Survival of the Fittest and How the Lost Boy Survived It All

By Mator Adol Mawien

Since 1983, Sudan has been the epicenter of a horrific conflict. Battles between northern Sudans government forces and the southern Sudanese Peoples Liberation Army have left scars and ethnic divisions too numerous for world media to cover. Each day, thousands of refugees escape to neighboring regions. Mass killings, torture, and rape are common practice within and around the borders. Survival of the Fittest is not only the story of Mator Adol-Mawiens survival but his relentless drive to find freedom from his captors and justice for his people.
Malek Tor, a wise man known for his predictions in my Dinka village, predicted my birth. He said my parents fourth born would be a boy, and they were to name him Mator. It means dust storm, wind storm, and tornado in the Dinka language. It would not be long before he was proven correct.
I was the throne-holder for my family, a future king, and I was treated very well. All who entered my kingdom knew that I had a big heart and followed in my fathers greatness. But when the northern army entered my village with the intent to kill and destroy, escaping Sudan became the only option for my survival.
I was only nine years old when SPLA soldiers rescued me from my village, telling me that they wanted to make sure my village was safe before they would reunite me with my family. Thousands of miles later, I realized they lied. The civil war killed many in my village, including my father and other family members. Many of my friends either died or found themselves torn from their families, as I had been.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Dec 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449778866

Mator Adol Mawien

Mator Adol-Mawien is a Sudanese refugee educated in the United States. He currently holds a master’s degree in criminal justice administration and is working on admissions into law school. He is a member of the Henderson Writers’ Group, a writers critique group that is very supportive of this nonfiction effort. With the help and encouragement of published and unpublished authors, writers, and friends, Mator realizes that his journey has only just begun.

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SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

AND HOW THE LOST BOY SURVIVED IT ALL

Mator Adol Mawien

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Copyright © 2010, 2013 Mator Adol.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7887-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7888-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7886-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923642

WestBow Press rev. date: 2/7/2013

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

When The War Erupted In My Home

Chapter 2

Wounded People

Chapter 3

The Rope

Chapter 4

Building The Huts

Chapter 5

Mayak’s Rules

Chapter 6

Panyindo Hospital

Chapter 7

The Seeds Of Tomorrow

Chapter 8

Panyindo School

Chapter 9

Boot Camp

Chapter 10

First Attempt To Escape Panyindo Camp

Chapter 11

Third Attempted Escape

Chapter 12

Panyindo Cemetery

Chapter 13

Fourth And Final Escape From The Panyindo Camp

Chapter 14

The 1991 Civil War In Ethiopia

Chapter 15

Antunov Attacks

Chapter 16

Life Between Numile And Pageri

Chapter 17

Kakuma Camp In Kenya

Chapter 18

Ifo Camp

Chapter 19

Arrival To America

Chapter 20

My First Job In America

Chapter 21

Life In Arlington, Virginia

Chapter 22

Starting College

Chapter 23

Message To The Lost Boys

SKU-000565090_TEXT.pdf

Map of Sudan before we separated on July 9, 2011. The picture on the map indicates the location of my hometown Turalei where I started walking to Ethiopia, back to Sudan, and then Kenya. The arrows point to countries/places that I went to after leaving my hometown.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

With utmost sincerity, I would like to thank the following people and organizations for their contributions to my life. I could never have made it without them and I owe any success I may have to them. Thank you United Nations, World Food Organization, and the Children’s Fund, for providing me with food and shelter. Thank you Sudan People Liberation Army (SPLA), for rescuing me from Sudan’s militias. Thank you United States Government for allowing me to come to this promise land where my opportunities are endless. A. Wilson thank you for encouraging me to publish manuscript. Thank you Jennifer and Lynn for your time and help in editing my manuscript. Thank you Theva for your kindness and time you put into drawing the Gilo and Nile River paintings. Thank you UNHCR photographers M. Amar and W. Stone for the photos used in this book with the permission of the UNHCR representatives to use the photos. Thank you Dr. Dees’s family for warmly welcoming me to Reno and for being there for me during hard times, especially when I loss my mother. Special thanks go to my entire family for the love and care they all gave me during my childhood years. Thanks to my teachers, especially my first grade teacher Deng Machial, for all of their direct and indirect life lessons and motivational ideas.

Thank you Westbow Press for accepting my manuscript. Thank you to everyone who has helped me whether directly or indirectly throughout the world. Thank You for opening this book. May you find something that will be of value to your life. Above all, I thank God for His guidance and protection.

This book is dedicated to my mother Nyiik Rach who has nurtured, cared, and loved me and has taught me life’s most important lessons. Since this is a true story, the names of the people in this book are changed to protect their identity.

The Lost Boys were a group of Sudanese boys ranging from the ages of 12 and under who were orphans due to the civil war in Sudan in 1987. After being attacked by the government militia, rebel leaders would take the remaining boys, from the villages attacked, to care for them. The term lost is due to the displacement caused by war and the fact that often times these boys would walk for months between African countries such as Sudan, Ethiopia, and Kenya in order to survive. I was one of these Lost Boys.

