No Wings to Fly

By Abraham Biar Chol

I m born from Dinka tribes where Polygamy is predominantly pride of cultural values in Southern Sudan, Eastern Africa. My mother is the last of the eleven wives of my father and Im the last-born of the fifty siblings. I am not exactly sure of my birth date, because of no written records from my parents. However, based on the date that was given to me by the United Nation, I was born in 1984 and grew up in a traditional cattle- herding from Pakeer, Ciir in Jongeli State. In the late 1980s, I was only four years old child amongst the fifty siblings living an incredible life of illiteracy. The nomadic cattle life valves a lot more than education. So, education was not something I ever dream of.
My peers and I played different games that dont exist in the western countries when we were at our sweet village where there was no electricity or clean waters. Those games such as Gugura, molding cows from clay and the Dinka games of kids playing marrying your wife and built toggles and slept in it while looking after calves was the best game we enjoyed the most as kids. We were very much happy like the rest of the kids before the Sudanese government troops began bombarded our village from the sky with helicopters, and Russians made airstrikes-antinovels in Arabic.
In 1987 when Civil war reaches its climax and Sudanese government keeps sending troops South and burned down our villages to ashes and obliterated the entire villages; I fled into the bush with my brothers and cousins when we were looking after cattle to escape the bullets and not to be captured and made slaves.
The chaos and violence that happened forced me to fled into the bush when bullets were whizzing in the air and burning smoke at nearby village rise up high into the sky. This led to uprooting and drifting through horrendous lives I never imagined. My first nights ever in the bush were horrible, which led to unknown journey of which none of my great grand parents or parents ever, had been before. We then became orphaned and began to walked thousands miles on foot to Ethiopia, guided by army rebels known as Sudan Peoples Liberation Army (SPLA) not to be killed or kidnapped by Murle militiamen on the way. On our way, I witnessed the deaths of cousins, friends and colleagues. Besides, I witness the born and sculpture of humans remains on the way that I had never seen before. During the journey, I starved to death and got thirsty to the point were I drank my own urines to quenched my thirsty for the survival.
Through my entire time, I had lived in refugees camps for fourteen years before coming to America. I passed through hunger, violence, and fatigues and became malnourish child living on one cup of maize and one cup of beans of which to last for six days. The violence and suffering I went through had left very many people dead from Sudan to Ethiopian and then Sudan to Kenya, but not sure of what kept me a live. I am very happy that with God grace, I am who I am today
In April 3, 2001, I came to Rochester, New York and later joined by my close friend Peter Agok. I had lived in Rochester for the past ten years. On my arrival to the United States, I had often faced with cultural shocks and shaken by F and B words, an Americans favor expressions while adapting to Americans life, both at work and school. I had been chasing Americans dreams and the dreams are too far yet to be reach. During the course of stays at U.S.A, I went to high school for a year before enrolled at Community College to improved my English. After two years at Community College, I transferred to University of Rochester and graduated in May, 2oo7, with major in Biology and minor in Chemistry. I work at Xerox, Webster, New York and looking forward to go back to school and pursuit field in medicine specially Pharmacy to return back to Sudan to alleviate the suffering my people are experiencing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462845262

Abraham Biar Chol

This is my true story as a “lost boy” of what would soon be the Republic of South Sudan on July 9, 2011, who had lived in the exiles for decades since I was displaced in 1987, along with my Southern boys, by Sudanese government in Khartoum at my village from Sudan to Ethiopia, back to Sudan and then Kenya, and in search of safe havens and my journey to America, a land of many opportunities and dreams. In this book, I included a little bit of my close friend, Peter Agok, who had been chasing the American dream with me at Rochester, New York, for the past nine years, but the dreams are still too far to reach.

