks everywhere.”

  “No mosquitoes, either,” Willy said cheerfully, as they filed into the camp at sunset.

  “Right.” Jacob smiled down at him. “And no wild river python or crocodiles. And hopefully, UN food and water, like at Pinyudo.” They had learned from Pinyudo that refugee camps did not prepare fine feasts for boys, no matter how many days they’d been walking.

  By the time darkness fell, the two boys had settled into a small corner of the giant camp. They heard Dinka voices mixed in with other strange-sounding words as they wound their way through the maze of tents and lean-tos. They looked closely but didn’t see any familiar faces, other than those from Pinyudo. “It is like a city,” Jacob said. “Or, at least, how I imagine a city would look.”

  “We are safe here, though,” Willy said. “Right, Jacob?”

  Jacob nodded. “And we will have food and clean water tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait,” Willy said.

  “You can wait one more day, Willy. Good night.” Jacob curled up in his blanket. “I wish I had counted the walking days this time.”

  “I hope we will not have to walk so far again, not for a very long time.” Willy yawned. “I am too tired. I think I will sleep for five days.”

  “Wadeng,” Jacob answered. “Sleep well.”

  “Will we play soccer tomorrow?” Willy piped up, rustling around on his grain sack mat.

  “Maybe ... if our feet aren’t too sore, if we can find a ball— and if you’re not still asleep!”

  “Thank you for looking after me, Jacob. You are our chief now.”

  “I wonder if there is a school here,” Jacob murmured. Soon, both boys were breathing slowly and evenly.

  Jacob jerked awake early the next morning. He watched the rooster tilting its beak to the sky, its red comb jiggling as it announced a new day. “That isn’t something I’ve missed,” he said, yawning and stretching. “But maybe it means there’ll be eggs to eat. I can’t even remember what eggs taste like. Well, at least, not chicken eggs,” he added, remembering the slimy frogs’ eggs.

  “Just a bowl of porridge would be very nice,” Willy said.

  They bundled their bedding together, piled it up neatly, and started exploring the camp. Most shelters were similar to their home in Pinyudo, made of sacks and branches, but there were also some constructed of reeds and palm leaves, sticks and mud. “Where did they get the reeds and the big leaves?” Willy wondered.

  “There are no trees, no river, either. Let’s go see what we can find.” They walked past many boys, but there were also women and girls in this camp. Jacob looked intently at the female faces; he had been many months among mostly male faces. Some people smiled, but most were busy cleaning their tents for the day or cooking breakfast. A group of boys walked by, pointed at Jacob’s torn and dirty blue shorts and began laughing and whispering to each other.

  “I hope they will have some clothing for us.” Jacob turned away from the staring boys, ashamed. My clothing was always clean in Duk, he thought, looking at the big rips in his filthy shorts. Mama would never have allowed me to wear clothing like this. People would have thought she was not a good mother.

  They eventually arrived at a large white UN tent, and stood outside in the long registration line. It was a relief just to be out of the hot sun when it was finally their turn. Jacob and Willy each received a bracelet and also a ration card. The man in charge of the food dipped their fingers in a clear liquid after giving them their share. “Why do you dip my finger in water?” Jacob asked the aid worker.

  “There are people here who steal ration cards—they try to get double their share,” the man replied. “With this invisible ink and this light, we’re able to catch them if they come more than once.” He showed Jacob how his finger glowed purple when placed beneath the light. “But it looks normal without the light,” Jacob said in amazement, moving his finger back and forth.

  “Thank you for the food, uncle,” Willy said.

  “Please, uncle, how do we go about making a shelter?” Jacob asked.

  “Supply trucks come about once a month from Nairobi,” he was told. “When you see them arriving, you must line up—if you’re lucky, they may have a bundle of reeds for you, and possibly some clothing and blankets. Until then, here are some grain sacks. Maybe someone in the camp has extra sticks you can use for poles.”

  “Thank you, uncle.” Jacob passed Willy his portion of corn, oil, water, and dry beans. Then he hoisted the stack of empty bags and his food onto his own head.

  “Now, where did we leave our blankets and plastic?” Jacob looked around at the vast jumble of shelters. They had walked up and down many crooked rows before finding the UN tent. In Pinyudo, they had used tall trees to get their bearings and mark their spot in the camp. Here, there was nothing tall enough; the tents were all low to the ground, and the few trees were short and stubby.

  “I think it was in that direction,” Willy answered, striding ahead.

  “You can be the leader, Willy. I’m lost,” Jacob said.

  “Hey, doesn’t that look like the Purple Raven?” Willy pointed his toe at a colorful bundle beside one tent.

  “I think our ball is somewhere on the bottom of the River Gilo. It probably belongs to some other boy,” Jacob said. “Those do look like your old purple shorts, though. But there’s nobody home. We’ll come back later,” he promised.

