Hare in the Elephant's Trunk Page 19

  Willy clapped his hands. “Jacob? I asked you a question.”

  “Huh? Oh, nothing.” Jacob answered, busying himself with cleaning up and gathering together his school books.

  When they arrived at school, Majok and several other boys were saying goodbye as they prepared to climb on board a UN supply truck headed for Nairobi. Jacob stood quietly at the back of the crowd. Majok spotted him and made his way toward him.

  “Do you have a problem, Jacob?” he asked. “You do not look like a happy hare this morning. Will you miss me?” His tongue darted out to lick his lips, just as it always had.

  Jacob shook his head. “Not really, Majok. But I do wish I was going with you.”

  “The library won’t be the same without me, will it, Jacob? Have you heard from your family?”

  Jacob shook his head again. “I think they have all disappeared. But there must be some way I can get the money for school.”

  “Good luck, then. If you get to Nairobi, I’ll be wearing a fine set of school clothes—you might not recognize me.” He pointed to his t-shirt and shorts. “These rags will be in the trash.”

  “Oh, I would recognize you anywhere, Majok. Sss ... sss ... so long!” Jacob punched his competitor lightly on the shoulder. “I hope you can find someone as smart as me to compete with at boarding school.”

  “Say goodbye to Monkey Boy for me,” Majok called out as he climbed onto the back of the waiting truck. “I don’t plan on ever returning to Kakuma Refugee Camp. If I hear any good jokes, I’ll write to him—you can translate.”

  All day long, Jacob’s mind drifted away from his studies as he imagined Majok and the other boys sitting in boarding school. But I am smarter than them; it’s not fair. It should be me who gets to go to school.

  Jacob looked down at Willy as they walked home after school. “You are growing up, Willy,” he said thoughtfully, placing a hand on the smaller boy’s head, which now came above Jacob’s shoulder.

  “Your good cooking is helping me grow, Jacob!” Willy patted his smooth, round belly.

  After supper, Jacob sat quietly by himself, looking through the firelight at his dusty Kakuma neighborhood. He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. Can I do this, Mama? Am I ready? Mama’s gentle face came to him, more clearly than usual; she smiled and nodded her head. Jacob struggled to see her lips as they formed words. Wadeng, Jacob. Wadeng. I hear you, Mama, Jacob thought. I hear you ...

  He gathered together the few things he owned and jammed everything into his school bag. From an old t-shirt, he had made a small pouch for his money, which he put on a string to wear around his neck next to his cross. When they were settling into bed that night, he had trouble looking at Willy and Oscar and speaking to them normally. This will be difficult for Willy—he is like a small brother to Oscar and me. Oscar has lots of other friends, but I hope he will look out for Willy.

  “Just one quick joke,” Oscar said. “Why did the soccer ball quit the team? Come on, this is an easy one.”

  “Because Majok was on the team?” Willy guessed.

  “Nice try, but no. Give up? Because it was tired of being kicked around!”

  “Good night, Oscar. Good night, Willy. Wadeng ...” Jacob barely slept all night; he rolled from side to side as questions poked into him like many sharp stones in the ground. How long will it take me to walk back to Sudan? How much money will my belongings be worth? How much money will I need to pay for boarding school? What will happen to Willy and Oscar?

  Jacob turned his head and watched his friends sleeping peacefully beside him, the smaller boy with his smooth cheek pressed against Oscar’s crooked arm. He smiled. At least they will have each other... I will see them again. The message he printed in the dirt said simply, “Gone to school ...”

  BOOK V

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  SOUTHERN SUDAN, 1994

  Jacob set off before dawn broke, wanting to cover as much ground as possible before the sun found him walking again. He slipped out of the tent without making a sound, then hefted his book bag onto his back. Looking carefully at each of the familiar lean-tos of his neighborhood, he tiptoed past and stopped outside the library. “Thank you for making my world bigger,” he whispered. He hesitated outside the school, then stuck his head inside the doorway one last time. It is the first time I have been here that Chol is not. Thank you, Chol; thank you, Matthew; thank you, school. As the fuzzy armyworm of tears threatened to crawl up his throat, he turned, ducked under the fence, and walked briskly away into the open desert.