Book preview

NO WINGS TO FLY

Abraham Biar Chol

Copyright © 2011 by Abraham Biar Chol.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011911336

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4628-4525-5

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4628-4524-8

ISBN: Ebook 978-1-4628-4526-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

99240

CONTENTS

The Republic of South Sudan Map with Its Flag

Acknowledgments

1. The Dinka People of Southern Sudan

2. Growing Up as Dinka boys

3. The Victimization of the Boys in South Sudan by the Sudanese Government in Khartoum

4. Pinyudu Refugees Camp, Ethiopia

5. What Is It Like Being a Child Soldier? Our Recruitment in the Military by SPLA

6. The Ethiopian’s Civil Wars

7. Pochalla: Back Into Sudan Soil

8. Deliver Us in Hands of Enemies: Dr. John Garang De Mabior, Our Hero

9. The Magoth, Taposa Land

10. The Nairus, Sudan

11. Lokichogio, Kenya

12. Kakuma Refugee Camp, Kenya: An Abysmal

13. America, Is It Heaven?

14. The American’s Schools and Jobs

15. The F and B Words: An American’s Favored Expressions

16. December 8, 2008: The Sweet Home Reunion, First Time in Twenty-Plus Years

17. The Decision, Southern Sudan

image001a.tifimage001b.tif

The Republic of South Sudan States map and her flag

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, I would be worth nothing in this world without my mother, Ajok Gak Thok, and my eighty-six-year-old elder brother, Lueth Chol Biar, who put the entire family on his shoulders after the natural death of our father, Chol Biar Aweng. In the four years I spent with them at our village before fleeing Sudan during the civil war, my mother, Ajok, fabricated me to be the person I am today. As she has been battling with bipolar disease in Kenya, I missed hearing her melody sweet voice and not seeing her every day like the rest of people who are fortunate to see their parents every day. Therefore, this book is dedicated to her along with my older sisters, Nguen, Akuol, and Nyantiop Chol, and other forty-six siblings. This book is also dedicated to my entire extended family both living and dead. I know many of my brothers and sisters perished in the war wreckage through fighting for my freedom. Besides, many of you had lost legs, hands, and many parts of your body fighting for the justice; this book is dedicated to you all. To all my relatives, including nephews, nieces, and aunts, this book is for you too.

Besides, I must thank Thomas Farnham who helped me with my English grammar and punctuation errors. Thomas, thanks for your time looking through the mistakes and errors. In addition, I thank the entire Woods family who first helped me adjust to the shocking American culture on my first arrival to U.S. soil. Most importantly, I must thank my American mother, Cheryl Moeller, who helped me understand and adjust to Americans’ life during my stays in the USA. Of course, Cheryl, you helped me so much since the first day I stepped foot in your house.

Also, I want to thank the Catholic family center for the services they provided me for the four years I was in the program. I also have to thank my former manager, Cathy Thomas, plus her staff. Her staff devoted their time, visiting us from house to house, making sure we were treated well and happy at the homes we were placed in.

Moreover, many thanks to Mazee Jerry Deluccio, Ann Marie Deluccio, Cheryl Erickson, Betsy Malone, Art Malone, and much more who work tirelessly and relentlessly in helping South Sudanese days and nights making us welcome in our new American homes. I also have to thank Dennis Long and Prince Mercer who taught me about American past life at work, most of the times from basketball, politics, to Hollywood actors. Dennis, I hate you being my big rival in sports: Lakers versus Celtics, Yankees versus Red Sox . . . We have nothing in common except the New York Giants. Thanks to Gregory Kimmins (G-money) and his wife, Kathy, for supporting me most of the time when I am in need.

Many thanks to the Lake Avenue Baptist Church congregation, especially Dorothy Roat and Xerox Webster, New York, Building 216, who helped fund my trip to see my family for the first time in decades. Thanks for your generosity even though the American economy was down on its knees. Thanks to all batch leaders and coworkers and front office staffs who pay attention very keenly to my broken English when I tried to pass the message along. Moreover, I have to thank Don Beach who provided my information to the Lake Avenue Baptist congregation when they asked him if it’s okay for the congregation to assist me with my tickets. Besides, I have to thank our former pastor Peter Carman and his wife, plus their two sons, Mark and Luke, who made me known at the church, and your spiritual support at the time.

I have to thank Monroe Community College ESOL staff for sharpening my thoughts while I was in college and awarded me with an exemplary award as a candidate. Also, I have to thank the former University of Rochester dean of college who assisted me at the time I needed help the most. I also thank Father Brain Cool who connected me with the school staff when I didn’t know anyone at the school. Father Cool thanks for your spiritual support and counseling when I needed it the most.