PROLOGUE

Sudan is the largest country in Africa, encompassing one million square miles and about forty-three million people. Sudan has two cultural regions; Christians live in southern Sudan, and Muslims live in northern Sudan. Sudan borders eight other countries: Chad, Central African Republican, Egypt, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Kenya, Libya, and Uganda. The Sudanese people practice a variety of traditional indigenous African religions and hold many time-honored beliefs. More than two hundred different languages and dialects are spoken among Sudan’s four hundred ethnic groups.

In September of 1983, as part of an Islamicization campaign by former President Nimeiri, it was announced that traditional Islamic punishments drawn from sharia (Islamic law) would be incorporated into the penal code. This brought major escalations in disagreements even among Muslim groups in the country. Amputations for theft and public lashings for alcohol possession became common practice, especially in the north. Southerners and others not living in the north were also subject to these punishments.

By the following May, these practices initiated war in Sudan between the southern Sudanese forces, the Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA), and government forces in the north. This conflict has caused a number of social, cultural, and economic problems for the entire Sudanese nation. Many social changes took place—not only in southern Sudan, where the war had been fought, but also in the Sudanese nation as a whole.

Since the eruption of conflict in 1983, many tribes in the north took advantage of the war to commit mass murder, torture, crop destruction, burning of homes and villages, gang rapes, kidnapping of children, and more importantly, cow theft. Taking cows from Dinkas is tantamount to genocide, because the Dinka people have always depended on their cows. No household lives without cows. These acts had been committed primarily at the hands of the northern Sudan government and the Janjaweed, an allied militia in Darfur. Together, they had been responsible for human rights violations, forcing many displacements around Sudan and neighboring countries.

I lived during this time. I saw the changes and felt the upheaval. My whole family did.

CHAPTER 1

WHEN THE WAR ERUPTED IN MY HOME

There is much to say about my mother. She is a champion in my heart. By listening to her nurturing examples of guardianship, compassion, love, kindness, wisdom, respect, and many other life lessons, I swam in the ocean of love. I was a mama’s boy.

My mother, Nyiik R. Alor, assured us we had her love. No day went by without a perfect example of her love, and I made sure to tell her everything I experienced each day. That was my job.

Because she was a widow, my mother carried the roles of mother and father, making her strong like an axe. She provided us with everything we needed. She used to travel miles and miles to another town called Abyei to bring us food, since the Turalei supermarket was closed down during war and drought destroyed many crops. I never went to Abyei, but I know it is far, because it took her three to four days to return home. Four days were long for me. Sometimes during her trips, I sat and waited for her by the roadside until there was no more sunlight. Then I would return home to wait again the following day.

My mother was amazing and masterful in her teaching, and I will always salute and admire her as long as I live. She made sure I understood her lessons. My mother was my mentor. Without my mother’s great lessons, I could not be the person I am today. She built the main roots and foundations of my life. I could write thousands of pages about my mother’s lessons, but even if I wrote for 365 days—a different life lesson each day—I would still have more lessons left to write. I will always thank my mother for being an example worthy of following.

I have little memory of my father, Adol Mawien Adol. He died when I was an infant. I heard he died because of the wounds he got from the Sudanese government’s soldiers who tortured and beat him to death for information about my uncle Arop Mawien. Uncle Mawien was a rebel high commander during the civil war of Anya in 1972. Uncle Mawien was in our house the night before soldiers came for my father. The soldiers surrounded our house in the early morning, but luckily, Uncle Mawien had left the same night. They questioned my father, demanding he show them where my uncle was hiding, but Father never gave in. With integrity, my father refused to give out information about my uncle. Those who were there remember him shouting out in my native language to our family members, Please don’t give out information about my brother.

As a result, the soldiers tied my father up and tortured, beat, and kicked him until he was unresponsive. They took his unresponsive body into the woods and left him for animals to devour. My family found him later by following the trail of his blood. Every bone in his body was broken. Years later, he died from those wounds. Everyone at our house that morning was left for dead. The soldiers had bound and beaten everyone. My mother was among those who were tied and beaten. Eventually, she showed me her three broken ribs and scars all over her body. My mother tried many times to talk to me about this painful and brutal beating, but she always broke down and cried. I understand now why she never finished the full story of that morning.

My father had been a judge in three counties: Bulthay, Buldit, and Jauc Turalei Counties. I heard he was a fair judge. In his courtroom, my father made sure both sides were satisfied with the judgment. Many people loved him because of his integrity and loyalty. I met a few people who were my father’s friends and some of those who went to my father’s court before he passed. They all agreed that my father was a great man.

I was born into a family of six in Turalei County. I have three brothers, Ayombil, Atem, and Yai, and two sisters, Adior and Ayam. I came fourth in the family.

My father was a polygamist like any other Dinka man. It is normal in the Dinka culture for people to have many wives. There is no restriction on how many wives a man can have as long as he can handle the family finances. Thus, I have a big family. In Dinka culture, people are advised not to count the number of their family members; therefore I will not name them all.

There is a lot to say about my relatives—even those I never had a chance to meet; God bless them all. I was like a king to my relatives. They all treated me with generosity, kindness, respect, and dignity. They made sure I was treated the way I deserved to be.

