The Road to Independence is Paved with Children

On July 4^th, King called to wish me Happy Independence Day. I asked him how he was going to spend the day and if he would see some fireworks at night. He said, like he always does, that he loves America and is so grateful for his life here in safety, but that fireworks are no good for him; the sound of them exploding takes him back to the days of his childhood when he was running for his life and he preferred to celebrate in his heart in a peaceful manner.

Then on July 8^th, I celebrated with King Deng and his community their first anniversary of Southern Sudan’s Independence from Northern Sudan. Southern Sudan became the newest nation on our planet on July 9^th, 2011. His People gathered to commemorate this occasion with native traditions, music and food. As I was greeted by his warm and welcoming countrymen and women, I was struck by the thought: what would my life look like as an adult if at the age of seven I was severed from my parents, culture and country in an instant running from bullets and bombs like they were? If I survived the trek through the sweltering Sahara and endless years held captive with other children in refugee camps eating rations of rice, what heritage would I have to pass on to my children?

The answer to that question for me would be almost nothing. I would not be well-versed in my traditions, holidays, food, music, and 20-30 years later, distant memories would be washed away from the ebb and flow of time. I would be struggling by now to remember my father’s face, the smell of my mother’s hair, the gentle touch of my grandmother tucking me in at night, the sound of their voices echoing in my mind. How do you maintain your history when it was ripped out from under you? Not a single treasure to carry with you to trigger your memory or comfort you.

When the event was in full swing, for an etheral moment I stood frozen in time in the center of the 200 tribal people surrounding me. I slowly turned in a 360 degree pan to see the only physical reminders they took with them were their scars. Some of the individuals who were probably around 11 when they fled had tribal markings on their faces indicating their beginning of manhood or womanhood. But the others too had scars--deeply gauged skin from bullets, shrapnel or knives; eye injuries (eyes partially or fully closed). Some limping. Some walking with a cane. And then there were those who had injuries from trauma who were not quite right who were acting a little off kilter. Their tribemates were especially gentle and caring to them. I marveled at the clearly visible tightknit brotherhood and sisterhood they have.

I shifted my gaze to their children. They not like their parents. They are steeped in Americana—their clothes, their toys, their sense of culture--with little sense of the significance of this day. They had not experienced the devastating hardships of their parents, and thank God for that. These children may never see the country that is their birthright because fighting over the rich oil resources in the land their parents call home has not ended a generation later. History is repeating itself. Their villages are being ransacked. Each day 1,000 orphaned children trek to refugee camps with grass in their tummies, dehydrated with no end in sight creating a new generation of Lost Boys and Lost Girls. I see their future. They are here standing 200 strong all around me.

King took centerstage to address his People and I brought my attention to his message: "Today is a celebration but we must continue to stand up for our country. We cannot be silent as our children continue to suffer and are thrust from their culture. Every day there are more Lost Boys and Girls. If 20 years from now they are in the same position we are in today, what will we have accomplished? I pray for peace in Southern Sudan and for the world. We are all sisters and brothers and the fighting must stop. 2 million of our people have died and thousands of children orphaned. When will it be enough?"

King and his People strive relentlessly each day to help one another keep their memories alive, to carry on their traditions, to speak their many languages to maintain their culture in exile. Together my King and I are telling his story and the story of his People for the world to know. And for the children, all the Lost Boys and Girls, I want to give them a window to their past that connects them to their history to share with their children and their children's children. I want to take them on King’s journey so they can see with their own eyes where they came from and how they got here. How else can you move forward as a cohesive People? That is why it is so important for King to return to his village in Southern Sudan to come full circle, to connect their past, present and future. I plan to capture every moment on film. I invite you to follow us....