by Jan Coates
“There is a large shelter for homeless youth in the heart of downtown Nairobi. It is often full, but I can draw you a map, if you’d like,” the headmaster offered.
“Thank you. Yes, please. I know what maps are, but I have never seen a map.” Jacob remembered Majok’s description of maps from all those years ago. “The library in Kakuma did not have any map books.”
The headmaster turned to the bookshelves, and took down a tall, flat book. He spread it open on the desk. It was full of colorful drawings of strange shapes. “This is an atlas, a book of maps; this page is a map of Africa.”
“Please, could you show me where Duk Padiet is on the map?”
The man turned to the back of the book and looked at a long list of names. “It starts with ‘d’?”
Jacob nodded. “D – u – k – P – a – d – i – e – t.”
“I am sorry, I don’t see it here. But look, this orange area is all Southern Sudan, and right here is Bor District. Here is Kenya, the blue area, and here we are—this big dot is Nairobi.”
“Please, can you show me where Kakuma Refugee Camp is—my friends are there.”
“Kakuma is fairly new, but I know roughly where it is in relation to Nairobi—right about here,” the headmaster said, pointing to the north.
“And Ethiopia? Pinyudo Refugee Camp—can you show me that, please?” Jacob asked. The headmaster pointed out the River Gilo and the area where Pinyudo would be.
“But it looks so small—it took us many, many moon cycles to walk from Duk to Pinyudo. And even more to walk from Pinyudo to Kakuma.”
“A map is like a very small picture of the world. The world is much too big to fit into an atlas like this,” the headmaster explained. He took out a pencil and drew a map of the downtown area for Jacob. He made a big x in the center. “This is the tallest office tower in our city. The shelter is not far from it. If you get lost, try speaking English—there are many Englishspeaking people in Nairobi.”
“Thank you. I will go now.” Jacob stood and prepared to leave. “If it is not too big a problem, could you please look after my money for me until I return?” He opened the pouch, removed a few shillings, then handed the sack to the man.
“It would be my pleasure.” The headmaster pulled a heavy metal box out from under his desk, opened it with a long key, wrote Jacob’s name on an envelope, carefully placed his money inside, then relocked the box.
“I will save a spot for you, and good luck, Jacob Deng.” The man reached out to shake Jacob’s hand. His grip was firm and his hand was warm and dry.
“I will return as quickly as I can. I have been waiting to go to school for a very long time,” Jacob said.
“Our school will wait for you.” Headmaster Wangai started to close the door.
“Oh, do you have a student named Majok at your school?” Jacob asked through the crack.
The headmaster shook his head. “No, I don’t believe we do.”
Jabari jumped up from where he sat in the dirt and beamed when Jacob came back out through the wooden doors.
“We must return to Nairobi,” Jacob said. “I must find someone from my family, someone from Southern Sudan. A very tall Dinka person.”
“Follow me,” Jabari said, taking Jacob’s hand again. “I show you.”
They stood by the side of the highway for over an hour before a van finally stopped to pick them up. The sun was low in the sky when they were dropped off in the center of Nairobi.
They walked down several streets and narrow alleys, heading away from the tall buildings and back toward the outskirts of the city. When they came upon an enormous mountain of garbage, Jabari began clambering up its slopes, gesturing for Jacob to follow him. Most of the garbage was plastic and paper, but the strong smell of rotting food and latrine waste hung heavily in the warm air; the mountain squished and oozed beneath Jacob’s bare feet. His lips curled up in disgust. They passed several other small children, rooting in the trash, desperately digging for something to eat. Long black rats with snake-like tails scurried back and forth across the garbage, competing with the children for food.
When they arrived at the top, Jabari sat down. “Mathare Valley,” he said, swinging his arms in a wide arc. “People from all over Africa there.”
Jacob sat beside him, staring down at the vast wasteland that lay before them. It looked even more bleak and uninviting than Kakuma had the first time he’d seen it. “Are they homes?” he asked.
Jabari nodded. “My home is there.”
