Читать книгу Courageous Journey - Barbara Youree - Страница 13

SIX

INCHING FORWARD

The last leg of the journey took much longer than Ayuel or anyone expected—three weeks of endless plodding. Mercifully, a great downpour of rain provided water. The only other excitement came one night when a herd of zebras suddenly burst through the crowd as they walked. The racing animals knocked down several children nearby, leaving them with cuts and bruises, but no one was killed. Again, the seventeen miraculously escaped injury.

The larger group had diminished to around 3000 and split into three groups to follow different routes. At last, Ayuel’s band arrived mid-morning at the town of Pochalla, near the Gilo River. On the other side lay Ethiopia. Ayuel noticed two men on the bank, each tying up a wooden boat, apparently used to ferry passengers across the river. He and his friends watched as Officer Chol approached them.

“Peace to you, my good men,” Officer Chol said. “As you can see, I have many starving children here who need to cross the Gilo to find refuge in Ethiopia.”

The men grinned and rubbed their palms together.

“We have no money, but the God Almighty will bless you greatly for your kindness…”

The men’s faces fell as they resumed tying up the boats. “We have a business here,” snarled one of the men. “There is no god but Allah, and he blesses us by sending paying customers.”

So they’re Muslims, thought Ayuel, but black like us.

The boys all watched Officer Chol as he slowly removed his rifle from the sling on his back, then cocked the hammer. “I demand that you provide transportation for these innocent children to cross,” he said in a calm but firm voice.

“We have nothing to do with either side in this war,” said the man who had spoken before, as he yanked a tight knot in the rope.

Officer Chol shot once into the air and stepped closer to the men.

“We have no choice,” the spokesman hissed between his teeth at his partner. “They have us.” The silent man shrugged his shoulders and slowly began to untie the ropes.

“Get in!” the spokesman yelled at the boys standing nearest. Five boys gingerly crept into the boat, fitting comfortably on the planks around the sides. The man laughed, but not with humor. “We can stuff a few more in. It’ll take a week at the normal load.” He grabbed the arms of a couple of children and shoved them toward the boat. “Add two more to these. Move along. Save me my place to row,” he hollered.

His partner followed his lead and counted off nine more passengers, including an SPLA soldier, to climb into the other boat.

After the two boats had left the shore, Officer Chol turned to his followers on the bank and spoke over his microphone, “We’re almost there. You are the survivors. We won’t have far to go to the refugee camp after we get across. We will be safe from the Arab government there, as they don’t dare invade another country. Have faith, be strong a little longer.”

The throngs of people sat down in their various groups, scattered over a wide area next to the village. The seventeen filled their containers with water from the river and found shade under a baobab tree. Ayuel sat between Gutthier and Malual, his heart full of hope. Life will be better now, no more attacks by the government or wild animals, no more hunger or thirst. And something to wear besides this worn-out, dirty T-shirt.

“Somehow I feel like I’m home now,” he said to his friends.

“Me too,” Malual Kuer said. “Except there is no mother to fix food for me.”

Ayuel missed his family. But for the first time since that horrible night of bombing, he felt a tinge of happiness. All seventeen in his group had stayed together and survived.

“Look,” Madau said, pointing toward the village. “Look at all those women coming this way. They seem to be carrying food—maybe for us.”

“Someone said the Anuak tribe lives here,” Donayok pointed out. “At least the Dinkas are at peace with them.”

The local women spread out as they came closer, each bringing some food to a single group. One woman approached the seventeen and sat a large bowl of boiled maize on the ground. Ayuel accepted a loaf of millet bread from her hand. She said something in the Anuak language that he didn’t understand, but her smile spoke the intended message. Again she smiled when they all said, “Thank you, Mama,” in Dinka, even though she did not know their words.

Ayuel pulled off a bite of bread and passed the loaf to the next child. Without fighting or shoving, each dipped the bread into the maize. Still warm from cooking, it tasted and felt on their tongues so much better than raw leaves. They finished by scooping their hands into the meal and licking them. One of the soldiers came by while they ate and told them to divide into groups of nine. He said he would tell them when it was time for them to go to the boats.

Finally, they passed the bowl for one last swipe apiece. Afterward they all lay in the dry grass and slept. When evening came, the usual time to begin walking, they went to the river to watch the last crossing of the boats before morning.

“I think there are more than nine in that boat,” Malual said, pointing. It was too far out in the river to count the people, but it appeared weighed down. They watched the boat on the shore as the owner packed in the children.

