Thursday, May 14, 2009

The over-decorated present
There has been a conflict going on in Sudan; the Islamic fundamentalist government has been waging civil wars on the South (the Christians and Animist) from 1953, for 20 years. This has led to deaths of 2 million people, mostly the cattle-herding Dinka tribe. Their houses were burnt down and their millet and sorghum fields were set on fire. Many of their cattle were shot and women and girls were taken captive. But 20,000 young boys managed to escape to Kenya, to the refugee camps in 1992, meeting many obstacles such as hunger, lions, and the heat on their way. They are now known as the "Lost Boys."

Under the US refugee program, some of the Lost Boys have been given the opportunity to go live in America, to re-start their life. They considered living in America as heaven, and believed that the boys who are going to the US as the future of Sudan. They thought America as a little present, with all their hope, their goals nicely put together in a pretty box. But they soon figured out that America is nothing more than an over-decorated present. It just sits there, with nothing much other than difficulties for them in it. As time passes, however, the boys learn to adapt to their new life, making something out of nothing.

This can be seen through a docudrama "The Lost Boys of Sudan" as the two Dinka boys; Peter Nyarol Dut and Santino Majok Chuor faces and overcome difficulties when adjusting their new life in a new place.

The first rush of disappointment they felt as they opened one third of their present was the loneliness they faced. As the people in America is always so busy, and in Sudan they are not, it was hard for them to make friends. "Time is money in America."they say. But it wasn't just because of friends they felt lonely. It was because of the way people looked at them that made them feel small and uncomfortable. "When I come nearby people, people just look at me. I look odd. I feel shame and I don't like that. I'm so black than the black people living here. I'm so...black." Also, Santino felt as if he was somebody among the children of the rich people. He felt poor, a poor person without any parents when he knew he had lack of experience in basketball than others. Other students in Santino's bascketball club already knew all the skills from all the practices they had after school, while Santino didn't get the chance of learning them back in Sudan.

As they tore apart two third of the present, obstacles for work disappointed them. They were paid for a low income- Santino's job only paid $7 an hour, very little for what they had to pay for- food, rent and money they had to send back home, especially when they had to fit school time in their schedule. "I cannot say if America is good or bad. I came here to the United States, I was not coming to have a beautiful car, beautiful house, to get food and good clothes. I thought I was coming here to gain something. So that we go and help my people. But we don't get it. We're just working for nothing." they say, since everyday was a repeat of school, house work, job, and homework. Also, they were biased when doing work. "The boss said since Africa in hot, we Africans can work out in the heat. She thinks we can take the heat. It's not funny. Are we made to work in the sun? She thinks we're already burned because we're black. It doesn't mean if I'm used to the heat, I gotta work in the heat."

Tearing apart the remaining wraps, they felt disappointment for the difficulties they faced because of the cultural differences. Since they were not used to paying rents and receiving receipts back in Sudan, got a boy into trouble with nearly having to pay the rent twice because he was unaware of keeping the receipt after payment. The laws for driving without a license also got Santino into trouble of having to pay all the fines when he was unaware of the laws in America.

But it is then- when figuring out that nothing special for them lies there in that over-decorated box that the boys realized that they should be making something out of nothing- to make the pretty wrappings worthy. They adapted the American culture- they started to use slang such as "~man.", dressed in baggy pants, learned to like cheese burgers, learned to not hold hands in America since it is seen as homosexual while in Sudan it is seen as friendship. Most importantly they slowly learned to help their country starting with small things such as advertisements. "They sent me information as an advertisement in the mailbox. They say you must spend three years working as an apprentice, then you become a journey man. I should serve the leadership this way. Maybe I'll be the one who brings electricity back to our hometown.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009


Rest in Peace Dear Yellow

I am a killer.
It all started when my brother brought Yellow into the house.

"Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp" The continuous high-pitched chirping sound got louder as I walked up the stairs to my house. When I opened the door, I found my 6 year old brother carefully cupping a small, bright yellow chick in his hands as if it was a fragile glass that would shatter to pieces if dropped.
"Where did you get that?" I asked.
"I got him at the front of my school for 500won on the way home." He said, never taking his eyes off the small creature. He obviously was already in love with him.
"Did you get permission from mommy? Cause if you didn't, you might have to throw him away." I said in a teasing way. The thing is, I like animals, but I am awfully bad at taking care of them. I like to look at them, observing the little things they do, but not touching them, especially small ones.
"Yes, he is going to live with us forever and ever until he becomes a chicken and make more and more chicks! He is part of our family now, so be nice to... to... what should his name be Che Rim?" Oh boy, forever and ever? How am I supposed to live with that thing when its squeaking all the time! Help.
"Oh, I know, he can be...Yellow!"
"Yellow? Why?"
"Yellow from the Power Rangers! Isn't that such a cool name?" Power Rangers is his all time favorite TV program, and Yellow is one of the members. However……
"Yellow is a girl Che Hoon."
"Then she is a girl from now on. It doesn't matter as long as I love her."

We kept Yellow in a little box, at the balcony so that Yellow wouldn't get lost or hurt inside the house. But as the days passed, the chirping got louder and louder disturbing and annoying both me and my parents with its loud noise. I couldn't concentrate on my homework, TV and sleeping. Her body also grew, and she kept on leaping out of the box and would never get back in, where her food was. My brother became very worried, and went out to the balcony to put her inside the box again. But that's when it happened.

My brother had left the door open, only about 10cm, but wide enough for Yellow to come indoors to conquer the house with its deafening loud noise. Believe me, the sound of the chirping was like listening to an awful opera singer singing 'Phantom of the Opera'. It was scary indeed. As Yellow took long olympic-like jumps towards the door, with an evil smile of satisfaction and eyes raging with fire on its face, Beethoven's symphony No.5 started to play in my mind furiously. It seemed as if every jump she took shook the ground like an earthquake. The frustration and irritation that I had for Yellow went through wildly in my mind like a panorama. My heart started to beat stronger and faster like a heavy machine gun. When Yellow was just a few centimeters away from the door, my palms started to sweat, my legs started to wobble, and my eyesight became all blurry except from Yellow. I could see her all too perfectly. I could still see those eyes raging with fire, her beak twisted into a little smirk. I had to close that door before Yellow got in, before Yellow could destroy my lovely home. I jumped from the couch I was sitting on, ran towards the door, hoping that I could slide- close the door before it was too late. With my heart that was about to jump off my chest, I slid the door shut.
But instead of hearing a little 'bang' sound of closing the door, all I could hear was a high-pitched squeak.

I had become a killer at the age of 8.