  It seemed all of Kakuma was still asleep; even the rooster didn’t see him leaving. At least this time I have food and water with me. Jacob checked his bag to make sure he’d packed his stack of kisra. He had made extra over the past few days and wrapped them carefully in plastic to prevent his notebooks from being damaged. He had also packed three plastic bottles full of water. What we would have given for these bottles on our long walks ...

  As he walked along in the gray desert silence, Jacob thought of Duk and his family. It is too far for me to walk home again— not right now ... someday ... He imagined his sisters and Mama waiting for him in the village. Most likely they had fixed up their hut and cattle-byre by now. Probably the older boys were at cattle camp, and the younger children were chasing fireflies and playing tag. I hope what I imagine is true—maybe it is just another of my stories ... When I get to school in Nairobi, I will write letters to Mama. Maybe she will find someone to help her write back to me.

  I am almost old enough now to have my own big ox. Jacob thought of Uncle Daniel and stroked his own smooth forehead. Someday, I would like to go to cattle camp, but I will go to school first. My time with Uncle Daniel at the cattle camp seems like another life now. I wonder if he is still the wrestling champion of Bor District.

  Some days, the desert silence was so loud that it made Jacob’s ears ring. He sang to fill the silence.

  I shall turn the land upside down,

  I shall change the land.

  I am a small boy but I am a man.

  I sit in the place where words flow ...

  Jacob wrote stories in his head to make the time go more quickly. He tried to think of interesting ways to describe the passing landscape around him. The white fluffy clouds in the distance were like snow-covered mountains. As he walked, the boy wished for the snow to fall on him; he wondered how it would feel, melting into cold water on his thirsty tongue. Jacob tried to remember everything that had happened since he’d left home, but it was impossible. His thoughts were all jumbled up, and he wished he could have kept them in a notebook. Of course, I couldn’t write when we walked to Pinyudo, and, of course, we were too busy trying not to die ...

  He stared at passing ostriches enviously. If only I had such long legs, he thought, watching as they raced by effortlessly. Their long, skinny legs allowed them to travel almost as fast as the few trucks that drove past. I take five strides for every one of theirs. Jacob was lucky enough to have a relief truck give him a ride part of the way. He felt blessed, bumping along the rough tracks in the back of the truck, even as the cartons and sacks of supplies jostled and banged into him. He held onto the edges of the truck box, closed his eyes and enjoyed the cool whoosh of the breeze against his warm skin.

  Jacob knew he was nearing the border between Kenya and Southern Sudan when he began to see leafy trees and patches of grass more often. His nose no longer felt raw from breathing in dry dust. The world began to smell fresh again; it began to smell like home. Soon he walked in cool, green grass most days and often found shade beneath acacia and baobab trees. Several times he found rainwater caught in the bowls of old and hollow baobabs. He didn’t meet many other travelers, but the few he did meet all spoke to him in the musical tones of Dinka. I am home, Jacob thought, smiling to himself as he looked around. This is my homeland. I have missed it.

  One morning, several days past Lokichokio, he came upon a prosperous-looking village surrounded by tree-covered hills. The huts w
ere well-kept, the goat pens were full of spotless animals and the compound was swept clean of rocks. Women and children walked back and forth across the yard, going about their daily chores, speaking Dinka and laughing together. It seems so calm and peaceful, Jacob thought. He felt a pang of longing as he drew closer and could hear their friendly words being tossed about. He chose the largest hut in the village and approached a man who was sitting on a stool, leaning back against the wall in the sun, with his eyes closed.

  “Excuse me, uncle,” Jacob said quietly.

  “Oh! I was almost asleep.” The man sat up straight, blinked, and rubbed his eyes with callused hands.

  “I am wondering if you have any need of some excellent clothing for your fine children.” Jacob held open his bag of treasures.

  “Well ... I ... Who are you? And where do you come from with such good quality items?”