Ayuel counted them. “There are eleven. That’s too many,” he said. “They don’t want to take us across because we can’t pay.”

“Look how low they are in the water,” Chuei said. “Maybe they want to drown us.”

“I don’t think so,” Ayuel said. “The owner would drown, too. Have courage, Chuei. We’ll all get to Ethiopia. God has brought us this far.”

Early the next morning, Officer Chol woke the seventeen. “You are the first to cross this morning. Go over and wait by the boats. I made the two men stay here all night so they wouldn’t desert us.”

“Where are those men?” asked Gutthier.

“The guard soldier took them to get breakfast tea. We owe them at least that much.”

“I think they overloaded the boats yesterday, sir,” Ayuel said.

“Yes, I know,” Officer Chol said. “I told them nine was the limit, only eight if there was an adult or a large boy. We’ll watch more closely today.”

The children didn’t have to wait long in the warm, foggy morning. When the men arrived, still looking angry, the seventeen divided into two groups. “I’ll go with you,” said Officer Chol, taking a spot next to Ayuel and placing a smaller boy on his lap. Akon, his cousin, sat down on his other side. “That will leave one soldier to come with the last group at the end of the day.”

The owner gave a low growl but said nothing.

Ayuel felt pleasure in the crossing, dangling his hand in the swift-moving water. Emotionally he was sailing into a bright future, where life might again be normal. He remembered that Officer Chol had said everyone could even go to school. Akon followed his lead and trailed her hand in the water too.

“Look over there, Ayuelo. Aren’t those crocodiles?” Ayuel could see the heads skimming above the surface near the bank. Akon’s voice sounded frightened.

“But, we are moving away from them, Akon. I don’t think we have to worry.” He knew she had to be thinking what he was. “Those crocodiles in the oasis pool probably attacked because they thought we were going after them. The river is big and they should have lots of fish to eat.”

She smiled and seemed satisfied.

When they landed, Ayuel and his friends went scrounging for food, as they had eaten nothing since the maize the previous morning. The river ran too swift for fishing. With no village on the Ethiopian side, they resorted once again to leaves and grass. Officer Chol told them not to go far as they would head toward the refugee camp as soon as all got across.

Toward the evening, they sat along the bank watching the boats.

“This should be the last crossing,” Officer Chol said. “I don’t see anyone on the other shore. That was quick.” He shaded his eyes, looking out over the river toward the setting sun. As he walked along the bank, encouraging the children, he told them: “Our lives will all be better soon—food, schools and hospitals.”

As the last boats neared the middle of the river, Ayuel said to Donayok, “I think they are overloaded again.”

“The sun’s in my eyes, so I can’t count the people. But the boat on the left looks tilted and very low in the water,” said the fourteen-year-old. “I’m going to tell Officer Chol.” He walked in the direction of the officer, still keeping an eye on the river.

Ayuel thought the boats seemed much farther apart than usual and moved more slowly. The soldier weighted down the corner of the boat on the left. As they all stood watching, it suddenly tipped and sank, spilling its occupants into the swirling waters. After only a few shouts for help, most of the passengers went under. Some of the boys and the soldier fought the swift river in an attempt to swim, but one by one, they too went under. All were lost.

As the people on the bank stood in shock, not believing their eyes, the other boat pulled in. “Did you see that?” a boy cried as he got out and pointed to the boat that had resurfaced upside down. “My brother was on it! My brother and my sister! They crammed fifteen people in that one. Fourteen in ours.” He began to wail as did others.

“Where’s the owner?” shouted Officer Chol, anger in his voice.

“They both deserted us as soon as they packed us in,” said one of the older boys. “Neither one of the men got in the boats.”

“They ran,” said another. “Since we were already in, and there was no room for them anyhow, we took off. I had the paddle. They made us all get on. He said they weren’t going to make any more free crossings.”

Officer Chol cursed. Then sat down and cried.

Ayuel’s heart sank. His future now seemed no brighter than what they’d experienced the past two and a half months. Some of his cousins had just been sucked into the churning river and drowned before his eyes. He went over and stood by Akon.

“Those crocodiles,” she whispered.

Ayuel shuddered as he shared her thought. For a long time they stared at the river, until the overturned boat and a few scattered bodies floated out of sight.

