The Middle of Everywhere (31 page)

Before we met the family, we'd read Jon Holtzman's monograph,
Nuer Journeys, Nuer Lives.
Holtzman wrote that in Nuer culture, which is similar to Dinka culture, time is structured by seasons, births, and deaths. There are no calendars or clocks. In feet, there is no word for time or any sense of abstract time. The family didn't set up appointments to see friends. They did whatever came up next. When I asked Joseph if I could come by at eleven on Sunday, he said, "Come over anytime. You are always welcome." This meant I could drop by anytime, but it also meant he might not be there if I came at eleven on Sunday.

As we struggled to teach them the American view of time, I pondered what Joseph would teach me about time if I showed up on the southern Nile. No doubt he would tell me to throw away my watch, alarm clock, personal planner, and calendar. He would encourage me to watch the sun, the stars, the flow of rivers, and maybe the colors of grasses for information. He'd tell me to eat when there was food or when my stomach was empty. He would help me learn to be where I was for as long as I wanted. He would mentor me on not leaving a party because I had something else scheduled.

Over the next few weeks we checked on the family frequently. We took them clothes and articles about Sudan. We played cards and visited the natural history museum. We taught them how to put on a seat belt and count out money. We showed Joseph how to keep his bankbook and write a check.

America, with its ice and snow, its stores and machines, was clearly confusing to the family. How could it not be, after growing up in a world of grasslands, cattle, and forced marches? Mostly the family was glad to be here. They were stressed, sometimes too stressed to even speak, but relieved they were not at Kakuma. One day Joseph showed me a story about more kidnappings in Sudan. He said, "Here we are safe."

I often didn't quite know how to treat the family. They didn't know many things that Americans know and they seemed vulnerable in many ways. On the other hand, Joseph and Abraham were men who had lived through much more than most Americans do in an entire lifetime. They had survived years of dangerous situations. I would trust them with my life. I struggled to find the right tone with them. I wanted to be respectful but direct. They clearly needed guidance, but they didn't need to be patronized. Sometimes I wasn't sure exactly where the line was between the two. I said to Joseph, "If I were in Kenya or Sudan, I would ask your advice. Here, please ask my advice."

Especially the first few weeks, they were exhausted and spaced-out. They were fearful of making mistakes or getting in trouble. Once when I called to say that library books were overdue, I scared them and I had to say, "It will be okay. No one goes to jail for this problem." Another time when a clerk called Joseph to ask questions about social security numbers and various dates, he grew so frustrated that he hung up on her.

However, they remained a heroic family, deeply loyal and loving. Nobody ever complained about anything. The younger ones obeyed the older ones immediately. But Joseph and Abraham were not bullies and, in fact, made sure that Martha and Paul got the best of everything. I was amazed that a family without parents who had spent years hungry and running could be this well-adjusted. I had tremendous respect for their loyalty to one another and their ability to survive. Their saga was a reverse
Lord of the Flies
saga, and it spoke well for the human race.

Of course, they had up and down days. The day we visited the city library for a tour, they seemed overwhelmed. The librarian was kind, but the place was too strange for them—bright and filled with white people and machines they didn't understand. They had never seen computers or audiovisual equipment. They looked somber and scared.

We did have some good moments at the library. Martha and Paul liked the books about African animals. Joseph found the books of Chinua Achebe, the great Nigerian writer. Later, when he checked out an Achebe book,
Things Fall Apart,
the librarian told him she had read it. Joseph beamed.

Burger King saved that day. We went there afterward and bought everyone hamburgers and fries. The french fries were a hit. The family all knew how to eat them with ketchup, apparently a universal skill. I thought of Pico Iyer's line about "french fries, the universal language."

Sometimes I was anxious and frustrated when the family didn't bring up problems or ask for help. They didn't admit to negative feelings or fears. They had a way of stuffing all their papers into a desk drawer and I had a feeling that is what they did with issues and problems. I worried about what wasn't getting discussed. I knew they should be asking more questions.