  “I am Jacob Deng, son of Joseph. I come from Duk Padiet, to the north and west of here, but for many years now I have lived in refugee camps, most recently Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya.”

  “I am also Joseph. May I ask where you are going, Jacob Deng?” the farmer said kindly. “It is not safe for you to be in Sudan, a young boy all alone.”

  “Soon, I will be going to boarding school in Kenya. But first, I must earn the money to pay for such expensive schooling.”

  “You are a smart boy. You have not joined the SPLA—I am afraid they are now as responsible as the northern government for this forever war.”

  “I hope you are mistaken, uncle,” Jacob said. “I hope the SPLA is still trying to win Southern Sudan’s freedom for all of us. My nephew and uncle are soldiers in the army.”

  “Perhaps ... I am sorry, but I have no money to buy any of your things.” Joseph looked at Jacob’s items with interest. “Although my children are in need of some clothing.”

  “Maybe you have something else that could be of use to me,” Jacob looked all around the compound. “Are those your crops over there?” He pointed to a large field of tall, leafy green plants.

  “Ah, yes. That is my tobacco crop—not quite ready for harvesting yet. But I do have some already dried in my tukul; perhaps we could work out a trade.” The farmer looked Jacob up and down, as if sizing up the boy’s ability to conduct business. His eyes lingered on the bulge of Jacob’s pouch, which he kept tucked inside his shirt.

  Jacob put his hand over the pouch. “Yes, uncle. That is a very good idea. What do you propose?”

  “I am willing to part with one cone of my excellent tobacco, in exchange for your clothing and book bag,” the farmer said. “One cone of tobacco represents many hours of hard labor.” He held up the callused palms of his hands as evidence of his hard work.

  Jacob paced back and forth in front of the hut, looking into his bag, and then back at Joseph. “I am afraid my things are more valuable than just one cone, uncle. Let me think.” He knelt down beside the farmer, and slowly removed each of his things from the bag.

  “That is a strong sweater.” The farmer admired its thick, heavy cotton. “It would keep my son warm during the cool winter evenings.” He held up a red t-shirt. “And what do these words say?”

  “Just Do It!” Jacob read, translating the words into Dinka.

  “Do what?” the farmer asked.

  Jacob shrugged. “Whatever you must do, I suppose.”

  Joseph picked up the notebooks and Matthew’s folktale book wrapped in plastic. “These are no good to us; we cannot read.”

  Jacob hastily set the books aside. “Oh, no, I cannot trade my books. I will need them when I get to school.” He sat and rubbed his ears while the farmer looked at his belongings. “I have an idea,” Jacob said finally, sitting on the ground at Joseph’s feet. “How many children do you have, uncle?”

  “I have five small children who live in this compound. The oldest is about the same size as you. You can see their beautiful mother, my faithful and youngest wife, hanging the mats on the line over there.”

  “Your children are most fortunate to have such parents to look after them,” Jacob said.

  “And where are your parents, Jacob?”

  “I am afraid they are both in Heaven.” Jacob lifted his eyes to the sky.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Joseph said. “This war has been very good for growing abaar. There are too many Sudanese orphans.”

  “I’ve been alone for many years now, uncle.” Jacob sat staring into space for several more minutes, then jumped to his feet. “I have it! If I tell you that I will teach each of your five children more than two dozen of the most important things in the world, all before sunrise tomorrow, will you agree to trade me five cones of your fine tobacco for the items in my bag? One cone for each of your children?”

  Joseph laughed. “You should be working in the souk, Jacob. You make a hard bargain. But I will take you up on your promise. Twenty-four important things—I have not yet been successful in teaching my children even to come when I call them for supper!”

  Jacob stuck out his hand. “Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  Joseph called his five children, two sons and three daughters, to come and meet Jacob. He showed Jacob a small storage hut and gave him permission to use it for the night. “You may keep the children with you overnight, if it is necessary. My good wife would enjoy a one-night holiday!”

