Jacob awoke one morning to the sounds of butting heads and bleating. His young goats had finished grazing and were impatient to get moving. He knelt to drink quickly from the mama goat’s udder. Then, as he did each day, he wrapped two of the ropes around his left hand, and three around the right. The cuts made by the rough ropes slicing into his hands had already healed into hard calluses. “Let’s go!” he said, tugging gently on the ropes. Then, “Whoa!” he yelled, as Oscar almost jerked him off his feet, struggling to get ahead of the others. Indeed, I did a fine job of picking his name, Jacob thought, yanking the feisty little goat back.
At midday, they arrived at a village. Jacob found the small marketplace and his thirst ordered him to find a drink. He tied his five goats firmly to a small tree. “Stay there,” he said sternly, looking back several times and holding up his hand as he walked away. Three of the goats were busy looking around; Mama and Willy were lying down for a rest. Good, Jacob thought. They are tired, they will wait for me. A friendly woman, noticing the young boy alone, offered him a cup of cool water and a piece of fresh mango. She asked after his parents and told Jacob he was about two days outside of Lokichokio. Jacob stayed to talk to her for only a few minutes. “I must check on my goats now,” he said. “But, thank you for your kindness.”
As he approached the area where he’d left his goats, Jacob’s heart plunged like a stone to the very pit of his stomach. He grabbed the frayed end of one of the gray ropes and tugged on it. Please, no, not now, after everything I’ve done, everywhere I’ve been. His brown eyes darted desperately around the souk. “Where are you? You can’t do this to me!” he muttered, turning to the other four goats. “Where did Oscar go? Where is he?”
Monyroor, the big red and white goat, bleated, scratched his bearded chin on the bark, and looked away. The others stared at the boy blankly. If they knew where their brother had gone, they weren’t telling. Jacob untied the other ropes and marched quickly through the market, past the vendors’ stalls, searching behind the rainbow lines of blankets and mats for a furry black and white goat face with bulging eyes. “Have you seen a small goat?” he asked, holding his hand at his waist. “About this big?” Most people just shrugged their shoulders.
“But you already have four fine goats,” one elder said, shaking a crooked finger in Jacob’s face. “Do not be greedy! Remember the lessons of Col Muong!”
“Yes, father,” Jacob said. He ducked his head and continued walking.
He wound his way through the wooden stands, parting the strings of clothing, peering around the stacks of corn, pumpkin, and peanuts, hoping to see the animal scrounging some dinner. He saw many wonderful things that made his own stomach rumble loudly, but Jacob did not see his goat.
As the shadows lengthened, he decided to leave the village and continue walking in the coolness of the coming dusk. Dragging the remaining four goats behind him, his eyes jumping from side to side, like crickets, Jacob set out. I must find that goat! Maybe he will come back, too, like the real Oscar. The desert spread out forever in front of him. His toes curled under, trying to shield his feet from the familiar prick of the sharp needle grasses, painful reminders of the miles his feet had already walked. The dry wind swept the sand up in gusts. It stung against his bare legs and ankles.
He had not gone far when he heard, “Stop!” coming faintly from behind him. “You there—boy!” Spinning around, his thin shoulders tightening, he saw a Dinka man jogging across the desert toward him, a long rifle slung across his back. He was dressed in filthy gray clothing, and a small black and white goat trotted along behind him. It seemed to struggle to keep up on its much shorter legs. Jacob stopped; a huge smile lit up his face. “Oscar!” He knelt down and scooped the little goat up in his arms.
The giant did not return the smile. Sweat streamed down his dusty face, and his hair was matted and dirty. “Does this goat belong to you, boy?” he asked sternly. Towering over Jacob, he blocked the sun’s glare completely.
“Yes, thank you, thank you so much!” Jacob said, keeping his eyes on the rifle. He reached out to take the short chewed rope the man held in his hand. By this time, a small crowd from the market had gathered, watching them, the big soldier and the young boy.
“Uh-uh! Not so fast.” The soldier planted one heavy hand on Jacob’s shoulder. His voice was deep and rough. “Can you prove this goat is yours?”