From high up, it was a camp that looked similar to the giant pile of garbage they were sitting on, only flatter and more spread out. Jacob thought of the patchwork kites they’d made in Kakuma as he looked at the mixture of colors; rusty brown roofs, blue, orange, and gray tarps, clothing, blankets, and plastic of every possible color covered the earth for miles in all directions. Jacob looked over his shoulder at the skyscrapers of downtown Nairobi, then back to the shanty town.
“Will you take me there?” he asked Jabari.
The boy took his hand and began climbing down the mountain of waste. They met hundreds of people as they got closer to the shacks, many of them young children, playing tag and chasing each other through the dirt streets. They passed several open-ditch latrines; Jacob avoided looking at them and held his breath, trying not to gag, until they had passed by. When they reached Mathare, Jabari walked more quickly, pulling Jacob along behind him. They came to a leanto, which looked more like a pile of filthy rags than a home, and Jabari ducked inside. Jacob bent down and followed him.
There was no one else in the dark, stuffy tent, but a scruffy brown and black dog stood to greet them. “Minoo,” Jabari said. “My friend.”
Jacob scratched the dog behind its droopy ears and thought back to the other Minoo. I hope Willy is all right.
Jabari began digging in a pile of things stashed in one corner. After a while, he pulled out a small ball-shaped item, wrapped in grimy paper. He beamed at Jacob. “Candy,” he said. “For you. It is sweet like honey.”
Jacob took the gift and put it carefully in his pocket. He nodded to the little boy. “Thank you, Jabari. You are a kind boy.”
Jabari went back outside. “Now we find Dinka people,” he said. “No, Minoo. You stay here.” They walked down many crooked rows of shanty homes, past rusting buses and cars, which also appeared to be homes. Everywhere, men and women lay on the ground, curled up asleep after enduring the heat of the day. Jacob heard a mixture of languages being spoken, some of which sounded a little like Dinka, but it was not until they reached the very outer edge of Mathare that he heard the Dinka he recognized. “These are Dinka people,” he said excitedly to Jabari. He began looking more intently at the faces they passed, occasionally asking friendly-faced people if they knew of his family, but all of them just shook their heads.
The two boys eventually came upon a small clearing. A large crowd of people had gathered; some of them cheered loudly, but other voices sounded violent and angry. Jacob and Jabari worked their way to the front and discovered two sweaty men, rolling around in the dirt. One pushed himself to his feet, then stood, grunting and swinging his arms in front of him as he waited for the other man to get up. The gaar on his forehead and his great height told Jacob he was a Dinka man.
As they sat, watching the wrestling, Jacob eagerly scanned the faces in the crowd, but none of them looked familiar. I hope I will recognize my family—they could look completely different after all these years. I wonder how different I look. His eyes lingered on one tall, stooped man who stood off at a distance, watching the match. His clothing hung off him like rags, like a scarecrow. The stranger’s dark eyes were fixed on the wrestlers; his thin shoulders shifted from side to side, moving with them as the men both struggled to stay on top.
As Jacob watched, the man cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Don’t let him see your eyes!”
Jacob grabbed Jabari by the hand and worked his way through the packed crowd, trying to get closer. He could see the
Dinka initiation scars from several feet away, six deep lines carved in his forehead. The man continued swinging his shoulders back and forth, ducking his head and waving his free arm around; with the other, he used a stick to keep his balance. He is only young; I wonder why he needs a walking stick. Jacob made his way to the other side of the man, keeping his eyes on him all the time, so as not to lose him in the crowd. And then he saw it; cut deeply into the man’s hollow left cheek, a half-moon scar, the result of a kite hawk screeching as a young boy learned to work with the cattle.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jacob started running, bumping into people, but not stopping to apologize. “Uncle Daniel!” he shouted. “Uncle Daniel!” The man jerked around as Jacob grabbed his free arm. He stared at Jacob blankly. “It’s me, Jacob Deng, Jacob the Hare, youngest son of your older sister, Adau.”
Daniel’s face relaxed, and he looked deeply into Jacob’s eyes. He smiled, then put his hand over Jacob’s. “Yes, I see that it is you, young Jacob.” He looked down at Jacob’s feet and laughed. “But your hare feet are not so long now that you are bigger.”
