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MARTHA AND NYAMAL’S STORY
Nyamal was old enough to remember the last time the soldiers attacked their village—barging into their home in the night and killing their father as the family lay in bed. But her sister Martha was just a baby then. She had no memory of fleeing with their mother that night. No memory of their aunt, who died from wounds as they walked through the darkness, leaving her 8-month-old child in Nyamal’s arms. No memory of the journey that led them to this life. But this time, Martha would remember. [Continue reading]
He had already survived the attack on his town, when government forces came with their machine guns rattling before dawn and sent Duany and his brothers fleeing from their beds in different directions. He had survived the month-long journey that followed, when he walked without shoes and without family to safer land across the border of Ethiopia. He had survived night after night in the Ethiopian refugee camp, where he was put into a tent with the other motherless boys and awoke each morning to more of them missing around him. But even there, so far from his home, there was a chance for school and games with the other children and a lingering hope to see his brothers again. Until one night, during a dinner of rations, the men with guns came for him too. [Continue reading]
His parents had both fled gunfire and flames in villages hundreds of miles apart. And it was in a refugee camp, among the other survivors, that they first met.
They fell in love. They married. And in the camp they gave birth to five children—the youngest was Goy.
Peace came and a new home with it. But Goy only ever knew peace and home as fragile things. When he was six years old, violence once more sent the family fleeing Sudan. They were a larger family now—Goy’s baby brother just three years old. And when they fled they returned to a life in a refugee camp, all of them together, grateful that they had all survived unscathed. [Continue reading]