“Yes, yes I can,” Jacob answered. “Please, look here, uncle. I clipped my goats’ ears—see these four? They are all clipped in the same spot. If you will please check that one, I am sure you will find the same thing.”
The tall soldier bent down and felt the black and white goat’s ears. A flash of white teeth lit up his face like a young moon. “You are right. This must also be your animal.”
Jacob looked up at the man. His voice, it sounded so familiar ... like a trumpeting elephant. Jacob looked at his eyes; they were small and fierce-looking, but this soldier was not as powerful looking as he remembered. When the man bent forward, Jacob saw a single yellow elephant tooth hanging from a ragged string around the soldier’s grimy neck. The image of Teacher Matthew crumpling to the ground flashed into Jacob’s mind. Could it be ...? “Adam?” he asked. “It’s me, Jacob, little uncle of Monyroor.”
Before the soldier could answer, all around them a chorus of “You are so lucky, boy!” “Can you believe it?” and “God is smiling on you today!” filled the air as the market people congratulated Jacob on his good fortune. He grinned and nodded his head.
“This is surely my lucky day,” he agreed, beaming. He turned again to the soldier. “If you don’t mind, uncle, where did you find him?”
The man turned and pointed to the top of a high hill in the distance, just beyond the village. “Up there. I was on patrol and saw him roaming around. I noticed he had a rope around his neck, and suspected he had chewed his way loose.”
“He wanted to be free, I guess,” Jacob answered. “Like all boys. Maybe he does not like his brothers and sister. I think they were fighting while I was away for only a short time.”
The soldier laughed, a deep booming laugh. “Like all brothers and sisters! I hope you will be able to keep a close eye on them until you reach your destination.”
“Of course, I will do my very best. I am on my way to attend boarding school. I will sell these goats to pay for my schooling,” Jacob answered.
“You are an ambitious young man,” Adam said. “I remember you always had many questions to be answered. Perhaps you will find the answers in school. Are your parents still missing?”
“I believe my parents are safe in Heaven, watching over me,” Jacob replied, casting his brown eyes toward the sky. “I have been without them for many years now.”
“And Monyroor—have you seen him?” Adam asked.
“Not since he left to go to Bonga. I haven’t heard any news of him, but I have been in Kakuma Refugee Camp for three years,” Jacob replied. “I was hoping you might know where he is.”
Adam shrugged.
“And my Uncle Daniel—do you know him? He is very strong, a champion wrestler—he has a half-moon scar, right here.” Jacob pointed to his left cheek.
Adam laughed. “I am sorry, I still do not know your Uncle Daniel—Southern Sudan is a very big place, and the SPLA is spread out in many different directions, even here in Kenya.”
“And the war—is the SPLA still winning the war?” Jacob asked. Adam did not look like he was winning any war.
“We are still fighting for our country, but many of our soldiers have been killed; the fields are full of land mines. Others, traitors, have given up and deserted the army. But we will not give up; we will continue to struggle to regain Southern Sudan’s freedom.” Adam spoke strongly, but his voice did not sound as confident as it had in Pinyudo.
“I must continue on my journey,” Jacob said. “Thank you for finding Oscar the goat for me. If you see Monyroor, please tell him I am on my way to school, and that Oscar and Willy are well.”
“I wish you much luck on your journey, then,” Adam said. “Goodbye, and keep safe!”
“Thank you again, uncle. You have been more help than you can ever know,” Jacob answered. “Keep safe!”
How can he still believe peace can be achieved through war? I wonder how many of his friends he has seen die.
Jacob tied the black and white goat to the rope of one of his brothers and continued his trek into the desert. He kept his head down to avoid the sharp sting of grit in his eyes. He held the thick ropes firmly in his small hands and trudged on under the relentless heat of the late afternoon sun.
I wonder if Monyroor is still fighting. Maybe he has become a traitor. Maybe he got sick of the war and returned to Duk. Maybe he is already going to school ...
The heavy rumbling of a truck interrupted Jacob’s thoughts. To his surprise, it stopped just ahead of him.
“I have room for you and your goats, I think,” the driver called.
“Thank you, uncle!” Jacob shouted, running. He lifted the goats onto the flatbed, then climbed up behind them. This is surely my lucky day, he thought, staring up at the starry black African sky above him. Are you watching the stars, too, Mama? Are they singing?
