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I work in Children’s Hospital Boston’s Food Services and live in Boston, but my home country is Sudan. I grew up in the southern part of Sudan—the largest country in Africa—in a small village called Dor, near the Nile River. There, I lived with my parents, sisters and brothers until we were separated during the civil war. The fighting had been going on for years, but our village was secluded and we didn’t know much about it, except that it was between the government in the north, largely Arab-Muslims, and sub-Saharan tribes in the south, mostly Christians.
But the war came to our village in 1987, when I was 7. It was early in the morning, about 4 a.m., we were sleeping when the militia attacked from the other side of the village. We woke up to the screams, which gave us time to try to escape, and we scattered.
As I ran, I tried to see what was going on, but villagers shouted not to stop because they’d kill you, even if you were a child. I saw houses in flames and people running from soldiers. It was chaos. The soldiers took lots of the women and killed every man they could find. I ran until I reached the bush, where I hid. Maybe God guided me away. I met other boys from other nearby villages, mostly children, since we had run the fastest and the furthest. The older boys said we should go to the east to find safety, so we left.
There were hundreds, maybe thousands of us. People came to call groups like ours the Lost Boys of Sudan. The only person I knew was my cousin, Gong. He was 15 and said I should stick with him. We started walking that night, and during the days, we hid in the bush.
We walked for about 20 days. Many, many of us died from wild animal attacks. It was hard to find food and we would go for days without eating. The older boys hunted for animals to eat, and if they caught one, they shared it. We followed animals to water, but a lot of us died of thirst and starvation. Gong was good about finding water and sharing it with me. In Dinga culture, my tribe, if you have something, you share it, and if you see people without something, you give it to them. Sometimes I cried, but Gong encouraged me not to give up, and said that one day maybe I’d see my mom or my dad. I said, “OK, I will do that.”
When we got to Ethiopia, the government put us in a camp and gave us a little food. There were thousands of us, mostly boys, and we built the camp ourselves, with 30 of us in each small house. When the UN arrived, they organized school classes. I lived in Ethiopia for nine years and all that time, I wondered what happened to my family.
In 1992, the UN moved Gong and me to the biggest camp, called Kakuma, in Kenya. We met lots of people from many ethnic groups, but we got along and helped each other; if someone was sick, we’d sit with them until they were well, regardless of what tribe they were from. We also learned each other’s languages, so now I speak about seven languages. I remember my native language, Dinga, because I spoke it with my cousin for so long. I started going to school in the camp, where they said, “This is not Sudan, you need to learn English.” So I did.
Every day, more people arrived at the camp, and we always went out to see who arrived, hoping to recognize someone from home. Then, one day, in 1995, my sister arrived. Even though I hadn’t seen her in eight years, I recognized her right away. I thought, “Oh God, I will not be lonely again!” She told me my brothers, sisters, father and mother survived the attack and were still in Sudan. I couldn’t believe it. But our stepbrother and uncle’s whole family died that night.
Part of life at the camp was checking the UN’s list of who was being sent to other countries. In 2001, when I was 19, I saw my name, next to it was “Boston.” I thought, “Maybe God has a plan for me to go there.” My cousin wanted me to go to America so I could go to a good school, while he would go back home to help the family. Almost 50 of us were sent to America in one plane; five of us came to Boston. We are all Dinga and moved into an apartment in Hyde Park together. I got $1,200 when I arrived so I sent it to Gong so he could get back to Sudan.
It was overwhelming at first and I had a hard time understanding the American accent. A volunteer showed us how to take a bath, how to take a train and helped us get jobs. I was lucky because I got the job at Children’s right away and they trained me to work with food. When I got here, I didn’t eat anything because I didn’t know what to order. I just ate chicken and rice, like what we ate in the camps. But now I’ve learned what to buy and how to prepare food and serve it, and I sometimes work the registers.
I still live with the boys I flew here with and we’re like brothers. After all these years we are still together; we’re all about 29 now. Sometimes we go to the aquarium and see animals we’ve never seen before, like sharks and whales. We visit friends, since many people from my country live in Boston. But mostly we focus on school. I’m studying accounting at North Shore Community College.
A year ago, I went back to Sudan. My other sisters have gotten married and left to live with their husbands, but my brothers and father are still in our village, which is still in bad shape. It was attacked dozens of times after the night I left, and each time, my family had to hide. It was like that constantly until 2005, and people are still rebuilding houses and schools.It was amazing to see my dad again. He cried when he saw me and said he had hoped he wouldn’t die without seeing me.
I like Boston. I like Children’s. I don’t have a problem with the snow. What’s most important in my life is education. When I get my accounting degree, maybe I can work in a different department at the hospital or help people back home. Going to school in America gives me the opportunity to help rebuild Sudan.
I usually don’t want to share this story, but it’s good to tell people about the genocide. I hope people learn how important it is to help other countries and not let them fight themselves. Also, I like to help them be aware of what’s going on the other side of the world. I know I won’t forget.
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