The Lost Boys of Sudan: A new home
by Svetlana Guineva
The Metropolitan
The Lost Boys of Sudan have finally found a home and someone to care.
The running stopped, the monotonous life in the refugee camp ceased to
be an everyday reality and they were offered a new chance, a new start.
A resettlement project initiated by the U.S. State Department began in 2001. Out of thousands of Sudanese refugees living in the Kakuma camp in Kenya, 3, 600 young men and boys were selected, after exhausting interviews and background checks, to be resettled in the United States.
An ongoing civil war in Sudan has taken the lives of some two million people and has displaced four million with no hope for them to return and start anew.
In 1987 the Arab militia, unofficially supported by the government in Khartoum (the capital), began raids in southern Sudan where black Christian Africans lived, committing atrocities on a massive scale that no one in the global community seemed to notice. In the process of that religious and ethnic cleansing, many children were orphaned and forced to run for their lives, enduring a trek of hundreds of miles through the desert.
A great number of them were lost forever, but those who survived, after spending almost 10 years in the Kakuma refugee camp in lethargic existence, grasped the presented life-altering opportunity and arrived in America. All were armed with hope and enthusiasm for the endless possibilities the new land held within an arm's reach. Or so they imagined.
Two agencies were assigned to help the newcomers navigate through the complicated order of matters in the civilization of fast-ticking clocks and money-making machines. The African Community Center and Ecumenical Refugee Services did everything within their power and beyond to ensure some stability for the 61 Lost Boys resettled in Colorado.
Each of the boys received a $400 initial sum to cover their rent for the first month, for deposit, for furnishing the two-bedroom apartment where four people were to live together; to buy wondrous stuff from pillows and mattresses to soap and toothbrushes. On the first day of their arrival they were fed traditional Sudanese food complemented with yellow bananas. Lots of them.
"I remember this amazing occurrence when we first arrived at the DIA," Simon Garang, a 25-year-old refugee slowly begins to talk. "We got into a train that was moving so fast, but when I looked around I couldn't see the driver; there was no driver."
The airport seemed so big to Simon and his fellow Sudanese, they thought that it was the city of Denver itself.
Now Simon talks about it with a smile.
Within 72 hours after their first step on the soil of The Promised Land, all refugees attended a mandatory orientation. Being children of nature, everything seemed confusing, even frightening to them. Everything had to be explained and demonstrations were given on things such as how to take a bus, how to use the stove, how to get oriented in a grocery store, how to work the faucet with hot and cold water, or just learn skills that most people consider inborn, something that comes with the package of being born in a developed country.
"In a new country things work differently culturally," said Makercot Manyiel, a case manager at the African Community Center, a Sudanese refugee himself. "They (the boys) were happy to be here, because there are so many opportunities for them to get an education, to get a job and learn to be responsible as a man should be."
Every beginning is hard. Sometimes the boys would get lost on the streets of Denver, with no sense of direction, speaking broken English and with looks that people didn't trust. Many challenges would bring back their basic instinct of survival, this time not to ward off wild animals, but to withstand the paralyzing angry roar of the passing traffic, and how to manage to get to and back from work, often many miles away.
All of the Sudanese have a story to tell about how they had to battle with the unknown, to find strength to overcome it and go forward with a new flow of energy.
Arok Garang, 22, one of the Lost Boys now living in Denver, recalls one of his first dramatic experiences, two days after his arrival in 2001.
"My cousin and I were watching TV when experiences, two days after his arrival in 2001.
"My cousin and I were watching TV when all of a sudden we heard something that sounded like a gunfire; we ran out and saw cars speeding in different directions, the sky was all lit and we thought there was fighting going on,"_ he explained with a serious tone of voice and no smile, because it wasn't funny then. It doesn't sound funny now, either.
It was the 4th of July celebration with the traditional fireworks and the usual hoopla in the streets, but the young men didn't know. They had grown up in a time of war and constant fear of death and a perpetual run for their lives, so in the natural course of things in their world, a fight was a logical explanation for what was happening outside.