Keeping quiet and waiting had kept the family alive in Kakuma, but here silence and passivity were not so adaptive. We couldn't help them if we didn't know their problems. We couldn't teach them if we didn't know what they needed to learn. But I had to slow myself down or I would become one of the people stressing them out. I had to remind myself that we couldn't be responsible for everything, that their problems had taken years and many wars in several countries to create and we wouldn't solve them quickly.

Things got better. The Kakuma refugees were smart, resilient, and hardworking. The warm Sudanese community took them in. They soon had the routines of church, school, and work. Martha began to laugh and smile. Paul discovered basketball, and Abraham quickly became a leader of his peers. Joseph got a job at a nearby hospital in housekeeping. Even though we must have seemed like we were from another planet, they began to trust us. When we showed up, they all rushed to hug us.

School

Joseph, Abraham, and Paul had been allowed to go to school in Kakuma. Martha had been kept back, working in the home of an elder in their clan. Her brothers had argued with this elder when he refused to let Martha go to school. They had been beaten for defending their sister's right to school. But they had lost the arguments and Martha at eighteen had not learned how to read.

At twenty-two, Joseph was too old for high school. He had to find a job and support the family. But we would help him study for his GED. The others were enrolled in our public schools.

Joseph and I planned to escort Paul and Martha to their first day of school. I went by the apartment early and they were dressed and ready. I gave them notebooks, pencils, book bags, and money for lunch tickets. They'd eaten only bread and milk for breakfast.

Martha wore a sweatshirt and stone-washed jeans with a red plastic coat. Paul wore a used marathon T-shirt and green plaid suit pants. The brothers wore stocking caps all the time, mainly to keep warm, but also because they liked them. Martha's clothing combinations were unique, but she always looked beautiful.

Joseph and I walked first to the middle school with Paul and Martha. I showed them how to cross busy streets. At first Paul and Martha chatted, but as we approached the three-story brick building, they grew quiet.

Inside, people were friendly, but it was bright, noisy, crowded, and very non-Kakuma. The American kids streaming past us seemed much shorter, whiter, louder, and more confident. As leader of his family, Joseph bravely trudged in, shaking hands and greeting school administrators. Martha was wide-eyed with fear but held herself with dignity. Paul followed behind, looking like he would bolt if we gave him a chance.

Our first task was to work the combination lockers. That had been a grueling experience in my school days, and it about did them in. Teaching Paul to work the lock was stressful for all of us. Joseph and I finally got the darned thing open, then Paul did. However, we struggled anxiously with Martha's lock for ten minutes before we finally gave up and went into orientation.

We sat at desks, not built for tall Africans, and listened as a teacher showed us a map of the school and went over procedures. Joseph was sweating in the cool room. Paul and Martha showed by their eyes that they had checked out completely. Then, the teacher handed Paul and Martha their schedules and read out Martha's classes, which included reading and piano lessons.

I looked at Joseph. He was smiling a small slow smile. He was thinking that the crossing, the cold of Nebraska, the difficulties of dealing with us beefy Midwesterners—all his efforts were for this. His sister was no longer a servant. She could go to school. She would learn to read books and play piano. She would be a respected person.

On the way home, Joseph said to me, "In five years I would like to take you to Africa."

I said, "I would like that very much, too. You could show us around."

"Sometimes we must walk for three days to see our friends," Joseph said.

I replied, "I am ready."

Outings

Over the next few months I had many field trips with the family. Once I took them to the supermarket, an amazing place to people who have lived for years on one meal a day of porridge. They got one cart and I got a cart for myself. Joseph ordered Paul to push my cart. Paul was so eager to be useful that he lifted items out of my hands to put them into my cart. I selected a few items and tried to explain to him why I bought spinach, brown rice, yogurt, and oranges. I taught him the names of some American products—peanut butter, cantaloupe, cornflakes, and dish soap.

Meanwhile, Joseph led the other shopping expedition. He selected several gallons of milk, lots of juice, and four cartons of eggs. Martha picked up three eggplants, which I suspected she liked for the bright purple color. I encouraged them to buy other fruits and vegetables. I explained how to cook zucchini and that they must spit out the seeds of citrus fruits. After they bought several packs of bologna, I reminded them to get bread.