The rocking of the truck soon lulled him to sleep. He jerked awake when it stopped to deliver some water. Jacob jumped to the ground and pulled his goats down with him. “How much farther to Loki?” he asked the driver.
“Not far—you will be there before the sun sleeps tonight,” the man replied, pointing. “Follow that road.”
“Thank you, uncle. My goats and I thank you for saving our feet,” Jacob said, smiling.
As he walked, Jacob imagined himself in boarding school. He would wear a fine new shirt and short pants. Perhaps, just maybe, he would wear shoes, for the first time in his life! Imagine ... but, best of all, there would be books, paper, pencils, and teachers to give him the world. He walked quickly. His little goats struggled to keep up.
Jacob gradually began seeing more and more buildings, trucks, and cars as he walked along the main road into Lokichokio. He came upon a large open-air market on the outskirts of the town so he did not have to take his goat friends too far into the busy streets.
The market was bustling with business; energetic sellers harassed potential customers, waving their wares in their faces. Several scruffy men approached Jacob, asking to buy his animals. Jacob shook his head, refusing the loud men who tried to cheat him by offering much less than the goats’ value.
Eventually, Jacob came upon a butcher’s stall. The meat was neatly displayed under plastic, not crawling with flies as in some of the other stands. The butcher smiled kindly at Jacob and asked him what price he wanted for his goats. Jacob used what little Swahili he had to negotiate with the man. They went back and forth for several minutes and finally agreed upon a price. Jacob passed the ropes of his goats over to the man and tried not to think of what the big butcher would do with his furry friends. He promised Jacob that the mama goat would be sold as a milk goat. Goodbye Mama, Oscar, Willy, Monyroor, and Daniel—thank you for helping me get to school. Jacob was sad to pat their furry noses goodbye, but delighted to see the money. He looked at it in his hand: 3,700 shillings—such a sum! Together with his pay from the translating work, he had over 4,000 shillings. He crammed it all into his pouch and tucked it away safely inside his t-shirt.
Jacob set off, walking briskly in the direction of Kakuma. He couldn’t wait to tell Chol of his great adventures and fortune. Shortly after he left Loki, a UN truck stopped.
“Need a lift to Kakuma?” the driver called back.
“Yes, please,” Jacob shouted. He ran and climbed into the back of the truck. He fingered his money pouch nervously as they approached the camp. Will Oscar and Willy be mad that I left without them? How will I get to Nairobi? How will I ever find a school that will accept a poor orphan boy like me?
He thanked the driver for the ride and went directly to the soccer field. He stood quietly behind some other boys, watching the game. Oscar looked big and strong, even with his crooked arm. As Jacob watched, his friend lifted the ball with his toes, bounced it high off his knee, then slammed the ball between the goal stones with his head.
“Yes!” Oscar shouted, pumping his good arm in the air as his cheering teammates surrounded him. “Who is the best soccer player in all of Kakuma Camp?”
Jacob laughed and made his way onto the field. “Nice one, Oscar,” he said. “I once owned a goat named Oscar that used his head in the same way.”
“You have finished school already?” Oscar turned and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “I knew you were smart, but that is ridiculous. What are you talking about—a goat named Oscar?”
Willy sprinted across the field when he spotted Jacob. He stopped short of hugging his friend and instead punched him lightly on the arm. “You came back!”
Jacob told them of his travels as they walked back to their hut. “And now I must find a ride to Nairobi,” he said, as he showed them his pouch full of shillings.
“Wow—you are very rich!” Willy said. “Don’t worry—we will protect you while you are in Kakuma, Jacob.”
“You should start a business,” Oscar said. “You could supply many things that people in the camp need; extra food, clothing, tools.”
“No,” Jacob said. “I will use the money to go to school. Have you seen Chol? Maybe he will know if there is a Red Cross truck driving to Nairobi soon.” Jacob tucked his pouch safely back inside his t-shirt.
He left his notebooks and storybook beneath a mat in the hut, and together the three boys went to find Chol. He was just finishing his classes for the day. The teacher beamed when he saw Jacob.