Moreover, as I have visited many schools and churches in and around Rochester giving speeches, I have to thank the students and congregations I met after my speeches. I thank all the churches in Rochester, New York, who welcomed me at their churches telling lost boys of Sudan stories since my arrival to the U.S. Without you; the peace in Sudan would have not been possible today. Our people are now enjoying peace because of Americans who spoke on behalf of South Sudanese, pressuring members of Congress for the peace resolutions. Thanks for the supporting roles you played.

I have to thank the Southern Sudanese community in Rochester, New York, who made me their outspoken person, especially Paul Galuak Both who was like my elder brother. Though we are from different tribes, Paul treated me like his little brother, and I really appreciate his honesty. Also I have to thank my longtime friend Peter Agok who came out and encouraged me to write a book. Peter, this book is possible today because of your trust in me. I thought it was premature for me to write a book, but you encouraged me to do it, so thanks for your words of encouragement.

So many people at Rochester, New York, helped me that I can’t recall their names, and you shape me in so many ways. Without your help, I wouldn’t be who I am today. To everyone whose names I intentionally missed or ignored, thank you so much for your support.

Lastly, I want to thank the heavenly Father for blessing me and guiding me through the rough roads of my journey, protecting me from bullets and thorns in the worst time of my life from my village in Sudan to the dead end in Rochester, New York, USA.

PREFACE

Each individual’s life is determined by the stage of life one experienced. Looking at everyday life and the effect of it has been the focus of my future as an average human being. The seemingly horrendous situations I had been through show that anyone could overcome any type of situation differently, even when all the doors of opportunities seem to be closed. I explained vividly how I came out strongly and how humbly I was by asking God to relieve some frustrations I encountered in my life.

In this book, I explained that people have different lifestyles in their own cultural identities—for instance, the way kids play differ from culture to culture and country to country or continent to continent. Hence, when kids from different parts of the continent or different ethnic or class backgrounds play with each other, it is like their structure of play will not be understood by others in different parts of the world.

In my book, No Wings to Fly had sixteen chapters, which dealt with lifestyles I experienced throughout the course of my life. Generally, I have endured a hard life as a child, and everyone wanted to know more about how I overcame and what kept me going without giving up on my life.

I too wanted to know more of what kept me alive up to today when the rest of my friends and cousins disappeared in a manner they didn’t deserve at all. I particularly blame the Sudanese government who waged war against innocent people in South Sudan and totally advocated for the killing of innocent people worldwide by the hungry, greedy dictators for misdemeanors. Indeed, I had decided to write this book largely to educate the American people and their children of how we are treated in countries where there is no such freedom of speech as they had. I also explained my family background, where I came from where polygamy is predominant.

Whenever I talk about my family and how many wives and children my father had, it sparks life in people’s countenance, and they want to know more. Most people had wondered how my father managed to have eleven wives and fifty children. I too wondered how he managed his schedule with wives to bear many kids. Unfortunately, he didn’t live that I should have learned the most from him. If he were still alive today, I would have asked him what motivates him to have as many as eleven wives.

Furthermore, Dinka lifestyle is very unique compared to other groups of people around the world. Their life in the cattle herds away from home, the play of children without parents’ involvement, and much more distinguish the Dinka people.

We all know we are a unique individual group of ethnic people and tend to see each other as representative of a group of people with different lifestyles. It’s natural to see the world we live in differently, but we are a group of people that inhabit the vast area in South Sudan.

Frankly speaking, innumerable cultural influences such as ethnicity, race, religion, and the geographical regions we live in shape everyone.

CHAPTER ONE

The Dinka People of Southern Sudan

My longtime friend Peter Agok, whom I had lived with for many years, and I, Abraham Chol, are among the lost boys of South Sudan in Eastern Africa living in Rochester, New York, since 2001. Peter and I were born in a small village known as Pakeer, which is divided into subclan sections of Holajaŋ, Anok, Akochok, Beere, and Ciir in Jonglei State, South Sudan. We are from a tribe known as Dinka; in other words, Monjaaŋ, literally meaning the man of man or people of people as we say it in South Sudan. The tribe Dinka, however, is one of the largest ethnic tribes in the South Sudan followed by Nuer and Shilluk. The ancient life of cattle associates us Dinka in an introduction of the domesticated cattle of South Sahara.