"We tried to run around and we got lost," Arok continued. In their frantic run they tried to stop some people on the street and ask for help, but nobody paid attention to them. Desperate, they knocked on doors until someone answered, "But the guy got scared of us," Arok uttered with a quiet sigh. "He couldn't understand what we were saying."
Finally, the man called the police, not being able to understand the tall lanky foreigners with wide-open eyes yelling something at him and pointing out to different directions. The police calmed them down and asked them where they lived, but the Sudanese didn't know. Luckily, Arok remembered that, in case of emergency, he had their new address written on a piece of paper. All ended without incident.
It has been also very difficult for the refugees to find jobs in the overall slow rise of the state's economy and the fact that the young men didn't have any work history.
Working minimum-wage jobs, sometimes two or three at a time, they barely scrape for rent, groceries and to put a little something aside to send home to siblings who still live in Kenya's refugee camp.
But money isn't the most important thing. They are patient, because they all have set goals for the future, which in the long run will produce great benefits and satisfaction.
Education is their major investment. As the refuges put it: it is their mother and father.
Days after their arrival, the Sudanese refugees began attending classes specifically designed for them to learn English, to provide some job-training and GED courses at Emily Griffith Opportunity School and the Spring Institute.
Simon was the first to pass his GED exam after only five months in this country. He also scored well on his ACT, but this was just the beginning. The next step was a higher education institution that would make his dream _"to become a well educated man and powerful enough to change the world for better" come true.
The compelling story of the Lost Boys inspired many people to help in any way possible. It brought humanity to life and spread hope that the feeling of compassion and care for another human being is not a remnant from an old era, but is the link to the very depth of a human soul where the good resides.
Evi Bassoff, a Boulder psychologist and her husband Bruce, an English professor at CU- Boulder were among the first volunteers, eager to help the Sudanese refugees with anything they needed. They made a list and later filled up their car with supplies and books.
"For one year, we spent every Sunday with them. I was overwhelmed: how would they meet their needs, jobs, bills, and everyday problems," Bassoff said. She and her husband came to be called parents by the Lost Boys. "The relationship felt right," she said.
Bassoff was pleasantly surprised when, during their first encounter, Simon asked about books, the library, and eventually, about a college he could attend. Bassoff was impressed by how well read Simon was and how determined he was to continue his education.
"If I look back at my history and all that I have gone through, there is no other way of reversing that trend (the war in Sudan). I look at education as something I have been instructed to do by my parents. I have it as a mission of what I should do to pay respect to my parents." Simon said gasping for air, gazing through the window, focused on something out there. "I don't think that my story and the story of my people-the ones who died or are being trapped in a refugee camps-can be told without education.
Bassoff met with admissions officials at CU-Boulder and assured them that Simon and his friend Kur Deng had great potential and would make excellent students.
"They are remarkably intelligent, they speak several languages and learned English quickly, and are also very observant," said Bassoff.
Both were accepted at CU-Boulder and not after long both made the Dean's list with GPAs higher than 3.5.
Simon plans to finish his undergraduate studies and pursue either a degree in immigration law, or become a defense lawyer for low-income people, as if in return for his good fortune and all the help he has received here in this country.
To pay his tuition Simon takes loans, gets awarded scholarships, and receives federal and state grants.
Almost the entire Colorado contingent of the Lost Boys attends colleges. Many of them are enrolled in the Community College of Denver.
Arok Garang wants to become a pharmacist, so one day when the peace in Sudan happens, he can return and introduce cures induced by science and research, instead of by traditional healers.
"I come from a family where no one had gone to school before, Arok said. "The war in Sudan started, because people in the South are not educated, and the North wants to control the land," he whispered as if wondering out loud why his country is at war.
An intentional Arabization and Islamization was imposed by President Numayri, who declared in 1983 that Shariaah (Islamic Law) should dictate the way of life; that Arabic should be the only language in schools, and the Koran verses be recited.
Overall, the North holds the intellectual core of the country, strictly of Arabic origin.