“The prodigal son returns!” he exclaimed, giving Jacob a big hug.
“The who?” Oscar asked.
“Never mind—it’s so good to see you, Jacob Deng,” the teacher said.
When Jacob had finished retelling his story, Chol clapped his hands together. “Oh, this is perfect. I know there is a UN truck ready to drive back to Nairobi tonight. They plan to leave before dark.”
“Tonight?” Jacob looked at his friends. “So soon?”
“Can’t you stay longer?” Willy said. “You only just got back.”
They walked together to the UN tent. Several men were busy loading empty water containers into the back of a truck.
“My books!” Jacob said. “I can’t leave without my books.”
“I’ll get them,” Oscar volunteered. He raced away while Jacob and Chol discussed the travel arrangements with the truck driver.
Oscar arrived back just as the white men were getting ready to close up the doors of the truck. Jacob was to ride with the water jugs in the back as there was no room in the cab.
Willy’s lips trembled as Jacob put one foot on the floor of the truck box. Jacob turned and put an arm around his shoulders. “You are strong now, Willy. You and Oscar can look after each other—I will be back someday ... maybe you can soon join me at school.”
“I still have not learned to be patient, Jacob,” the small boy said, wiping his eyes. “But I will keep trying.”
“We’ll save a spot for you in our beautiful house,” Oscar said, “unless, of course, I am recruited by a professional soccer team while you are away.”
Jacob laughed, then turned to Chol. “Thank you, Teacher. I would not be prepared to make this journey if you had not helped me along the way.”
Chol put one hand on each of Jacob’s shoulders. “You will be a brilliant, shining star, Jacob. God bless, and wadeng—look always to tomorrow.”
Jacob climbed into the back of the truck and the heavy door rattled shut. He curled up in the dark on a bundle of rags and woven bags in one corner. As the truck rumbled away from Kakuma, the memory of his friends’ voices soon sang Jacob to sleep.
In the morning, the UN workers woke Jacob and made room for him between them in the truck’s cab as they approached the city. “Have you been to Nairobi before?” the driver asked. He was a young white man with curly brown hair. He also wore a cross around his neck.
Jacob rubbed his own cross, then shook his head. “Never,” he said. “But I have heard that it is a big city. I have seen pictures of it in books.”
The men laughed. “A very big city,” the driver said. “Much bigger than a picture could show.”
Before long, they could see the city in the distance, more tall buildings than Jacob could have imagined; massive towers that rose into the sky like enormous square termite mounds with sparkling windows. Great lines of cars and trucks crawled noisily down the streets, honking and rumbling as clouds of gray smoke poured out behind them.
“I think it would have taken me a very long time to walk to Nairobi,” Jacob said to the men as they stood stretching their legs. “Thank you for driving me.”
The driver laughed. “It would be impossible to walk from Kakuma to Nairobi. It would take months.”
Jacob smiled and waved goodbye. That would not have been my first time walking for months, but I am glad I did not have to, he thought.
Jacob left the UN compound and arrived at a busy street. He stood, looking in all directions, unsure of what to do next, when he noticed a small boy sitting on a wooden crate.
“Do you know where there is a school?” Jacob asked in English.
The boy shrugged, then held up the palms of his hands. His eyes rested on the bulge underneath Jacob’s t-shirt.
“No English? Swahili?” Jacob asked.
The boy nodded his head.
Jacob repeated his question in Swahili. “Do you know where there is a school?”
The boy stood up and took Jacob’s hand in his small, grimy one. “Follow me.”
Jacob followed his new friend down many streets, wide streets lined with tall concrete buildings and narrow streets with stores and lower brick buildings. Many of the structures had enormous words and pictures painted on them. Jacob’s head swiveled in all directions as he tried to take it all in. I hope I was right to trust this boy; I am completely lost now.
Finally, they came to a neat, low brick building with several flowering trees out front—red, pink, and yellow. The sign above the gate read: Nairobi Academy. The yard was full of noisy boys, wrestling and chasing each other across the grass. Several boys were playing soccer in one half of the yard.
A tall boy slammed the ball between the sticks they were using as goalposts. “Yes! I am a star soccer player!” Jacob grinned, then turned back to say goodbye to his helper.