The Dinka people are one of the three groups that gradually developed from the original settlers stretched across the wide area in South Sudan. The Dinka people, however, are divided into many sections with slightly different dialects that distinguish us geographically in South Sudan. The Dinka speak a series of closely related languages that are grouped into five dialects that mark their geographical regions in South Sudan. They inhabited Bahr el Ghazal regions of the Nile basins, Jongeli, and part of Southern Khordufan and Upper Nile regions in Sudan. The Dinka people belong to a group of cultures known as the Nilotic peoples, all of which we lived along the White Nile River and its tributaries.

Moreover, the Dinka people inhabit a vast region in South Sudan that forms a seasonal swampland when White Nile River floods during rainy seasons. Thus, the Dinka people retain their traditional pastoral life, relying on cattle herding along the Nile River side during dry seasons, but have added agriculture as part of their lives by growing sorghum, pumpkins, peanuts, corn (maize), and other crops. Besides, the Dinka are well known as cattle keepers, although they may herd sheep, goats, and fish and till the land. In Dinka culture, cattle are the mainstay of our lives, indicating the wealth that provides dowries for marriages. Hence, cattle give milk and traditionally made to produce butter and ghee. On one hand, the cow’s urines are used for washing and dyeing the hair red. The cow dung fuels fire to the ashes to keep the cattle clean and free from bloodsucking ticks and flies and used as toothpaste to clean the teeth.

Besides, in Dinka traditional beliefs, when a cow dies or is killed, the skin carcass is used for mats, ropes, and stretched over the drum for cultural dancing during festivals. On the other hand, cows in Dinka are not killed for meat—only if someone dies within the family, then a black bull is killed for mourning time. Thus, the relatives of the deceased one would shape their head, and a wife of the deceased would wear black clothes for an extended period as a sign of mourning the death of her husband. The relatives of the deceased would not wear any jewelry in that period. When forty days pass, the family would gather to remember the life of the person, and the widowed then removed the black clothes she wore for that period of mourning.

Also, before the arrival of the missionaries, the Dinka people believed in animism but know the universal single God, whom we called Nhialic-God. We believe that Nhialic-God is the creator of the universe and everything in it. Back then; when a person is sick, the human contacts Nhialic-God through intermediaries and entities called jok or jaak—many gods. Diviners or healers threaten the goat or chicken until it urinated, then slaughtered as a sign that god listened to the elders and answered their calls. This was offered to gods to free the sick person. Besides, the healers split the gaud into a half and threw them in the air. When they landed on the ground with one side up and the other facing down, then it’s a sign of relief that god spoke with the healers and a sick person will get better. The diviners and healers administered these rituals beliefs within the society. Back in the days, Dinka people believed that the spirit of the dead become part of the spiritual sphere of life. However, as of today, everything has changed due to the arrival of missionaries who spread the word of God. The only sounds you could hear in the distance are church drums either on Friday and Sunday.

The Dinka people practice traditional beliefs that allow for a family to maintain its name from generation to generation through marriage in their own sub clans but not outside their clan. A person who marries outside his or her own clan is outlawed. We Dinka people value family as a continuous unit within the society. Therefore, a man and a woman have lengthy negotiations before they become one family. Marriage in the Dinka land doesn’t happen like in the United States where the individuals date and just marry without parents’ or relatives’ approvals. First, a man must himself agree with a girl whom he loves through engagement, but this may take up to a year or more before the girl accept you. When they want to marry, both parents must agree to permit their marriage. However, if the family agrees and the girl refused, she maybe forced by her family to marry a man they think would treat her with respect and dignity. As a result, an unwilling marriage arranged by the girl’s parents is a common norm among Dinka people. Many things had changed, but arrangement has not changed among the Dinka people.