Jacob looked down at his feet. His eyes opened wide, then filled with hot tears, as he discovered Daniel’s reason for using a walking stick.
“Land mine,” Daniel said, shrugging. “One minute I was marching along, feeling like an important and powerful SPLA soldier, proud to be carrying a gun to defend my country. When I woke up three days later, this was what I saw.” He pointed to the spot where his foot should have been. He wore long pants and the empty pant leg was folded up and held in place with a dirty piece of string.
Jacob wiped away his tears and looked at his uncle. “I am sorry, Uncle Daniel. The war has done so much bad, to so many people. It is like a herd of angry elephants, trampling everything.”
“You are right, Jacob—a herd of elephants with very long lives!”
Jacob put his hand in his pocket and felt the crumpled map. “Please, Uncle Daniel, I need you to do something for me. I am on my way to school, and I need an adult to act as my guardian. Could you help me?”
“I would do anything to help you go to school, Jacob. Young people like you are our only hope for ending the war in Sudan,” Daniel said. “Just tell me what I need to do.”
“Thank you, Uncle Daniel.” Jacob looked at his uncle’s leg. “Does it still hurt?”
Daniel put an arm around Jacob’s shoulders. “I have lived with this for more than two years. But I am still alive. Come— you can stay with me, and we’ll catch up on all that has happened since our time at the cattle camp.” He leaned heavily on his stick. “I am like an elder with this stick, but it is very useful. I am interested to hear how you have come to be in Nairobi.”
“Have you seen anybody else from my family?” Jacob asked eagerly. “Mama, Monyroor, my sisters?”
Daniel shook his head. “I have been here in Kenya for more than two years already, but I have heard nothing of any of them.”
Jacob said goodbye to Jabari, gave him a shilling and thanked him, then followed his uncle to his lean-to, chattering excitedly as they walked. It was only slightly better than Jabari’s home, but Daniel had some millet and prepared a pot of porridge as they talked. Jacob tried to remember the most important things that had happened to him, but he often stumbled and got confused as he tried to piece it all together. “Many of the details, I forget,” he apologized. “This is not a very interesting story.”
“Seven years is a very long time, especially for a boy as young as you are, Jacob.”
“Someday I will write my memories down,” Jacob said. “When I have more time.”
“So, now, I am only a watcher of wrestling,” Daniel said finally as they settled in for the night several hours later. “But I have a job, and I hope I will soon save enough money to return to Sudan—when the war is over. Can you guess what my new job is?”
“Do you work in the souk?” Jacob asked. “There are many, many people who have jobs there.”
“No, my work is more interesting than that. I am becoming a rat trainer—I have moved from cattle to rats. I will train pouch rats, very long black rats, to sniff out land mines—they have excellent noses, and it is amazing how quickly they learn. It seems some of the skills the cattle taught me are also useful with the rats. When they are trained, they will be taken to work in Southern Sudan. I hope to go with them and help save some legs.”
“I think I saw some of your rats on the great garbage mountain today,” Jacob said. He closed his eyes and shuddered. “I hope they will not visit my dreams tonight.”
Jacob slept soundly, despite the night noises—dogs barking, people shouting, arguing, and laughing, and the harsh banging and creaking of pieces of tin.
In the morning, he took one of his scribblers from his sack, found a blank page, and wrote out a letter of responsibility for Daniel to sign for the headmaster. Jacob printed out the letters of his uncle’s name, and Daniel awkwardly copied them at the bottom of the letter.
“I must leave now,” Jacob said, after the letter was finished.
“I will walk with you to the highway,” Daniel said. “I am a little slow, but I am faster than I was shortly after my accident.”
“I can’t believe I found you, after all this time, and all these miles,” Jacob said as they walked. “Maybe someday we will find other people from our family.”
“It’s possible. I hope you will come and visit me, when you are not too busy at school,” Daniel said. “Maybe I will earn enough money to leave Mathare one day. You can come back to Sudan with me.” Daniel reached out and took Jacob’s hand in both of his. “Wadeng, Jacob. Wadeng. My sister would be very proud of her little hare. I know you will become a champion word wrestler.”