In the genocide that has been going on for decades, Arok's parents were killed, and of his eight siblings one brother remained in Kenya. No one knew if the rest were still alive, and if they were, where they might be. But despite the lack of his immediate family, Arok is not alone; he has found a new family.
Mama Jean has her hands full. She has 61 children to take care of and to worry about whether they need anything, how are they doing at school, at work; do they manage to pay their bills on time, and are they healthy and happy, and most importantly, how can she raise enough money for all of them to continue with their studies.
Jean Wood of Louisville has become the Lost Boys mother in every sense of the word. A former high school English teacher, she watched a special on Sudan seven or eight years ago and was shaken by the war images, the poverty and the slavery that thrived there. In 2001, she learned about the Lost Boys and that some of them would be resettled in Colorado. She answered the pleading call of humanity in crisis.
Backed by an attorney at RE/MAX of Boulder where she works and Calvary Bible Church in Boulder, Wood started the non-profit organization Colorado Friends of the Lost Boys of Sudan (coloradolostboysofsudan.org). She goes out and talks to people, telling the remarkable story of the Sudanese refugees, and raises money to cover their tuitions. Many of the guys participated in the Bolder Boulder marathon in July for fundraising purposes.
"I truly love them, my Sudanese sons," Wood said, her voice trembling. "For me, this is all about helping them; it's not money. My overall goal is to go with them to Sudan and help them rebuild their country."
This pure altruism and selflessness in the name of somebody else's happiness disperses sparks of hope into the atmosphere that, yes, this world can be a better place, but only if we all make the effort. And, fortunately, many people do.
Without question, the young Sudanese men appreciate all the help they get and try to return the love and compassion.
"This society is really a good society," Arok said. "I like the way the Lost Boys of Sudan are welcomed here and I'd like to contribute with something."
And he remembers how, after the tragedy of September 11, he and his friends went to a church, and even though none of them had a job at the time, each donated $10 to the victims' families.
That's how I think we can live in this society, by being grateful for the chance that has been given to us to build a new life, he said.
Despite the fact that they all consider themselves lucky for having survived throughout the years and for being here, there is something that keeps pulling them back, as if the blood of their dead relatives and friends is calling, and their ravaged homeland is wailing for help.
"Sudan is always in my heart, but I can't go back now; it's dangerous," Arok said and paused, perhaps collecting memories, good and bad, to help him express his feelings. "I cannot predict what is going to happen in the future, I only know what's in my heart."
Simon sits looking grim and pensive. He is searching for an answer to the question: after all that has happened, does he consider himself lucky? Yes, he carefully pronounces as if to make sure his lips don't utter a lie. He is lucky, but he keeps thinking about the others-the ones who died because of the war.
"Almost half of the people I knew when I was young are not alive. That's so bad," he whispered and lowered his eyes in silence, maybe to honor their memory. "Sometimes I think, 'why, why should it be me to survive,' but God makes a plan for each individual."
Being that wise at such a tender age does not always helps to accept the facts of life philosophically and to continue the struggle for better future. It happens to all of the boys. Suddenly some of them would feel down and nostalgic, often depressed. But their strong sense of community and traditional Dinka (their tribe) values of comradery and consideration of the others, would create a safety-net and give courage that everything is fine now. There is no time to waste in grieving, explained Bassoff, who has observed the young mens' way of dealing with their post-traumatic stress.
The Lost Boys of Sudan have put the horror of their childhood behind them and have been transformed into ambitious young men with goals for their future well-mapped out. Through education, they are convinced, they can help their people break free from the Arab oppression and build a new Sudan_that is "peaceful and prosperous."
But one genuine human dream remains unrealized for each of them: they each want families of their own; to have good wives at their sides and children for whom to provide everything they didn't have.
One thing is sure-while waiting patiently for that to happen, they are
working hard, because yesterday is yesterday, but they all know that today's
effort will define tomorrow's happiness. So they keep on living as a valuable
source of inspiration and a great example of optimism to be followed.
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