Sudan

2007-09-25T14:47:00.000-04:00

Five years ago at the MCC Leadership Camp, we met a young man from Sudan. He was hoping to study to become a doctor at Michigan State University; still, he had a lot of obstacles to overcome – culture, language, lack of educational preparation.

He lost his whole village, his family at the age of eleven. He finally made it to a refugee camp in Kenya when he was fifteen, after three and a half years of running and walking. His first contact with formal education was at the refugee camp.

His story touched me and led me to write this poem.

Eleven

Far village lights
Starry night
Goats around me
My brother at a distance
Cool night breeze
Warm sand on my skin
I slept.

Startled, awakened
Loud voices from the village
Horses, horses, horses
The village burning
In the firelight
My brother running
Guns; Boom, Boom, Boom!

I stood still, watching
Horses galloping
Silence fell
My brother, my mother, my father
Gone, I was no one!
I ran and ran and ran
Away from goats!

Away from ghosts!
Parched throat, sore feet
Hungry stomach
Goat’s milk, bare roots
Away from men burning villages
Alone, I was no one
What then? I was only eleven.

2006-07-05T11:10:00.000-04:00

I walked through the supermarket sliding doors, conscious, that I only had so much money spend, that I was getting into my rent money already. I was worrying about last month's rent, where the rest of it is going to come from.

At the bookstore, I made the weighty decision of not treating myself to a book - books are my only luxury - I get them from the library, from garage sales and borrowing from friends. I took some books off the shelves, sat down and thumbed through some pages.

I was looking for a book about Francis of Assissi. I have decided that the lifestyle model that he offered in the thirteenth century provide some solutions to the problems we are facing now.

"Don't get into your rent money." My friend reminded me.

"I won't," I answered, conscious of the increasing weight of temptation to buy. "I really must get to the store to pick up juice and milk."

"Pick up a can of pork and beans for me." I heard him as I was leaving.

We are both college graduates, both in the helping professions and education, both always broke. Neither of us have a lavish lifestyle - actually we live a very austere Franciscan life - except maybe for our cars, car insurance and choice of zip code. This is something beyond our control. There is very little public transportation service in the metro-Detroit area.

So there I was, in the wrong aisle in the supermarket confronted by huge boxes of seedless watermelon, on sale for $2.99 - so the sign said. I thumped some of the melons, got a basket and got one. I immediately headed for the aisle to get the "pork and beans, then to the dairy section for the juice and milk.

The cashier said,"$13.99."

"What?" I said surprised as my own calculations came to $9.67.

"$13.99, " the cashier repated.

"I only have $10.00. How much is the watermelon?" I asked.

"$6.99."

"The sign said $2.99!" I exclaimed.

The cashier seem at a lose and started to look around. A white woman chewing some thing in her mouth and key jangling from her wrist came up.

"$2.99 with a $10.00 minimum purchase. It is written in all the signs." She said.

Her tone voiced the implication that I obviously could not read. I was embarrassed as the white line grew longer behind me. Most of the "help" in the store are women of color and the customers predominantly white. I did not want to give the wrong impression about my race. The color line is thick in the Detroit area as it is. I have to save my money for the rent - it is either money for rent or money for gas, if I have to move farther away from work.

"I have to give the melon back. Nobody should celebrate the 4th of July without watermelon!" I mumbled.

The cashier looked at me with sympathy in her eyes, while her supervisor inserted the slip into the register with apparent annoyance in her demeanor.

"I will bag my own stuff." I said mindful of the line growing behind me. I started to walk away with the three items, a gallon of milk, a half gallon of juice and a can of pork and beans. The whole list came to $6.97.

"Thank you." The cashier said with an apology in her voice.

"Miss, I'll buy the watermelon for you," called the woman behind me with a full cart of groceries.

"Beg your pardon?"

"You give me the $3.00 and I will buy the watermelon for you. My order is way more than $10.00.''

"Oh, thank you. Nobody should celebrate the 4th of July without watermelon."

I handed her three one dollar bills.

"Ring up the watermelon with my groceries," the woman said to the cashier with autthority.

"It was hers," the cashier said pointing to me and putting the watermelon aside.

"I am buiying it for her."

"You are?" came the baffled answer as she rang up the melon.

I stuck around until the whole order was done - $187.00 worth of 4th of July barbecue celebration goodies - to make sure that the watermelon was actually only $2.99. I placed the watermelon in a plastic bag. Then I headed out to the waiting car.

"You didn't get into your rent money, did you?" Said my friend eyeing the watermelon.

"Nobody should celebrate the 4th of July without watermelon!"

"What?"

"We always had watermelon on the fourth. Part of the celebration, sometimes it is the celebration!"

Another baffled audience. I told him the story of this watermelon to assure him that I did not get into my rent money.

"That was nice of her." His comment. "I don't think we're all that independent after all."

"I wanted to tell her "God Bless You" , but I didn't. I was afraid she might not be a believer."

"What difference does that make?"

"Well, you know."

I was quiet all the way home still wondering where the rest of last month's rent money was going to come from.

got longer behind me.

Every Day Stories

Sudan