The small boy stood with his face pressed between the steel bars of the fence, staring at the schoolboys playing soccer.
“Thank you so much,” Jacob said. “I could have never found this school without you.” He reached out to shake the boy’s hand. “Goodbye—and wadeng. That means, ‘Look to tomorrow; it will be better,’ in my language.”
The boy didn’t answer, but remained standing, his dirty face poking through the bars, his hands gripping them tightly, as Jacob walked up the stone path to the front door.
A tall man with a mustache stood just inside the door. “May I help you?” he asked stiffly. He did not smile and spoke very quickly.
“Yes, please. I am looking for the headmaster of this fine school,” Jacob said. “I would like to be a student here.”
“I am the headmaster.” The man looked down at Jacob and stroked his mustache. “But this school is very expensive. Do you have parents to pay your tuition?”
Jacob shook his head. “No, uncle. I am all alone in the world. But I do have money.” He pulled his pouch out from beneath his t-shirt. He moved his cross out of the way so he could open the pouch to show the headmaster his shillings.
The man did not meet Jacob’s eyes, but stared at the silver cross as he spoke. “I am sorry. We are full at the moment. Try Laiser Hill Academy—it is several miles west of Nairobi.”
“I am sorry to hear that you do not have room. Thank you, Headmaster. I will try Laiser Hill Academy.” Wrapping his hand around his cross, Jacob turned and walked back through the wooden doors. I think he did not like my cross. Perhaps he does not believe in my God. Several miles west of Nairobi—how will I ever find that?
When he returned to the street, the small boy had disappeared. Jacob’s stomach started growling—he had been too busy to think of food since arriving in Nairobi. He sniffed the air. Ummmm ... roasting meat. He followed the delicious smell and came upon a man roasting meat over a small fire; it sizzled and crackled as the fat dripped onto the flames. The man smiled up at Jacob.
“Only half a shilling for a handsome boy like you,” he said, holding out a stick with several juicy chunks of meat skewered on it. “It is goat meat.”
Jacob put his hand in his pocket. Passing the money to the man, he said, “This smells so delicious. I have not eaten meat for many, many seasons.”
Jacob sat down on a nearby stone step and began gnawing hungrily on the meat, trying not to think of his goat friends. As he licked his lips, he noticed the same small boy, leaning against a wall nearby, watching him. He was about the same size as Willy. Jacob held up the skewer. “Would you like some?”
The boy ran across the street and crouched down next to Jacob. Jacob passed him a big chunk of the meat, which the boy shoved into his mouth all at once, wolfing it down without seeming to chew, like a starving dog. After he had swallowed, he smacked his lips and rubbed his belly. “You are hungry,” Jacob said. “I, too, know what it is like to be hungry.”
The boy said nothing, but continued to stare at the food. Jacob handed him a second piece, then continued eating. When the meat was all gone, Jacob licked the grease from each of his fingers, then stood up to leave. The boy followed him.
Jacob pointed to himself. “I am Jacob.”
“Jabari,” the small boy said. “It means ‘fearless.’”
“That is a good, strong name. Maybe you can help me, Jabari. I need to go several miles west of Nairobi,” Jacob said to him, pointing in the direction of the setting sun. “Could you help me?”
The boy nodded and again Jacob followed him through the crowded streets of Nairobi. When they reached the outskirts, Jabari began walking backwards, waving his thin arm in the air at each vehicle as it drove past, leaving the boys in a cloud of dust. Finally, a battered brown truck stopped, and the driver jerked his thumb toward the rough wooden box on the back. The boys hopped on and held tightly to the wobbly wooden sides as the truck bounced along over the rough road. After several minutes, the man stopped the truck and got out.
“That’s the end of the line, boys,” he said in Swahili.
“Thank you, uncle. Could you tell me if we are near Laiser Hill Academy?” Jacob asked.
“Walk that way for about five minutes,” the man said. “You can’t miss it.”
The school was not a tall building, but rather a collection of low white concrete buildings spread out over a large area. One appeared to be a church, as it had a large brown cross above the doorway. Beyond the tall red gate, palm trees and flowering bushes lined the neat stone walkway leading up to the front door. Once again, Jabari waited outside the gate, watching as Jacob walked to the door.