  The sun was setting before they found their own spot again. Ramshackle shelters had sprung up all around them, leaving only a small space for the two boys to cram themselves into. They spent most of the evening trying to fashion a lean-to out of their sac
ks and a few sticks kind neighbors offered them. Just when they thought they had it together, one corner would collapse, bringing the whole thing flopping to the ground.

  “This will have to do,” Jacob said finally. “For now, at least.”

  “I am sorry, Jacob. Maybe in school we can learn how to build a better home,” Willy said hopefully. “We can find out how to make it stronger.”

  They sat around the fire after supper. “That was the best porridge, even without milk,” Willy declared, patting his stomach. “My happy stomach thanks you!” They sat in silence, enjoying the unusual feeling of a full belly, and looking at the stars over Kenya.

  “The stars here look just the same as they did in Ethiopia,” Willy said.

  “And also in Sudan,” Jacob added sleepily. “Can you hear them singing?” His hand went to his pocket. His fingers searched frantically; then he remembered. “Can you count them, Willy?”

  “One, two, three, four ...” Before Willy got to ten, he was snoring softly.

  Dear Mama: Well, we are in Kakuma Refugee Camp tonight. I have been told the word Kakuma means “nowhere” in Swahili. I think they chose the name well. It is very big and there are so many people here. Are you here, too, Mama? I am so tired of being alone ...

  “Pass me the ball—I am a star soccer player!” Jacob’s tired eyes popped open. Am I dreaming? Willy’s snoring stopped abruptly. The two boys looked at each other. Then they grinned and jumped to their feet.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  They ran to the dirt clearing where a group of boys was playing a lively game of soccer in the welcome coolness of dusk.

  “Oscar!” Jacob shouted, recognizing his friend’s boomerang arm, even from far away.

  “Oscar!” Willy yelled, sprinting ahead and darting onto the field. Oscar turned around to see who was calling his name. The ball slammed into the side of his head. Ignoring it, he scooped Willy up in his good arm and spun him around and around.

  “Where have you been, Little Raven?” he asked. Oscar looked back at Jacob and grinned. “What took you so long, Jacob the Hare? I’ve been here for weeks.”

  Jacob grinned and put one arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Of course you have, Monkey Boy,” he said, laughing.

  “Did you swim all the way down the river, Oscar?” Willy asked.

  “Not quite,” Oscar said. “Where is Monyroor? Is he asleep?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t let that river python swallow you. I just knew it!” Jacob said, looking at Oscar proudly. “I think you are even taller than me now!”

  “It hasn’t been that long since I saw you last,” Oscar answered. “And why did you let go of me, anyway?”

  Jacob’s smile disappeared. He ducked his head and looked up through his eyelashes. “I’m sorry, Oscar. I tried. I really tried.”

  His old friend grinned and punched Jacob on the shoulder. “Only joking,” he said.

  Oscar took them to the tent he’d been sharing with a Dinka family. The boys all talked at once. “The river carried me for many miles,” Oscar said. “While you were walking, I was floating, having a free ride!”

  “But how did you avoid getting shot?” Jacob asked.

  “I hid under the water until the soldiers went away,” he answered.

  “But you are not a fish; how did you breathe?” Jacob asked.

  “I used a hollow reed to get air.”

  “Like an elephant’s trunk!” Willy said.

  “Sort of. My problem was I kept floating to the top, like a dead fish, so I buried my legs in the muck to hold them down. When the shooting was finally over, I could hardly pull them out! They were like Zone Eight legs, from staying still so long.”

  “But how did you get all the way to Kakuma?” Willy asked.

  “The soldiers on one of the water trucks felt sorry for me when they saw me all alone with my cuts and bruises and bent arm—they gave me a ride right to the camp,” he said.

  “While we were getting attacked by bombs and ripped apart in the acacia forest, you were living like a chief!” Jacob said. “Not fair!”

  The friends picked up Oscar’s blanket and small supply of food and returned to their lopsided lean-to.

  Oscar stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Other people have lean-tos—this is a lean-too-far! Tomorrow we will make it better,” he said. “I know many people already; some of them owe me favors. I will find some palm leaves and rope, maybe even more wood, to make our tent the strongest again.”

  “Of course we will,” Jacob said.

  “But where is Monyroor? You haven’t told me,” Oscar said.

  “He has gone to Bonga. Maybe he is already working with the SPLA,” Jacob answered.

  “But look—he left this for us!” Willy held up the lion tail belt.

  “He knew you would look after it for him, Willy,” Oscar said. “Our brave lion hunter is now our brave soldier. I am practicing to be a soldier, too. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

  Jacob was too excited to get to sleep that night. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable as he thought of tomorrow. Oscar is safe! We’ll have so much fun—no walking, no work, just playing and eating! But during the night, a fierce desert wind came up. The boys awoke to find the entire camp coated with fine red dust.