Two days after crossing the Gilo, Ayuel and his group heard a faint rumbling in the distance, but with the constant tramping of feet around them, it was difficult to identify. As they listened intently, the rumbling became more like low bellowing.

“Sounds like a cattle camp up ahead,” Madau said. “The cows are refusing to move on.”

“We could all use some milk,” Donayok said, who was carrying Chuei on his back. “Especially this one.”

“Hey, Chuei,” Ayuel said, taking his cousin’s limp hand. “I’ll get milk for you in my calabash.” Ayuel ached inside to see the former jokester breathing so hard through his mouth and staring back at him with large sunken eyes. He doesn’t look so good.

Ayuel watched as the crowd up front crested a knoll, picked up speed and dropped out of sight on the other side. The moaning of cattle grew louder. They will take all the milk before we get there.

Malual Kuer ran ahead to the knoll and shouted back to his friends, “Those are people! Not cows. Thousands of them, even more than us. We’re here! We’re at the Ethiopian camp!”

The group picked up their pace to get a glimpse of the camp—their reward for months of misery.

“We made it!” shouted Gutthier.

Similar shouts echoed throughout the throng.

“None of our group died,” Akon said as she caught up with Ayuel and flashed him a weak smile.

An emotion of victory flooded over Ayuel—like winning a very long race. “None of us ever gave up, did we, Akon? God was with us!” he said shaking a small fist in the air as others were doing.

The seventeen bunched closer to one another, wishing to enter the camp together. Visions of everything Officer Chol had promised swirled in Ayuel’s head.

“I don’t see any tents,” Malual said. “I heard my father say one time that refugee camps have tents—and hospitals and schools.” He slowed down a bit as if resisting what might lie ahead.

Indeed, when they merged with the milling thousands, no one met them with food, water or clean clothing. Nothing. A huge soggy and sandy field stretched as far as the eye could see. They noticed a few adults here, mostly women with listless babies in their arms and toddlers clinging to their skirts. Children stood with blank expressions or groaned and sobbed. At their feet lay the dead and dying. Flies moved like a living blanket over the corpses and buzzed in the hot and humid morning air. Mosquitoes rose from muddy puddles and spread stings over the exposed flesh of the new arrivals, leaving beads of blood. The stink is the worst of the whole trip, thought Ayuel, as he dipped his calabash into a shallow pool of water. “I guess it rained here last night,” he said.

Donayok sat Chuei down on a patch of trampled grass. Ayuel held the calabash to Chuei’s lips. He took one sip, then shook his head. “Maybe some more later,” Ayuel said. Then he drank the rest himself.

Ayuel woke early the next morning pressed between Gutthier and Malual Kuer. The group had made a small clump of thorn bushes their “home.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then the hard ball of his stomach and the sagging flesh on his boney arms. He looked at his very closest friend, Malual, and thought he was probably the healthiest of all of them. If anyone lives through this, it will be Malual.

“Hey,” Malual said as he opened his eyes. “What’s going on? Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing,” whispered Ayuel. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. Well, maybe a little this morning.” They had both scouted around the day before, looking for Officer Chol or his soldiers, but no one knew about them. No one seemed to be in authority. “Some people say they’ve been here for days. Maybe this isn’t the camp and we’re all lost.”

“A man told me yesterday that the town of Panyido is just over there.” Malual pointed to some thin lines of smoke coming from morning cooking fires. “This is supposed to be Camp Panyido. The man said you could find scraps of food in their garbage dumps.”

“I’m going to go look around, see what I can find out,” Ayuel said.

Ayuel returned in late morning, his hands full of fish bones and bits of bread he found in the dumps. Malual, Madau and a couple of others from their group were pitching a ball made from rags.

“Want to play catch?” asked Madau.

“Not now. I’ve brought you some food.”

The boys quickly devoured the scraps and resumed their game. Ayuel joined in, but stopped suddenly and asked, “Where’s Chuei? I want to check on him.”

“Asleep over there by the thorn bushes.”

“Hey, Chuei,” Malual said, “Wake up. Let’s play ball.”

“Let me sleep,” Chuei mumbled. “I don’t feel like talking.”

Ayuel shook his shoulder gently.

“Is that you, Mama?” Chuei said with his eyes closed. “Are you bringing me sorghum cakes?” His voice sounded happy, but his words didn’t make sense.

Donayok came over and knelt beside him. Without saying anything he gently turned Chuei’s face toward them.

