(for sale at Kakuma Market)
Allow me to introduce
Mataa to you. One morning when I awoke, a message was on my phone. It said,
“Hello.” No name was attached to the message and you know how reluctant people
are to reply to an unknown message or call. Well, I felt God saying, “Go ahead.
Talk to this person.” I replied tentatively back to this person and said,
“Hello.” Those two initial words began a growing understanding for me about the
plight of refugees. I have been working with refugees and asylum-seekers, who
for this and other articles I will group all as refugees, for 7 ½ years. I have
heard stories, seen where they live, watched as they grew thinner with each
week, and regularly felt broken with them as the government refused to give
them their official documents. This day, my eyes would be opened to another kind
of story. [Note: There is some content that might disturb sensitive readers.]
After “Hello,” this
person began telling me his story of how he became a refugee and what it is
like to be a refugee in the world’s largest refugee camp, Kakuma, Kenya. This
young 19-year-old man’s story unfolds like an interview. For this story, a
pseudonym will be used.
Mataa is this young man’s
name. He said, “Thank you so much for replying to me. I purposely inboxed you
to give a story of mine, if it’s okay with you. I am a Sudanese refugee living
in Kenya. And I thought to myself I should share my story with you in hope I
can get any help concerning my academic issues. Thank you so much. I hope you
would wish to hear me out.”
Gail: Mataa, please tell me
your story. I don’t know if I can help with your academic issues, but I would
like to hear your story.
Mataa: Thanks to you so
much for understanding my point. It is long and sad.
Back when I was in Sudan,
we used to live a life with much happiness until war broke out in some parts of
our country, which left a lot of people dead, including many children and
women.
My parents took us to some
place they thought was safe, but all went worse there. I lost my cousins and
uncle there when we were attacked in the dawn by rebels.
Before the final attack,
early one morning when we were looking after our goats in the nearby forest, we
saw some guys who were running while bending approaching us and we knew they
were up to no good. We screamed and ran back to the village. A few minutes
later they caught up with us. They began shooting guns at our village so people
started running, but most women and children did not make it. They were laying
down dead. It was a terrible situation, so I and my friend decided to hide
inside the grass. My friend saw his mother and his 7-month-old sister on the
back of his mother. He ran to them and hugged her. I called him to bend down since
the bullet sounds were still too much. But they never heard me. He witnessed
his mom being shot in the chest and die on the spot. As she fell, she fell on
her child, too. They both died. My friend was so shocked he couldn’t believe
what he saw. He stayed until evening.
Later that evening, my
father who was away with my mother came and took me with my friend to the
forest where I first saw my mom. I was so happy to see her. Days later, we took
off to some villages in the west Sudan. There we stayed for days. In that
village my friend was so stressed, so he got sick and died, too. Now, I feel he
deserves justice in some way.
Later, the fighting
continued. I ran away to the forest where I thought it was safe for me to stay.
All our village members ran, too. While I was still in the bush, I used to hear
wounded people screaming for help and screaming out the names of people who had
been killed with their bodies just lying there. That made me run deeper into the
forest to go and look for whoever was alive.
Days later, while I was
in the forest, I found a hunter who said he would take me with him. He told me
I should wait for him until he first got an animal to kill. I waited for him
under that tree for 4 days, but he never returned. I used to sleep on the tree
branch and drink water from the nearby water source. There was no food. The
only food available was the tree leaves, which I ate, then I slept. Five days
later, I gave up and left that place.
Guns were still being heard,
so I decided to go to the banks of the river Nile where I found some people who
were experiencing the same issues as me. We walked together to a small town
where they believed people were being taken to a Kenyan refugee camp, so I
followed them. When we reached that town, we stayed there for a month, then we were
taken to the refugee camps. Life in that camp was a bit fair; I never heard any
screams. The only worrying thing is where were my parents and siblings.
A year later, I joined a
primary school where I learned small English. I am now in form 2 [form 2 is
grade 11 or 12], but the schools are being turned into a private school system
and require money to attend. In case I don’t get a chance to finish my high school,
I would want to do some computer course and driving school, then go to Sudan
and find a small job.
I am praying hard. Going
to school is a big dream nowadays.
Gail: What is the
school’s name? Where is it located? How much are the fees?
Mataa: They charge 18,000
Kenyan shillings per term (3 times a year). [That’s about $180 three times a
year.] I am taking grade 12 classes. The school is called Kakuma Secondary
School and is outside the camp. No one in my family has ever gone to high
school or university. I had never been to school until I arrived in Kakuma.
[They didn’t use to charge tuition, but another organization oversees the
schools as of this year.]
Gail: Is there a school
inside the camp?
Mataa: Yes, but it is
more expensive.
Gail: Do you live inside
the camp?
Mataa: Yes. The saddest
thing in my life is knowing that my mother brought me into this world and I feel
it is my obligation to give her a life she deserves along with women of her age
by bringing peace to our country. The only way of bringing peace to our country is through forgiving those who have killed our beloved people. The past is in the past.
"The only way of bringing peace to our
country is through forgiving those who have killed our beloved people. The past
is in the past."
My biggest dream is one
day I can be a peace ambassador in my country and in the world in general.
Gail: How many years have
you lived at the camp? How old are you now?
Mataa: I’ve been in this camp 6 years. I am
19-years-old now.
Gail: That’s a long time
to be without your parents to love on and care for you. Who took their place in
the camp?
Mataa: We stayed as boys
only in our compound and we cook for ourselves. I am used to it now. I am good.
But I have been lonely.
Gail: Where are your
parents now?
Mataa: My mom is in Sudan.
My dad passed away in 2012 in the conflict.
Mataa experienced
atrocities most people will never see or understand. He faced them with almost
no adult help. Mataa has learned to live with other orphaned boys in the camp.
He tells me they are violent boys, and it is very dangerous to live in the
camp. Mataa sent a picture to me of a young man, maybe 18-years-old that had
stitches put in across his scalp this week because none of the boys wanted to
cook for the group, so they fought about it.
Just because a refugee
makes it to a refugee camp, does not mean life will be rosy. Please pray for
Mataa and other orphaned refugee children living in camps or in places where there
are no camps. Pray for all the refugees to be able to have enough food, a place
to live, free education, and a place of safety.
One final note, Mataa
wants to return to his home country of Sudan. Most refugees I have spoken with
want the same thing. Their host country is a temporary refuge. Mataa wants to
be a peace ambassador. The other day he told me he wants to open an orphanage
for children in Sudan. And just in case this matters to anyone, Mataa is a
professing believer. He is humble and cares for other people.
Mataa ended our last
conversation saying that he now has two moms, the one in Sudan and me. We speak
almost every day now. We don’t need to live close to someone to develop this
relationship. We need to be genuine to build relationships with refugees, just
like any relationship, ones that feel like family and involve trust.