Jacob laughed. “Nobody has said wadeng to me for a very long time, Uncle Daniel. Thank you, and, this time, I know you are right!”
Daniel waited with him and before long, a truck driver stopped to offer Jacob a ride. He waved and waved until his uncle was a tiny speck in the distance.
When he arrived back at Laiser Hill Academy, Jacob stood outside the iron gate and looked through the bars at the neat white buildings surrounded by leafy green trees. He smiled, swung open the gate, then walked through the heavy front doors of the school once again. I hope the headmaster will accept Uncle Daniel’s letter. And I hope he has looked after my money.
“Welcome back, Jacob Deng!” Headmaster Wangai greeted him at the door. “You are determined to go to school, I can see that.”
“Thank you, Headmaster. You will not be sorry,” Jacob said sincerely. “I will be one of your very best students—of this I am sure.”
That night, for the first time ever, Jacob slept on a mattress with cool, clean sheets, on a metal bed, in a room with a roof and glass windows in which he could see himself. He was surprised to see how much he looked like Monyroor. Too excited to sleep well, Jacob lay watching the moon roll across the sky for much of the night, listening to the other boys, shuffling around in their bunk beds, and thinking of tomorrow.
He tossed and turned for a long time. Finally, Jacob got up and crept over to the window closest to his bed. He slid the window up and stuck his head outside into the cool air. He looked up into the night sky. There are as many books in the world as there are stars in the African sky, Jacob. Matthew’s words came to him as he watched the stars dance around the moon. Just as he was about to pull his head back inside, Jacob heard something. The sound was faint at first, and he strained his ears to hear. Then he recognized the slow beat of a drum, the low notes of a kudu pipe, the whispering of the wind in a field of millet, and finally, a voice, a sweet, soft Mama voice, singing. I can hear them, Mama! Finally, I can hear the stars singing! Jacob added his voice to the song.
My words are never questioned.
I am like my forefathers.
I rise to be seen by my fathers;
I rise to be seen by my ancient fathers
And also by the passerby.
&nbs
p; I rise to be seen walking with pride,
As it was in the distant past
From the time our clan was born.
The next morning, Jacob slid his long, skinny legs into slippery blue short pants. He buttoned up his crisp pink shirt, put on his black socks, and slid his feet into the shiny black shoes. I feel like a quacking duck, walking in these big shoes, he thought. I wonder who Majok is competing with now.
Jacob clomped his way to the classroom. He stood in the doorway, lifted his shoulders, and took a deep breath. So this is what school smells like ... ahhhh ... like many storybooks. He found an empty desk, set his notebooks and storybook on it, then sat up very tall on his bench, and looked hard at the teacher. This is the man who will make my world bigger... He ran his rough hands across the smooth white sheet of paper in front of him. His fingers remembered Mama’s stone, and he smiled. He picked up the sharp pencil and wrote his name.
Jacob Deng.
November 12, 1994
Dear Mama: I hope you can hear my words, wherever you are. Can you see me in school? I am wearing shoes, and I am writing this letter to you in English, in my new notebook. You are with me every day, Mama. I hear your voice telling me, “Wadeng,” and I see your face when I go to sleep every night. I hope you can still hear the stars singing over Southern Sudan ...
INTERVIEW WITH JAN COATES
While you make it clear that this is a novel, a work of fiction, you also acknowledge that it’s based on the life of a real person. How did you meet Jacob Deng?
In the spring of 2007, the editor of the Acadia Alumni Bulletin called me, out of the blue, asking if I’d be interested in interviewing Jacob Deng (then an Acadia student) and writing an article about him for their upcoming edition. I had never been asked to write for the Bulletin before, but my daughter had recently arrived home full of Jacob’s story after he had made a presentation to the students at her school. I agreed to write the article and met Jacob the following week at a Wolfville coffee shop. After listening to him talk passionately and eloquently about his life for two hours, I knew I simply had to write his story, despite the fact I had previously never written anything for young readers longer than a 1,000-word picture book. I’m not sure if you’d call it kismet, but it seemed like it was meant to be.