“What’s wrong with him?” said the boy who held the rag ball.

Donayok pulled Chuei’s eyelids over his eyes. “He’s dead.”

Ayuel grieved over the loss of his cousin Chuei. All day he sat by the thorn bushes next to his cousin’s body. The others came and went. Some stayed awhile. Before he’d lost his family, Ayuel never thought about any of them dying. He’d obeyed his father and his mother. He fought with Aleer and tried to be like Deng. When he took the cows out to pastureland, he never thought about coming back and not finding his family. Life was normal and would go on being normal. Of course, he loved them, but they would always be there. Today he missed them terribly. Worse than ever.

But with Chuei and the others—he knew death hung over their heads. It was all around them. The bonds among them had grown deep and strong. Even the pleading of his uncle hadn’t been able pull him away from his group of seventeen. Somehow by taking care of each other, they had made it all this long way to Ethiopia without losing a single one. Now Chuei had been torn from them. He felt as if his own heart had been ripped from his chest.

Akon came and sat beside him. She stayed a long time with tears trickling down her cheeks. Finally, she said, “I think we should bury him.”

“We have nothing to dig with,” Ayuel said without looking at her.

“We can cover him with brush so he isn’t exposed.…” she offered.

Gutthier, Malual, Madau and some of the others helped break off the brittle thorn-bush branches and make a big mound over their friend. Afterward, Donayok said a prayer and they sang a Dinka hymn about God, the Shepherd of Life and Death, that Malual’s father, the church pastor, had written. Then, with hands bleeding from the thorns, they left their friend and went to look for another spot to call home.

As the group wandered through the masses, they noticed several people running in one direction. They stretched their necks to see what was happening and saw three trucks creeping into the crowd. When the trucks stopped, the boys approached and saw a man climb on top of the cab of the front vehicle.

“That’s Officer Chol!” Madau said with excitement in his voice. “No, I guess not. It’s someone else, but he has a microphone like his.”

The man holding the microphone was neatly dressed in a camouflage uniform. His loud voice echoed over the crowds: “Everyone stand back. Please stand back.” About a dozen men with him pulled out their rifles and surrounded the trucks to make sure everyone obeyed.

“I represent the government of Ethiopia. This maize is a generous gift from the people of Panyido to you. The people brought us whatever they could spare. It is just enough for each group to have one meal. Bring whatever containers you have and we will fill them.” People started clamoring, pushing and yelling.

A gunshot rang out and scared the crowd into silence.

“Now, hear me out,” said the government man. “One person from each group of about twenty, line up over here on the right. Then take your food and your group far to the other side. Don’t, I repeat, don’t eat the grain raw, and don’t eat too much. Chew slowly. The Panyido River is just beyond those trees, so you can get water and boil the grain until it is soft. And don’t come back for more. When these trucks are empty, we will go for the rest that the townspeople have collected so everyone can have one portion. There’s enough…”

The crowd drowned out the officer’s voice as they queued up to the trucks. Donayok sent half his group to fill their containers with water and the others to find firewood. He chose for himself the hardest task of standing in line with their one cooking pot to receive the grain. Even though the river was a mile away, they all knew walking was easier than standing in the hot sun. There would be shade by the water.

Fortunately for the sixteen, their grain lasted for two meals. A few days later, the government of Ethiopia brought in several trucks of maize and gave each group an allotment, enough for a week, with one small meal a day.

Children who had survived long periods without food now began to die from eating more than they were used to. Their thin bodies couldn’t adjust to processing the grain. The flies, filth and stench became unbearable. With thousands of people packed close together in the relentless heat by day and cold by night, they became too weak to make the long trek outside of camp to relieve themselves or to carry away the dead. With the absence of even minimal sanitation and the lack of clean water, large numbers of people became ill with diarrhea, followed by violent vomiting.

Two Ethiopian government men came back in less than a week with an empty truck. Without bothering to get out, one of them talked over a microphone. “We are trying as best we can to get health workers here, but it will be a while. Be patient.” Groans went up from the assembly. “You must clean up the space around you and boil the water you drink. Cholera has broken out here.” Shrieks mingled with the moans. Everyone knew about the vicious and deadly disease. “Take the dead bodies outside the camp, but don’t take them near the river.” The truck turned and sped away.

Ayuel’s group carefully followed the rules now. Like the others, they had become lax, because it took so much of their energy to do anything. But even with all their care, another boy from the group died during the night.