  “Thank you. Please excuse me, but you must leave us alone now, uncle,” Jacob said politely. “We have work to do.”

  Jacob and the five children stayed in the small hut all evening, coming out only to use the latrine and get a drink of water. Joseph and his wife sat talking by the fire.

  “What can he be teaching them that is keeping them so busy and quiet?” the wife wondered. “It sounds like they are singing, but it is not a song I recognize.”

  “More than twenty-four of the most important things in the world,” Joseph answered, shaking his head. “If he is successful, he will have more than earned his five cones of our tobacco.”

  As the sun peeked over the horizon, Jacob lined the children up around the fire pit, where their mother was grinding grain for breakfast. Each of the children held a small stick. They giggled and poked each other as they waited. “Now, before you eat, please show your parents what you have learned.” Jacob sat down beside them to listen.

  And the children began. “We have learned our abcs; we will show you, if you please!” they chanted together.

  “A is for Ant,” the first one said, writing the letter in the dirt.

  “B is for Ball,” the second one said.

  “C is for Cattle,” the littlest girl said.

  “D is for Dog,” the bigger boy said.

  “E is for Elephant,” the fifth one said. And so it continued, straight through to the twenty-sixth letter of the English alphabet.

  When they had finished, Jacob looked across the fire at Joseph and his wife. The farmer sat holding his wife’s hand, beaming at his children. His wife had tears in her eyes. “How did you do that? We do not even understand what they are saying, but it is a miracle that my children could learn the entire English alphabet, and in only one night!”

  Joseph stood up, hugged each of his children and shook Jacob’s hand. “Thank you, Jacob—I am hopeful my oldest son will soon be able to go to the next village to attend school. He will become a smart, educated boy like you.”

  Jacob nodded. “You are most welcome. But now I must be on my way; I am anxious to get to boarding school.”

  Joseph carried the five tall cones of dried tobacco from the tukul and helped Jacob strap them onto his back. His wife gave Jacob some warm kisra wrapped in a green leaf.

  “Thank you, both. These are heavier than they look.” Jacob wiggled his shoulders to distribute the weight of the tobacco more evenly. “I am off to Nairobi, then.”

  “Safe travels.” Joseph waved goodbye. As Jacob walked away, the children began singing the alphabet loudly, screaming it as Jacob turned around and waved once more. He journe
yed on, heading back toward Kenya, the tall cones of tobacco strapped securely to his back. At first, the sweet, sickly smell made his stomach a bit queasy, but he soon grew used to its strong odor.

  Dear Mama: Look down at your little Jacob—I am like a rich man with five big cones of tobacco. Can you see me strutting along, Mama? I wonder who will want to buy them from me.

  As Jacob got deeper into Kenya again, the land quickly became drier. The sandy winds blew against his skin like the hot breath of desert dragons, lurking in the surrounding mountain caves. He rested several times in the shade of enormous termite towers, some of them taller than even the baobabs in Sudan. I am thankful for the food I have—at least I will not have to think about eating these termites! He was careful with his remaining food, even though he knew his journey this time would not be as long as the others.

  From a distance one morning, Jacob saw a great herd of goats swarming across the sand. This must be the Turkana—I hope they will not be the same fierce ones who stole from Kakuma ...

  By midday, Jacob was wading through the herd of bleating goats, approaching one of the herdsmen, who was busy prodding his animals with the long stick he carried and didn’t seem to notice Jacob.

  “Hello, uncle!” Jacob called out.

  The man looked up, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to his friend and shouted something Jacob didn’t understand. The two men laughed. Jacob smiled nervously as they came closer.

  One of the men pointed to Jacob’s back. “Etaba.” He put his fingers to his lips as though he was smoking. Jacob smiled and nodded. The men were bigger than him—would they try to steal his tobacco?

  The herders moved away from the middle of the herd of goats and sat down on the small, three-legged stools they carried under one arm. They began gesturing and talking to Jacob. He picked up a few words, and guessed they were speaking Turkana; it sounded a little like Dinka, and a little like Swahili, a language Jacob knew some of from his translation work.