Taking the Right Turn

Posted in By Arif-Faiz 0 comments


My Name is Peter Nyarol Dut

They now call me and my brothers the 'Lost Boys'.

I come from the Dinka tribe, in southern Sudan. When I was a boy, our village was attacked, by the northerners. I was forced to flee from my homeland, knowing that I may never see most of my close friends again, but more importantly, I knew that I had only a slight chance of seeing my mother again, as they took the women as prisoners. My 'brothers' and I were forced to migrate out of our homeland, and after our walk of thousands of long miles, we finally found a peaceful place to live in Kakuma, a refugee camp in Kenya.

I was one of the lucky people chosen, from Kakuma, to travel to the United States of America, and build a better life in what has been called 'heaven'. I was promised an education, and my goal was to go to America, get educated, and come back and help my country.



They sent seven of us 'lost boys' to Houston, Texas. It was completely different than our living environments in Sudan and Kakuma. We arrived at the apartment we would be staying at. In Sudan, living in an apartment like this, would make us be considered as rich people, but in Houston, we were considered the poor people.

Life in Houston wasn't so pleasant. The American people didn't seem to accept or appreciate our culture. For example, in our culture, we show that we love each other, and we show that we are comfortable around each other, by sometimes holding hands or engaging in small physical contact. But here in America, we were notified that we should only show that type of affection with members of the opposite gender.

When trying to talk to the African American people in Houston, they called us their 'brothers', but they didn't seem to be so comfortable around us. Although they were 'black', we had darker skin, which to them, made us different.

After a few weeks in Houston, we still did not receive the education we seeked. I realized that Houston was a never ending road, as I was going nowhere, so I decided to turn around, and head off to Kansas City.

I left Houston without saying goodbye to my 'brothers', but I was determined to get an education to help them later on.

In Kansas City, I enrolled in Olathe High School, with an estimated age of 17 years. I experienced even more of the American culture, whereas in Houston, I was used to living with people who I understand more, people of the same culture. Also, the jobs we applied for in Houston were basically 'reserved' for the people of my skin color, a lot of the 'lost boys', and we didn't experience collaboration with American people.

After enrolling into high school, my daily routine changed completely. I woke up very early in the morning to get ready to go to school. I return from school and start to prepare my food. After I eat, I start my homework, very late. I finish at about one o'clock in the morning. Sleep. And then start my day all over again. I have very little time for social activity, so I feel detached from everyone. The only time I have for social activity is during the weekends.

After making some friends from school who were also, like me, religiously active, I started to go to church with them. Although the American people practice the same religion that we Dinka people practice, the way engage in this religious activities is completely different. For example, when I went to church in Kansas City for my first time, they showed a movie. This movie included the video of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. This is very different from what we did in Sudan, where we were not involved with any movies and videos. Although I appreciate that my schoolmates are willing to take me to their church, it took a while to get used to.

I became more comfortable in school, and I started to be more serious in basketball. I joined a basketball-camp, which I had to fit into my daily routine. I started to dress differently, like my friends from the basketball team. I didn't forget my Sudanese culture, but I started to mix in more with the American culture.

One day, I received a call from my family back in Kakuma. I realized my mistake of forgetting my main goal of helping my country. I didn't have enough money for myself and my family back in Kakuma, but I knew that I had to stay determined and make sure I could make life better for me.

Before I set off on the journey to America, I was told not to forget my original culture. I was told not to follow the ones who wear the 'baggy jeans'. I was told to go to America, become as smart and as ready as possible, and come back to my people and help my country.

But it is impossible to be able to go back to my country with more knowledge than I had when I left, but still have the same cultural beliefs that I had before. When migrating into a different region, it is impossible to be able to engage with the local people of that region, and not absorb any of their cultural beliefs.

When leaving my village in the Dinka land, I had no idea what was lying ahead of me. I had no idea that I would soon be sitting in a classroom, filling my mind with knowledge. I was lucky to survive, God kept me alive, because I have yet to achieve my goal, and return to my country and show that I am the 'Lost Boy' who will finally take the right turn in the 'never ending' road, coming closer to my final destination.