  Jacob woke up sneezing. “In Kakuma, my nose makes red waterfalls!” he said. Checking his ears, he added, “But not enough dirt here for Grandmother’s potatoes.”

  “First we were black, then gray, and now we are red,” Willy said as they tried to clean themselves and their tent. “I hope Mama will recognize me when I find her!”

  A woman nearby offered the use of her broom. “Be sure to return it,” she cautioned. “You have to watch your things here—leave something lying around and it will disappear, like magic!”

  “Thank you,” Jacob said, accepting her kind offer. “We will be careful, but we do not have many possessions.”

  “Your food, your water, and your blankets—you must watch everything. There are many thieves in Kakuma Camp,” she said. “The Turkana sometimes sneak in as well, and they are violent thieves.”

  “It is true,” Oscar said. “A group of boys stole the Purple Raven one night, while I was sleeping. But I got it back by promising to help them make their own.”

  “Teacher Matthew would have been proud of you, Oscar. You solved your problem without fighting!” Jacob said. “Have you seen Matthew here?”

  Oscar shrugged. “I didn’t notice him.”

  “Have you seen my family?”

  Oscar shook his head. “There aren’t many people here from Bor District.”

  When they had finished cleaning up and eaten their millet porridge, Jacob was impatient to find out about school. “Have you gone to school here?” he asked Oscar.

  “School? Well, when I’m not playing soccer, I go to school sometimes,” Oscar answered. “School’s boring, but I have learned more English.”

  “Sometimes it’s fun—remember physical education?” Willy said.

  “I don’t need to go to school to play sports,” Oscar said. “The soldiers don’t go to school.”

  “But don’t you want your world to be bigger than this?” Jacob asked, looking around the camp. “Like Teacher Matthew talked about?”

  “This camp is very big—big enough for me,” Oscar answered, not understanding his friend’s question. “There are parts of it I haven’t even seen yet. Come on, I’ll show you where the school is.”

  Jacob and Willy followed him through the rows of huts and tents until finally they came to a tree school. It was one of the few trees inside Kakuma, but it was not nearly as big as the one in Pinyudo. This teacher had made a blackboard by flattening out used oil tins. He wrote on it and sheets of cardboard with pieces of burnt wood.

  Jacob, Willy, and Oscar slipped in among the other students and sat down. Majok pointed at them and whispered behind his hand to his friends.

  “He must be sss ... sss ... so happy to sss .
.. sss ... see me again,” said Oscar. He stuck his thumbs in his ears and wiggled his fingers at Majok. This time there were a few girls in the class as well as many boys. Jacob thought of his sisters. I probably wouldn’t even recognize them now ... they might not recognize me, either.

  “This is a lion.” The Dinka teacher, whose name was Chol, drew a picture on the board and printed the letters underneath. Unlike Matthew, Chol wore gold-colored glasses and was a tall man, but he also wore a silver cross on a chain around his neck. As the students all printed L-I-O-N in the dirt, Jacob felt like he was back in Pinyudo. I will remember to bring my book tomorrow ... maybe Chol is a friend of Matthew’s.

  The three boys quickly settled back into a schedule of taking turns collecting supplies, cooking, and cleaning. When he wasn’t working, Jacob began spending more time on his schoolwork. Some nights, he even refused offers to join in the soccer game. Soon, the numbers and letters, the straight lines and round curves, became as familiar to him as the faces of his friends. He said their names out loud, “A is for Ant, B is for Ball, C is for Cattle ... ,” liking the taste of them on his thirsty tongue. But he wanted more ...

  Jacob attended school every day he could; he soon realized learning was easier for him than some of the other boys, and he caught on to English very quickly. “Not now, Oscar,” he said when Oscar bugged him to play mini soccer in class. Instead, Jacob concentrated on the teacher’s words. When Chol asked a question, the other boys usually looked at him in confusion. Jacob was often the only one to raise his hand. He began staying after school to have a chance to speak in English with Chol. He watched enviously as the teacher wrote on paper with a pencil when he did his reports.

  “You have a real aptitude for language, Jacob. I am happy to see you taking your studies seriously,” Chol said. “Knowledge of English can really take you places—make your world bigger.”

  “That is what my other teacher, Matthew, also told us,” Jacob said.

  Jacob lay on his mat after supper, puzzling over the words in Matthew’s book, sounding them out, repeating them over and over until they became words that sounded right, like words he’d heard the aid workers and teachers saying. He liked to hold the book up to his nose and breathe in deeply. He studied the black-and-white drawings carefully and soon was able to pick out many different animals and characters in the complicated designs. These are Dinka stories; Matthew did not tell me that—Grandmother told the story of Kir and Ken and their Addicted Father, and here is the story of Wol and Wol After a Lion’s Tail and the story of Agany and His Search for a Wife. I know all of these stories! Jacob couldn’t wait to get to his book after supper each evening. Some days, he took his book to school to ask Chol about words he could not figure out.