A man sat behind a desk just inside the door. He wrote down Jacob’s name, then told him to have a seat on a chair in the dark hallway outside a big wooden door. The word HEADMASTER was written on it in shiny gold letters. Chairs are not much softer than the ground, Jacob thought, squirming to get more comfortable. He looked around at the walls, which were covered with paintings, pictures of trees, boys wrestling and playing soccer, and cattle. Several of them looked like scenes from Kakuma.
Jacob jumped as a shrill ringing sound disturbed the silence. The man behind the desk picked up something black, put it to his ear and mouth; the ringing stopped as he spoke into it. But who is he talking to? Jacob wondered, looking around. I am the only one here.
A minute later, the door swung silently inwards, and a small man wearing a pleasant smile stood in the doorway, with his hands clasped in front of him. “Jacob Deng?” he said. “Please come in and have a seat. I am Headmaster Wangai.” The headmaster lowered his wire glasses to the end of his nose as he took a seat behind his wide black desk. He had warm, friendly eyes, and he was wearing a crisp white shirt with a tie around his neck. It was a blue tie, a Mama’s-dressblue tie. Jacob relaxed at the thought of Mama.
Jacob pulled the string out from beneath his t-shirt and set his sack of money down on the desk. “My name is Jacob Deng, son of Joseph, and I would like to go to school,” he said simply. “I am quite sure I am an orphan, but I am very good in English, and I am a very hard worker.”
“And where have you come from, Jacob Deng?”
“My home is Duk Padiet, in Southern Sudan. I am from the Dinka people, but the war has caused me to live in refugee camps for almost seven years. More than half my life.”
Jacob looked directly at the headmaster. He sat very still as the man took in his dusty clothing, bare feet, and trusting face. When he rubbed his furrowed forehead, Jacob thought of Monyroor.
“I am sorry,” the headmaster said at last, sighing deeply. He looked away and began shuffling some papers around on his desk. “We cannot take boys who do not have parents, or at least a guardian, to care for them if there is a problem.”
Jacob’s face crumpled. His shoulders sank as he slumped down in the wooden chair. The clock on the wall ticked as loudly as a drum. Jacob folded his hands in his lap and squeezed them together tightly, trying to force his tears to stay inside. I will not cry ... I will not cry ... Dinka men don’t cry ... “Please, father. I have walked so far to come to school,” he pleaded. “I will work harder than any other boy in your school. I promise.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Jacob, but the rules are the rules, I’m afraid. Is there a chance you could get a letter from a relative—maybe an uncle or an older brother who would act as your guardian?” The headmaster looked out the window and avoided Jacob’s searching brown eyes.
Jacob pulled his shoulders back and sat up straight. “I will try,” he said. “I will try very hard. But my village is far from Nairobi. Are there many Dinka people living in your fine city?”
“I will ask one of our teachers. He has family in the Bor District of Southern Sudan.”
Jacob jumped up out of his chair. “But that is my district, also. Please tell him my name is Jacob Akech Deng. My father was Joseph Akech Deng. I am sure he must know of him, as he was a great man of many cattle.”
“Please, excuse me.” The headmaster pulled the heavy, wooden door shut behind him.
Jacob looked around the office. Every wall was lined with books. Fat books and skinny ones, tall ones and small ones, books of every color. Jacob got up and ran his fingers along the spines of one row of books. He chose a thick one, opened it and pressed his nose to the pages. His heart began to beat faster. I must go to this school. There must be a way ...
He jerked around as the headmaster cleared his throat. “I am sorry, uncle. I did not mean to intrude—it’s just, I have never seen so many books before. You must be a very rich man.” Jacob held up his own book. “I have only one book.”
The headmaster laughed. “Well, I am rich in books, I suppose.” He sat back down. “I am sorry my news is not better— the teacher says he does not know of a Nairobi neighborhood populated by Dinka men.”
Jacob sat back in his chair and began rubbing his ears. “I have many relatives. But how could I find one in this big city? And I have no place to stay while I am here. Could you suggest a place, headmaster Wangai?”
“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.