Also, we Dinka people value cattle more than anything else in this world as the Western people value money. Therefore, a person who doesn’t have cattle is considered poor. So at the cattle camps, the Dinka moves with cattle from place to place in search of pastures and water along the rivers. However, when thugs or thieves from outside come to steal or raid the cattle, Dinka people would risk their lives and die defending their cattle to maintain them since the cattle are prioritized. Like other cultures, we Dinka have no written records that can be tracked to preserved cultural identity. The cultural values and beliefs are inherited orally through storytelling, tales, or myths from elders to young generations. The myths are expressed or experienced through family settings and beliefs. The interpretations are represented to generations through the insight on how to think and behave within the society.

Furthermore, the Dinka primary form of arts is expressed in the form of poetry and songs through which our history and social identity is taught and preserved. We sing praises to both our ancestors and the living. In our culture of Dinka, certain songs are reserved for specific occasions such as marriage festivals and initiation ceremonies. Men and women, on the other hand, contribute to the society artistically in many different ways. The women make weave baskets and pots while the men with skills become blacksmiths. The blacksmith produces tools such as axes, garden hoes, spears, bells, and jewelry. To make tools, a blacksmith usually uses charcoal for furnace and the air bag that supplies oxygen to burn the metal, then flatten it using a heavy hammer. Once he finished with the tools, he would sell them to the local residents in the area who are in need.

Traditionally the Dinka people dwelled in round clay huts with conical thatched roofs changed annually. Traditionally the related families settle in proximity to each other and become a village, which is called a subclan. So each family home owns a land with borders from its neighbors. Each family cultivates their land during rainy seasons for food consumption. Hence, there are usually two planting seasons: one in the beginning of May to October and other in November to December. The unoccupied land is used for cattle to graze and other activities. The garden soil would typically maintain its fertility for about twelve years. Following this, the area would be set afire and a new garden is erected nearby for cultivation.

Culturally, Polygamy is the ideal practice for Dinka people, even though many men in society are married to only one wife. Since polygamy is common practice among the Dinka people, a man may marry as much as he wants based on his wealth and status in the society. Men of high social status may have as many as ten to fifty wives or even more. For a Dinka man to have many wives, he has to be generous to achieve a high status in the society. Most importantly, wealth with good characters plays a very significant role in relationships. Therefore, a man of good character always wins people’s hearts to marry their daughter. Also, men with huge families in the Dinka are well respected and play crucial roles in society.

In polygamous marriages, wives cooperate in performing households duties although each rears her owns children. However, a young wife always takes care of her husband instead. Traditionally men dominate much of the Dinka public life to maintain peace with the neighboring sub clans. However, women play a significant powerful role in local lives by doing most of agriculture work or gardening and rearing children. Since polygamy is the most common practice among the Dinka as part of tradition, my father, Chol Biar Aweng, had eleven wives during his prime. He married eleven wives, in which four of his wives perished at their earlier ages, and then left with seven wives of whom my mother, Ajok, the daughter of Gak Thok, was the last. Iam not exactly sure how old he was when he married my mother but believed that he was in his late sixties. Besides, my mother is the only wife of my father who is still alive today. My father managed his family properly, whereby he raises as many as fifty children in all, thirty boys and twenty girls. I am the last child of all fifty children and the youngest of my father’s thirty boys. With eleven wives, I believe my father had lived a busy life. I don’t know how his schedule with his wives worked out, but he managed it so well to bear fifty children from eleven wives. Each woman has her own homestead with her biological children. However, I have never seen my father in person, because he died at the age of one hundred before I was born, according to what my family told me.

As a little boy, I remembered vividly my family’s homes were always full with friendly people, with much love, and hospitality was most practiced by everyone. I was too young to remember everything by then. However, as a four-year-old child, I was very much aware of most of my family members, including cousins, nieces, and nephews. I knew all my brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, uncles, and cousins by name. In Dinka culture, we don’t consider children who are from the same father but different mother as half brother and sister as it’s common here in the Western countries. We simply called ourselves brothers and sisters. Because my father died before I was born, I know that every evening when I was home in the village, my mother always cared about what we have to eat and where we were before sunset. She had to make sure we were at home before six o’clock because of fear of being kidnapped by Murle tribesmen. Once we were home, she would put us inside the house at eight o’clock. We would stay inside the dark house with no lights and be silent so that the Murle tribesmen wouldn’t hear our voice. However, if we had to talk tales and stories, we had to whisper to each other. When midnight approached, my mother would go to the house when she finished with her chores.

