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An Indian Abroad

An Indian Abroad

Lessons from a Lost Boy “I stayed in the Kakuma refugee camp for many years and started my education. I soon learnt how it goes in the refugee camp. Education is fine, but the food is not enough, only Grace Singh Smith one half cup of corn meal a day. So you must choose. If you don’t have an education you can have a business for your survival. If you want education, you must live on the little food that is given and eat only once a day. It is your choice whether you eat in the morning and stay hungry for the whole day or eat in the afternoon. My cousins and I managed this. We went to school and ate once a day in the evening. But reading was really difficult because there was a certain cloud because of hunger. It’s black when you look at the words in the book. The black covers the words and you can’t see because of that color in your eyes from the hunger.” – Benjamin Ajak from ‘They poured fire on us from the sky’ From 1987 to 1989, throughout Sudan, tens of thousands of young boys took flight for their lives, fleeing one of the biggest genocides ever. Bigger than Angola, Bosnia, Chechnya, Kosovo, Liberia, the Persian Gulf, Sierra Leone, Somalia and Rwanda combined. Among them was Benjamin Ajak, with his cousins Lino, and Benson. He was born 1982 in a village in Southern Sudan. To escape death, when civil war broke out between the North and the South, Benjamin fled alone into the dark African night at the age of five. Several days later, he found his cousins, and they joined the exodus that would become what we know today as the Lost Boys of Sudan. They traveled thousands of miles, starving and dehydrated, and facing wild animals-crocodiles, hyenas, lions. Eating anything from mud to wild grass. Only half of them survived and made it to Ethiopia. 12

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After three years in Ethiopia, they were forced out of the country at gunpoint when civil war broke out there. Benjamin had meanwhile sustained a gruesome leg wound, which refused to heal and remained infected. This exodus out of Ethiopia leads to what Benjamin and his cousins describe as the worst of all their bad memories. They were forced out of the country at gunpoint and swam across the Gilo River where two thousand of them perished, as they massacred those who were still on the Ethiopian side. As Benson, Benjamin’s brother described in the book: “The enemy emerged into view and shot people trying to cross the swollen river. Blood exploded out of their heads as they crumpled into the water...thousands of people flowed into the river and disappeared like water poured into the sand of Sahara…one woman crossed on the backs of the bodies that had accumulated in the water. She walked ashore without touching the water.” As they continued to trek through Sudan, Benjamin’s leg had seriously gotten worse. They were then captured and taken to a rebel training camp in the Natinga Mountains. Benjamin attempt-

ed to escape, was captured and subsequently jailed and flogged two times a day till he made a successful escape five months later. To make an extremely painful and poignant story short (I highly recommend reading the bo ok), Benjamin finally made his way to Kakuma refugee camp in Kenya. It was the safest haven he’d had in around 14 years. Food was extremely scarce, rations were meager and they ran out of food days before the next rations. They lived on next to nothing, but the education was excellent. And this had been their one aspiration as they wandered all those years. Benjamin lived at Kakuma from 1992 till 2001. In 1998, when the process for the Lost Boys to go to America began, it came as a hope that seemed too wild to be true. On September 11, 2001, Benjamin was greeted by the first sight of his new home: the twin towers burning. Ajak and I: Today I am ashamed and proud. Ashamed that I have taken for granted life and the opportunities it has always held out to me (if not on a silver platter). Proud because I witnessed in breathing flesh, a testament to that Indomitable Force- The Human Will. In the form of Benjamin Ajak. I cannot describe how I felt when I saw him. The closest comparison I can make is that of a mother seeing a child who has come of age…and one who fills her heart with pride. My tears wouldn’t stop. I’m sure mine weren’t the only undry eyes in the audience. Santa Monica College had invited him to speak as part of a literary series they hold every spring that’s open to the public. The lecture hall was packed to overflowing, and so many more people wanted to get in (this included unpunctual me), that they had to move the talk outdoors to the grassy area surrounding the clock tower. He was full of poise, and wore a suit like he belonged in it. With an aura of dignity that you see in only the most well bred, it was hard to believe that this young man was the same who had seen

