May 2002. Personnel from the Australia High Commission for Refugees came to Kakuma seeking to resettle ‘Lost Boys of Sudan’ in Australia. The opportunity was given to students who had done well in the Kenya Certificate of Secondary Education exams in 2000 and 2001. Within days, Jesuit Refugee Services, Episcopal Church of Sudan, St. Bakita Catholic Seminary and Kakuma Refugee Secondary School submitted their students’ names. The phenomenon made headlines. Recently it was the USA, now Australia. Within a few days, initial screenings and interviewing began. The first group reached the medical interview stages. The process was unconventionally fast. But the names of our Episcopal Church of Sudan scholarship group never appeared on the announcement board. On the fourth day of the process, I was intrigued. It bothered me that our group hadn’t been called for interviews. This opportunity mustn’t slip away, I said to myself. The next morning, I took a day off work and walked to the UN compound where the interviews were being conducted. I arrived at the UN compound gate to find a large number of people wanting to get in, obviously to try their luck. Most of them were lost boys who had not qualified for this resettlement process. I thought about what to do. Time was approaching eight-thirty. Security guards at the gate looked harsh and intimidating as they faced this desperate crowd, leaning on the locked gate. I wondered what would happen. This crowd of mostly young men looked desperate and capable of any action, including literally gate-crashing.
But the seriously-looking watchmen stood their ground. Moments later, they opened the gate to only allow those with gate permits to enter. I was still standing, hesitating. Part of me said to come back another time but another voice told me to wait a bit longer. Suddenly the desperate crowd crashed open the gate and raced to the interview section. Without thinking, I managed to squeeze myself in before the guards closed the gate. It was a pandemonium. We joined the queue as the interviewer, a middle-age white man demanded. They called him Andrew. He was a Canadian. Assisting him were two young Sudanese interpreters.
I sat quietly as the queue pushed forward. I had my school documents with me in case our scholarship group list had gone missing. Andrew was speedy. People went in and out in no time. No doubt he had acknowledged people’s despair, easily decipherable on their faces. However, the emerging boys’ faces revealed all. No one was smiling.
‘He just writes names down,’ lamented a boy as he walked pass. What a smart way of rejection. As I continued to push forward, I decided to talk to Mr Andrew on behalf of all the scholarship group students. ‘Next person,’ Andrew called. I stood. Calm and collected, I stepped toward the door. As I entered, the interpreter pointed to the chair. I handed Andrew my school documents. As he was examining my papers, I chose to interrupt. ‘May I say something Sir?’ Slowly, he looked up. ‘Yes sure, say it.’ ‘I’m an Episcopal Church of Sudan scholarship student and our list had been submitted.’ ‘By whom?’ ‘Mr Buol Lual, the camp chairman.’ Andrew paused for seconds, stood, reached to a shelf at the corner of the room and pulled out some papers out, apparently searching for our list. He picked a page and sat back. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked looking me in the eye. ‘I’m Francis M Deng.’ He nodded as he re-examined my school documents. I felt good as the delay meant a positive impression. On top of my school leaving certificate was written, ‘St Francis Xavier Katilu Boys’ High School.’ ‘Is this the name of your school?’ ‘Yes Sir.’ He appeared as though he was ready to begin interviewing me, then he paused. ‘Do you know where your friends are now?’ ‘Yes I do. Some are outside here and some are at the gate.’ ‘Can you please call in those outside here.’ I stood, stepped to the door, and put my head outside as if Andrew would change his mind. ‘Ajak, can you come in please.’
Ajak quickly stood and walked in. Andrew confirmed Ajak’s name on the list and took a piece of paper and wrote down seven names. ‘Take this Francis. Please be the first with your friends here tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. Clear?’ He handed me the stamped list of the seven scholarship students. ‘Yes sir. It’s clear. Thank you.’ Too excited, Ajak and I left the interview room. It was now around one. We became the last people Andrew interviewed that day. Boys on the queue looked at us with envy. I felt their sentiments. ‘Thank you Francis, you’ve really shown leadership,’ commended Ajak as we walked away. ‘Ooh! Thanks Ajak. I felt obliged. I had to remind Mr Andrew about us. And thank goodness we’ve succeeded.’
Jacob Deng, our colleague was still standing outside the gate in the hot sun. He was leaning on the barb-wire fence. He looked distressed. ‘Come Deng. Let’s go home. The work is finished,’ I said like it was all bad news. He walked demoralised toward us. ‘Look at this.’ I opened the list. ‘What’s it about?’ ‘We must come here tomorrow morning at eight sharp. Mr Andrew, the interviewer instructed.’ Deng smiled broadly and said: ‘Well, I’ll inform Chol and Gai. They’re my neighbours.’ ‘I’ll inform Deng Maker,’ said Ajak. ‘That’s very good. I’ll inform Abel Alier. We’re done,’ I said as we walked from the gate. It was hot but I didn’t feel the heat. I walked home feeling a sense of accomplishment. The next day two of our colleagues were absent.