As families are very important to the Dinka people to be together, we grew up together most of the time when we were at home. My father had fifty children, and we were six from my mother, and two of my sisters passed away at their young ages of unknown diseases. I was the last born of six children from my mother, and I am the only son of my mother’s six children too. My sister’s names from my mother are Nguen Chol, Nyankiir (Akuol), and Nyantiop Chol. However, I know all the names of all my fifty siblings but wouldn’t write their names here because the list is so big. So within our family, it was very difficult to distinguish the children’s names, because the children share the same names, unless you called one with his or her nickname. Everyone woman treats all the children as her own kids.

My father Chol Biar Aweng was paramount chief in the village by custom before he died. When he died, my older brother Lueth Chol Biar, who is now at the age of eighty-six years old, replaced him. At our village, only two families dominated the ruling system; this includes the family of Chol Biar, which is my father, and family of Mading Majok. Having heard from my brothers and mother, he was a rich man, and poor people would give their daughters to him in the exchange for the dowries. Dowries, however, are bride wealth—cows paid in full by the groom’s family to finalize the marriage between the two sub clans. As a rich man, sometimes people would come to his herds to take care of his cattle because of his wealth and generosity to the society.

According to Dinka tradition, however, when a man died and he had many wives in the family, all his wives would stay with the deceased’s family and the entire family would support the children of the deceased one and the widowed couldn’t remarry outside the family she was married to in the first place. If the women are still young, the family elders may sit together and choose someone to bear the kids, and the children are named after the deceased person. The women may not refuse any chosen person within the family to bear the kids but always choose the person close to the deceased one. It either had to be the deceased’s older son from a different mother or cousin or nephew to him. The woman, however, will never call the children by a different father’s name other than the deceased one.

Thus, the levirate marriage provides support for the widowed and her children. The co wives cook food for all they children even if each wife has her own responsibilities to care for. All the children are raised together in the family. In addition, the person bearing the children of the deceased one can marry his own wife or wives but still take care and support the deceased’s family. He makes sure that all the kids and widows are doing very well in the family. During cultivation time, he would help the widowed plug the land if necessary. He would alternate with his schedule when it’s time to bear the kids.

When I was home in the village, my mother used to grow peanuts, sorghum, pumpkins, corn (maize), and other crops. As my family was the wealthiest in term of cows, my dad sent some of his older children to school to get an education. The children he sent to school completed secondary school but never finished universities due to lack of the highest level of education. The educated ones stayed in the town with their families when they got married but came home to the village sometimes to visit or when there was any marriage ceremonies.

Before the war started, my mother used to go to the town where my older siblings where and bring us sugar, biscuits, juice, and other things to supplement our diets. This was the most important thing I did like about my mother. When she returned from the town, I would go and exaggerate to my age mates what my mother brought home that day. Eventually many of the boys would be friendly to me so we could eat together for that particular time.

One day when my mother was gone, my friend and I sneaked into the thatched hut, mixed juice with sugar till it became solid, and drank the entire thing. I was peculiarly dehydrate and almost died due to our childish thoughts that day. When my mother returned, she was mad at me when she found out what we did but had not beaten me because she didn’t wants to hurt me since she believed I would be the one to bury her when she died. I felt sorry and apologized to her that I will never repeat that mistake again.

My small village known as Ciir within Pakeer, as I may recall is situated between two curbs hooked muddy roads. Geographically, the new road was on the east while the old road was on the west. Since our village was located in lowly flat land, the flooding of the Nile River flooded our homes in the rainy seasons. Hence, the old muddy road was raised high enough to prevent flooding the villages and destroying our little thatched huts in the rainy seasons. However, the flooding current was high and sometimes breaks the road and floods the entire villages. The village consisted of no more than a few thousand people who lived in the thatched huts, which were structurally made of mud walls with the wooden pole in the center holding grass roofs. The house floor and wall was kept smooth by smearing regularly with dark brown sandy soil. When preparing food inside the house, the smoke would escape from the roofs. The thatched huts were built with only opening—a low doorway where one has to kneel down