RUMORS ABOUNDED WITHIN THE SPLA that we needed to go back to Sudan—the situation in Ethiopia was becoming untenable. We chalked it up to hyperbole and rumor. Then in 1991, when I was about thirteen years old, an Ethiopian jet fighter opened fire on Itang, forcing hundreds of thousands of us to flee for our lives. Ethiopia’s Mengistu Haile Mariam had been deposed by rebel forces who, in league with our enemy, northern Sudan, wanted all southern Sudanese refugees out of Ethiopian territory.

We were now sandwiched between two wars—the first one among the Ethiopians, who now sought to eject us from their country, and the second one between the SPLA and the government in Khartoum.

I was around the UN food-rationing area when the attacks started. It was the rainy season and the Nile was overflowing. I ran to my stepmother Elizabeth’s house. She had already fled. I ran to my mother’s house. She too had fled. My family had fled toward the forest. I was alone, stranded.

Everyone with strength ran toward one of two places, the UN storage facility or the SPLA armory within the camp. The UN facility had food supplies, while the SPLA armory had guns and bullets. I ran toward the armory, where I witnessed indiscriminate killing as people fought over guns. One person would go into the armory and come out with four guns. Someone else, wielding a gun, would see them.

GUN WIELDER: You have four guns. Give me two!

LOOTER: Get out of my way. I got here first!

And now a gunfight would ensue. It was unbelievable to see those under siege fight among themselves. This just went to show how valuable guns were to my people at the time.

Seeing this, I decided I wouldn’t take a gun from the armory, because if someone saw a kid with a gun, they would certainly have taken it away from me. Instead, I decided to grab a bag of bullets, which I intended to trade for food along the way. I knew there would be an excess of guns but a shortage of bullets. Luck was on my side because the bag of bullets I picked was for the M16, rare and expensive. AK-47 bullets were affordable and more readily available.

I came across a stray donkey wandering around, its owner having fled. This was a relief because I couldn’t have managed to carry the heavy bag of bullets a long distance. I put the bag on the donkey and started walking toward the health facility. When I got there, I found a group of gunmen ransacking the place, throwing patients off beds and stealing the mattresses. The storage room for medicine was also ransacked and mostly emptied. Given all this destruction and chaos, I realized we might never return to Itang.

What surprised me was that amid the violence and chaos of that moment, I thought of nothing else but school. I was heartbroken, knowing that the only chance I had gotten of receiving an education was now being blown by the fighting. As I walked through the melee at the hospital, looking like an innocent bystander, I picked up an old, muddied magazine from the floor. I perused it and was visually struck by what I later learned was a map of Africa. I ripped out that particular page and put it in my pocket and proceeded to take my own little share of the medicine from the floor of the plundered storage room.

When I emerged back into the fray, I found my stray donkey, with my bullets still on it, and got moving toward Sudan. I didn’t necessarily know the direction; all I had to do was follow the mass of people. As we moved, there were incidents of people violently snatching things from each other. The operating rule seemed to be that any possession was a valuable possession in wartime. This made me disguise myself further as a harmless child, not wanting to attract attention and have my bullets and medicine taken away. Walking the donkey—which was unwise, given that we were all trying to get away as fast as possible—provided me with further cover, making me appear confused.

I kept looking for my brothers and pregnant mother as I walked along. When night came, no one seemed to be sleeping. There was gunfire all around. Guns being a hot commodity, everyone with a firearm was a target. If you had a gun, someone else wanted it. People even preyed upon SPLA soldiers because they were no longer the only ones who were armed. Others were shooting at imaginary enemies. I got tired and passed out in the middle of nowhere. The elderly and sick had been left behind in Itang. This was the most chaotic war I had ever seen.

I was completely terrified, thinking of the journey ahead of me to get back to war-torn Sudan. And during the night, I thought the most about my pregnant mother. It was wet and cold, and I couldn’t imagine her facing such harsh weather in her condition. I thought I had become a man, an adult, worrying about others, though I was hardly in my teens. I was hoping that my mother had somehow reconnected with Chuol and Duany, who before this attack had returned to Itang from their SPLA training. In that case, she would be fine, since my older brothers could fend for her and protect her no matter how difficult things got. And, boy, had Oder been alive…

Throughout the days, I kept the image of my mother in my mind’s eye and she kept me company, her high cheekbones rising even higher as she smiled at me. Under my breath I repeated the stories she used to tell me—about how the zebra got its stripes or the dog lost its voice. I missed her ability to make sense of everything.

The group of people I was moving with finally settled at a place called Makoat. It was a raised dry area, surrounded by a swampy area, on the bank of the Nile. I thought I would find my mother there, since a group had already arrived. With a friendly Nuer family, I traded some of my bullets and pills for food, which kept me alive for a few days. After spending a week in Makoat wandering around like a madman looking for my family, I bumped into my auntie Nyantek, her son Wunbil Koak Duany, and her partner, Mr. Guok Ruach. They had just arrived from a nearby locale called Kiirinbor. Auntie used to make fun of Guok, insisting he was her “partner in crime,” because in Nuer culture there’s no such thing as a widow having a “boyfriend.”

They told me my mother and brothers had taken refuge at Kiirinbor, and were frantic, not knowing my whereabouts, desperately looking for me.

UNCLE GUOK: You, Wunbil, will take Ger to rejoin his family in Kiirinbor.

WUNBIL: Fine. But he will have to leave that stupid donkey or it will slow us down.

As much as I hated to, I left my donkey, bullets, and medicine in Makoat, and the two of us made our way to Kiirinbor.

When we arrived, we found my mother lying under a tree, where she had recently given birth to Gok, who was wrapped in the few items of clothing she had brought along. My mother, a bit frail, pulled me close to touch my head, as if that was the spot to check on my health. Then she held me in a tight embrace.

MUM: You had us worried, Ger. But I am happy you made it. Meet your little brother.

Gok, who would grow up to have most of my features, just lay there, comfortable in the little castle my mother had built him of twigs stuck in the ground and draped with blankets to protect him from the sun and wind. I looked at his tender hands, wanting to play with him. Here was one more person I was now responsible for, since I could no longer pass for a child.

MUM: Ger, get yourself some rest. You must be tired.