Chol Agot and Deng Maker had left the camp for Nairobi several months earlier their relatives said. The gate opened at eight-fifteen. As the person in charge, I walked to the security guards and showed them our gate pass. They allowed me inside. ‘I want you to stand here and call in your colleagues, one by one,’ a guards instructed and I nodded. A big crowd was standing at the gate. I looked up and began to call in my boys. All eyes were on me ‘Francis! Mabior!’ Those who knew me were calling as if I had authority. I took a deep breath. People were desperate. But I couldn’t help them. As I looked up, I saw Abraham Deng. His name had been short-listed for the interview. He was among the Kakuma High School students. He was calling my name as well. I wondered where he had been. I called him inside the gate as Deng Maker, one of our missing two students. ‘I called you in so that you can follow up your name with Andrew.’ ‘Thank you Mabior. You’ve helped me.’
We walked straight to the interview section. I knocked at Mr Andrew’s door. ‘Come in please.’ I walked in respectfully. ‘Francis, you’re here?’ ‘Yes sir.’ I said with a big smile. Andrew, remembered my name! My heart danced. ‘Is everybody here now?’ ‘Yes, five of us are here, but two boys are said to have gone to Nairobi.’ ‘Alright, you stay out there. I’ll call you in a few minutes.’ ‘Thank you sir.’ I replied as I walked out. A short time later he came out and gave us forms. He left us with two Sudanese interpreters to assist us in the form filling. Abraham Deng also gained a form. We completed the forms and recording of our individual life stories quickly. By two, we had finished these two major initial stages of our resettlement process. As we walked home, I felt peace and happiness in my heart and mind. It felt like utopia. Even though I wasn’t yet granted a visa to Australia, the serendipity was beyond my limited vocabulary. Two days later, medical stages began and were completed within three days. Everything about this Australia’s resettlement process felt too good to be true. Only one interview stage remained; the final interview with lawyers from Australia. On the last day of my medical examination and interview, I decided to break the good news to my brothers and cousins. I had not told them anything during the process. ‘I’ve done resettlement interviews to go to Australia,’ I announced as we ate diner.
‘What’re you talking about?’ retorted Nyok. ‘I’m probably going to Australia. I finished all the interview processes today including medical.’ ‘When did you start?’ ‘Last week. I’m waiting for the final interview.’ ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ He asked. ‘I didn’t because it wasn’t necessary.’ ‘That’s a great news Mabior, if it’s actually true,’ Deng, a cousin said. I thought perhaps this was the silver lining behind the ‘missing files’ saga. I felt blessed. I hadn’t heard much about Australia but I knew it was a great country. My mind began to imagine what Australia would look like. Fifteen years living perilously as a refugee felt like an eternity.
Two months later, when I arrived at the interview inside the UN compound. I saw the lawyer, Mr Frank sitting in the interview room. I had already heard his name. As I approached the room, two Sudanese ladies working as interpreters signalled to me to knock the door of the interview room. But the door was already open. I then stood a step from the door. ‘Come in please.’ I entered the room and he pointed to a chair. I shook his hand and sat. ‘Can you confirm your full names for me, please?’ He looked me in the eye. ‘I’m Francis Mabior Deng.’ The interview covered the major events in my precarious and dangerous life as a refugee. It concluded with a gentle smile and: ‘Would you like to be resettled in Australia?’ ‘Yes indeed sir, I would like to make Australia my country. It’ll be great for my future.’ He looked me in the eye, my heart was pounding as I wondered if I had hit the correct note. ‘Thank you Francis, the interview has finished.’ ‘Thank you very much sir.’ I stood. ‘You’re welcome.’ I smiled and shook his hand.
I walked home that afternoon counting my blessings. I was feeling a transformation taking place within me. Beyond my wildest dream, I was now waiting for visa approval to Australia. Now I walked the camp streets with my head held high. Deep down my soul, this wonderful opportunity was the ultimate fulfilment of my dreams. Within three months from the resettlement process starting, the first group received their travel visas. Within days, many received their flight details. They would soon place their feet on Australian soil. I regularly visited the local library to learn more about what would soon become my adopted country. I had read about kangaroos in my primary science books. My primary school teacher had taught us that kangaroos are carnivorous animals that they would pounce on their victims and jump away with them. To a degree, my imagining immigrating to a country in which a kangaroo could potentially eat me was frightening. But then I thought, the people living there must have a way to keep away kangaroos.
Decades on, the journey of life continues; imagining and aspiring and shaping. It is soul-touching, deeply assuring that anywhere on this only earth can be a paradise or a purgatory depending on individual and/or collective interpretation. It is assuring that the human race is endowed with the ability and responsibility to manifest what the mind and heart inspire. Jesus Christ, the greatest teacher to have ever lived revealed to all human kind that both heaven and hell co-exist in this only life, here and now.
Comments