I opened the kingdom of my heart wide enough for all to see and enter into it. With respect, I started calling my relatives’ wives mom, which became worrying to my mother. She tried to correct me numerous times, but I refused to stop. However, my aunt Aciel Mawien supported me, telling her, Let him be.

I didn’t see the difference between my mother and my relatives’ wives; I was their son, too. I even lost count of how many moms I had. But to name a few, Aciel Majak, Abok Mabil, Atang Madit, Nyanlouck Mayar, Aral Akol, and Awel Langer were my mothers, among others. I used to call my aunt Aciel Mawien Mother, too. She was my second mother. She taught me things not only about my family and relatives, but also about life that I will not soon forget. She made many extra efforts to influence my life in a positive way.

Aunt Aciel encouraged me to be strong like my father. She was more than a mentor. I will always consider my Aunt Aciel the best mentor or teacher in my heart. She was a widow and was strong, too. Her husband was killed by the Sudanese government. For this reason, my father brought her nearby and built her house less than a ten-minute walk from our house. She told me my father made sure she had everything she needed, such as cows, goats, sheep, and a garden to plant her seeds. She was happy to live close to us.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had been coached and disciplined by these brilliant parents and relatives throughout the rest of my life. At least early on, I got a bit of my mother and some of my relatives’ diamond minds.

In my hometown, I use to offer water to random travelers who walked by during the day when the sun was hot in return for tales or stories. I used to anxiously wait for them to pass by. I loved this job very much, though I don’t remember how I came up with this plan. It was the perfect thing to do, because our house was close to the street, and people passed by every day throughout the year. It was wonderful in the summer time. I made many friends by offering them water. My mom tried to stop me, but I didn’t listen. Everything was set up the way I wanted. Five wooden chairs were under our huge tree behind our house. I loved sitting there and waiting for people when I was not with my friends.

Do you want to drink some water? Come and sit. I will give you water. You can wait to eat with us, too. My mom is cooking, I told them. Some said no, and others accepted the offer. I was fascinated with tales, especially the ones involving animals. I let them sit and drink water and then asked them if they knew any stories. Sometimes they told me complicated stories. Other times, they made understanding the stories easy for me. I didn’t care if I understood people’s stories or not.

I can still recall a tale about three bulls. A traveler told me that once upon a time there were three powerful bulls. One was white, one black and one red. No animal could eat them. Many animals including hyenas tried, but failed. However, the hyenas didn’t give up. They called many meetings to discuss what they should do about the bulls. In one conference, random ideas were discussed such as what they should do to eat these strong bulls, the storyteller explained to me. One hyena suggested that they need to lie to the black and red bull by telling them that the reason they see these bulls at night was because of the white bull and unanimously all the hyenas agreed, he further explained. The Hyenas’ representatives went and called a private meeting with the black and red bull, but the white bull was not invited. They explained to them that the reason we see you guys at night is because of the white bull and if you set-up the white bull to be eaten, we will no longer be able to see you at night and they agreed with the hyenas. They set-up the white bull and the hyenas ate him. The next night, the hyenas came back again and attempted to eat them, but they were still strong. So, they used the same tactic. They called a meeting and only the black bull was invited to the meeting. They told the same lie they used earlier and the black bull listened to them. They ate the red bull. Finally, they came back the following night and you can guess what happened next. They ate the black bull and the story ended. However, he warned me that what I should learn from that lesson was not how those bulls died, but how one cannot be strong alone. I kept thinking about this tale throughout my childhood. I cannot forget it because it was told during the time when three clans from my tribe were fighting one another. It touched my heart.

My mom used to keep five to six cold containers of water inside the house. She also cooked more than we needed, because I invited people to eat with us. This was the job I loved more than anything in my hometown besides playing with my friends. Sometimes, I pictured myself standing and waiting for people to tell me tales. I heard many stories, but I don’t remember most of them.

It was a sunny, clear afternoon in the summer of 1987 in Turalei, Sudan. We were living a wonderful life regardless of the war and the many challenges we had concerning food and our livelihood. We still had a good home, our family, friends, and neighbors to run to when we needed help. I had gotten up early in the morning, and I went to the riverside to play with friends, as I usually did. While I was there, the government Muraleen or Janjaweed militia attacked my town.

I was making sculptures with my friends, Deng, Chol, and Majok, by the river bank in the early afternoon. We made cows from the mud to represent our future property. I wasn’t good at making cows, but I made a lot of them. Deng was the best at making cows, especially bulls, and Majok was second-best. Chol and I were the worst. Since Deng and Majok made sure to include all the details on each of their cows, they made fewer, but I was on my tenth. I didn’t care how my cows looked. I was building an empire for me and my entire family. I wanted my family to have enough. I remember that Deng had made five bulls for me on the previous day. In my mind, they belonged to my brothers, Ayombil, Aguek, Mawien, Atem, and Yai.

Chol complained about the space I was using. Man, stop making your hyena- or dog-looking cows. You’re taking my space. Deng and Majok

Reviews for Survival of the Fittest and How the Lost Boy Survived It All

[dengmawien7 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Excellent book, well written, Mr. MATOR ADOL MAWIEN, keep it up.