Our shopping trip took a long time. They regarded the packages as we might regard objets d'art. They'd pick them up, examine them from all angles, and then discuss them intently in Dinka. Every row displayed a new set of exhibits. I explained what I could, but soon they were overloaded with food facts. The family passed the candy section and Joseph bought a bag of suckers. They had seen suckers before and were happy to find them in America. It was typical of Joseph's good leadership to buy a small treat for his family when they needed one.

By the end they were tired. They rolled our carts into line and with great curiosity watched the moving belt convey our products past the checker. As the clerk rang up our purchases, the family watched the computer screen above us as if it were a TV set. When the clerk asked Joseph for his food stamps, he handed him all of his coupons. The clerk counted out what he needed and handed the rest back. Joseph thanked him politely. He never got too tired to be polite.

Another time I picked up Joseph for a job interview. He wore a suit donated by a friend of mine, a good expensive suit. He had never had a real job before and was very eager to work. Before we left his place, I gave him a watch, that omnipresent American tool. I explained dry cleaning, so that he wouldn't ruin his suit the first time it got dirty.

There were many things to explain. I rationed lessons so that I wasn't lecturing all the time. But today I explained snow days. We were expecting a blizzard and I didn't want Paid, Martha, and Abraham struggling through a storm to schools that might be closed. Joseph was astonished that in America there was ever a time when schools shut down, when things didn't work.

On the way to the job interview, we prepared for potential questions. We talked about Joseph's work in Africa. I worried that he would be too quiet. He wasn't good at asking for or sharing information. I knew it was the Dinka way to be silent, but I encouraged him to speak up at the interview.

He looked scared and I said, "I know this is hard. Eventually, you will figure everything out."

The interview went fine. Joseph was quiet, but poised, and the interviewer liked him. Within a month of arriving in Nebraska, he had found a job. Now he would have to support his family of four on his wages.

Birthdays

The family had been assigned arbitrary birthdays when they came to America. Abraham's nineteenth birthday was the first one in Nebraska. We brought him a cake decorated with basketballs and bikes. We carried it to their apartment along with candles, matches, and presents.

Abraham greeted us. He was proud that he had a new job serving tables and washing dishes at a sorority. We kidded him about the Dinka custom of many wives and asked how many of the girls he would marry. Abraham said that if they were traditional Dinka, the brothers would have had their bottom teeth removed in a manhood ceremony. Jim asked how they felt about missing this ceremony and Abraham laughed and replied, "Very good."

Paul helped me light the candles. They had never seen candles before, much less a birthday cake. I carried the cake to their small coffee table and placed it in front of a rather embarrassed Abraham. Jim and I sang "Happy Birthday" and the others joined in when they could. We told Abraham to blow out the candles. He blew in short little bursts, taking forever to get all the candles blown out. Everyone laughed with him.

Soon after Abraham's birthday, Joseph had a birthday. Many friends were at the house that day, including their new neighbors, Mohamed and Bintu from Sierra Leone. They greeted us warmly and Mohamed spoke with great earnestness and intelligence about the problems of his country. Bintu struck me as kindhearted and beautiful. It was hard to believe she had just arrived from a refugee camp in one of the most tragic places in the world.

We gave Joseph a cake decorated with cows and cars. We gave him a map of the United States, an umbrella, and two books, the Holtzman book on the Nuer and one by Achebe. He blew out the candles with more panache than Abraham, but he had no idea how to cut his cake. When I offered to help him, he said yes adamantly and gratefully.

After the party Jim and I assisted with homework. Today Abraham pulled out his math assignment and Jim helped him with it. A teacher had told us that Abraham was respected by all the other students. She felt he could go to college if he had a chance. Paul drew dinosaurs from a library book and I helped Martha read. I showed her vowel sounds and we worked on sequences like
bit, but, bat
or
hit, hut, hot.
All of a sudden, she realized that she could sound out words and make sense of those black marks on the page. She beamed with pleasure. I felt like Anne Sullivan the day she held Helen Keller's hand under a water pump and Helen spelled out
water.