She punched a button and the screen went blank. “Does Samuel have a laptop or cell phone?”
“No,” Ecko replied.
“Good, then maybe he won’t see this. It’s out there, on the internet.”
“We’re planning to get him a phone and a laptop this morning. He’ll need them.”
“Okay, well, maybe he won’t look for this. They found his father, Ayak Sooleymon, and identified him with his registration card. Evidently, he was in the church and managed to get outside before he was shot. So, his death is confirmed.”
“Any idea about his mother and siblings?”
“No, nothing. As you know, over four million of our people have been displaced by the wars and are living in refugee camps. Let’s hope she finds one. It is extremely difficult to locate people, but we try every day and sometimes we get lucky. Most of them, though, are in camps in neighboring countries. Some have been there for years.”
“I can’t imagine,” Lonnie said.
“As I understand the plan, he will be going with you to Durham.”
“Yes, to play basketball.”
“Well, thanks to you, Coach, he’s a very lucky young man.”
“He doesn’t feel so lucky,” Ecko said.
“I’m sure that’s true. We’ll expedite a student visa and Samuel will be free to enjoy college. I’ll need a few signatures today and we’ll contact Immigration.”
Ecko and Lonnie said “Thank you” at the same time.
She said, “I’ll wait here for a moment while you tell him about his father.”
“I think he knows.”
“I’m sure he does.”
Ecko and Lonnie stood, and as they opened the door, Lonnie said, “We play Howard here on December the nineteenth. I expect Samuel to be in uniform. We would love to have you as our guest.”
“Why, thank you. My husband and I enjoy college basketball, and we’ll be there.”
* * *
·?·?·
Samuel and Coach Britt were in the hotel lobby, fiddling with his new cell phone and laptop, when the players returned. They had been briefed and knew that their friend would not be returning to Juba. His bag was packed, with some new items from J.Crew, all courtesy of Ecko and his dwindling expense account.
After a round of long, emotional farewells, they watched him walk out the door with Ecko and Lonnie. As wounded and hurt as he was, Samuel was living their dream. He would stay in America, and study on a scholarship, and play in nice gyms and fine arenas. And they were so happy for him.
At the car, he hugged Ecko and thanked him for everything. Looking into Samuel’s sad eyes, Ecko was certain he had grown another inch.
| Part Two |
CHAPTER 18
The days didn’t matter anymore. They were all the same. They walked for three days, then another three. They walked early in the morning to beat the sun and rested during the hottest hours, then walked again at night. They slept on the ground, close together for protection. They were starving and beyond thirst, and when the fatigue was so numbing they could not go on, Emmanuel found rotten fruit from a cape fig tree and they devoured it. He cajoled a bag of peanuts from a Dinka farmer, along with a gourd of water. Another farmer, one of the Nuer tribe, cursed and threatened them with a machete. They slowly walked on, listening always for the sounds of trucks and soldiers. Ten or twelve days after the massacre they joined another group of refugees and word filtered back that they were going to Uganda. Beatrice did not want to leave her country—she had never left it before—but Emmanuel had heard more than once that the camps were more dangerous in South Sudan. Rebels raided the settlements, killing and raping, and taking what little food there was. He became convinced that Uganda was where they should go, and the more he talked to the other men the more he was certain that they were going in the right direction. Uganda was keeping its borders open and trying to help the flood of refugees, but its camps were being overrun. So many were fleeing South Sudan, desperate to get away from the violence. Ethiopia and Kenya were also rumored to be safer, but they were much further away.
They walked on, weary and hungry, hoping to see the border just around the next turn. There were over a hundred of them, almost all women and children, one long sad parade of misery. Most were barefoot. Few carried belongings. None had food or water. Near the border a large crowd had stalled where the road was blocked by a row of tents. They rested beside the road as Emmanuel went to gather information. People kept coming by the hundreds.