his parents massacred at the age of five, and spent years and years wandering, constantly fighting everything for his survival. He spoke quietly of the things he had gone through, the genocide, burying his first friends at the age of 8. Like a sudden jolt, it came to me, that it was as if he was speaking of himself in the third person. These were painful memories that most war veterans would only have carried to their graves. It was evident however, that it could be no less painful for Benjamin. He had to do it however: for the millions in Africa who would never have a voice. And as he would say later, the future of Sudan began with him. I want to draw to light the fact that as I was reading “They poured fire on us from the sky”, I was reminded in a small way of home. And then as the thought and memories persisted (not so much my own, but those of stories from other people), I did a little research. Here is what I found from an official website: Approximately 20,000 to 25,000 have died only in Nagaland, according to media reports. According to the South Asia Terrorism portal, 13,000 people have died in other northeastern states since 1992. Judging by the longevity of the conflict, it is possible that at least 40,000 people have died since 1979. Manipur, my ‘motherland’ apparently still remains the most volatile in the region. In 2006, however, there had been improvement: a marked decline of 331 in fatalities from 2005. While most of my ‘Naorem’ clan had originated in Manipur, we had over time relocated and established ourselves in Assam. However, I still had family from both sides in Manipur: uncles, aunts, and cousins. My childhood is peppered with memories of sharing my home with my Manipur cousins, sporadically…for 2 years sometimes, 5 years…so it went. Hushed stories circulated in the village and I remember not being able to comprehend. Years later, I was in college living in a cozy little dorm in Upper Lachumiere, Shillong. I trudged home after college to have my dormmates announce to me that some fellow ‘Manipuris’ were coming to join me.

They turned out to be two very sweet Kuki girls (the general confusion that results from people not using the proper term: Meithei Manipuri! And the notion prevails Manipur = Manipuris, Assam = Assamese….ah, the hodgepodge of trying to explain who exactly you are!) These girls and others were all in Shillong, a part of the huge crowd of students who leave their home state because education has been disrupted/ come to a complete halt. I regret to state that it is only today that this thought even crossed my mind. I wonder how many children there are in refugee camps, I haven’t been able to find any definite statistics on the Internet. I guess in the eyes of the world, (those who don’t particularly care)… the conflict in the Northeast isn’t BIG enough, and therefore not as worthy of discussion and proactive behavior. In the book “Horton hears a Who”, Dr. Seuss, the famed children’s writer wrote “A person’s a person, no matter how small”. I think I should be ashamed that I have never once considered how privileged I have been, and how so many children of my own people go without an education. I have griped all my life about having to go to a school in a rural area (albeit my mother being the one who runs the school!). All the while, there are children in Manipur and other states, who have to give up their education to support themselves, and even join the insurgent groups. Now I want to assert that I am not repeating rhetoric. These are things that have come really close to home. Think about this: how many families can really afford to send their children to Shillong, Delhi or elsewhere to continue their studies? I don’t have a number but I believe it’s marginal. This phenomenon has led to an environment of general apathetic degeneration of every value that education would help develop. Without a way to end ignorance, and a life that is so insulated from the outside world, there breeds I think a dangerous culture of never-ending violence and stagnation in the way we are now. Children join insurgent groups, because they do not see a way out. In some instances, it is because they want revenge for the loved

ones they have lost. In any case, they are easily swayed into believing that violence will end violence. I will never forget walking past two boys in my native village who were holding an impromptu tête-à-tête on why Manipur needs to break free from the Indian Republic. “They don’t care about us (true in a way)… we are better off joining China (?)” A logical person would agree that: Culturally you might share more with the Chinese, but historically you are so far removed. What makes you think the Chinese government will care any more for you than the Indian government? In a nutshell: Foolish statement to make. So, the number of youths hanging around the village shops, smoking dope and eve-teasing girls, spreading propaganda, recruiting/being recruited will be on the increase. I want to assert as I have done in the past that I am not making any kind of a political statement here. My main concern is the children, and the damage this conflict has caused over the last 5 decades. An awareness has to be spread that if there is any way to fight for your rights, it is by developing your mind. And you can do so through education… bad ideology can be overcome by a good one. I am going to sound like a broken record if I dwell on this further, so I am simply going to revert to Benjamin Ajak and hope that you will be inspired by his example and words. After his talk he invited the audience to make any queries they wished to. I asked: “When you were walking those hundreds of miles through the desert with that infected leg, not to mention starving and in constant fear of death… what was the strength that kept you going?” His answer (paraphrased): “There was nothing you could rely on. It’s only YOU… if you didn’t do what the other children did (in this case, trying to stay alive) it’s your fault. I said, let me push myself. I had hope, and I had confidence.” What better message can I impart? --Grace Singh Smith Santa Monica, California. April 08

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