Sooley(33)

In Lotta, Samuel had two friends whose families owned small televisions with satellite reception, and generators, and he had watched plenty of college and professional games from the U.S. He was mesmerized by the spectacle of the game and motivated by its excitement, popularity, and pageantry. He understood most of it, but there were always lingering questions. The most puzzling was: Why do college teams have so many men in dark suits on the bench? Who are these people? Does a team with only five players on the court really need half a dozen coaches? Often, there were more men in dark suits than players in uniform.

He had posed these important questions to Murray, whose response was something like “That’s what everybody else does. Why does the football team need a hundred players?”

Coach Britt said there were six new faces in the crowd. He introduced the two walk-ons, then he introduced the two transfers, the first being Sherman Batts, who played the previous season at a community college in Florida. The second was Trevor Young, a high school all-American who hadn’t played much at Virginia Tech and would sit a year.

Then the two freshmen. Samuel Sooleymon, from the African republic of South Sudan, and Michal Rayburn from Wilmington. He bragged on each for a moment, then glanced at his watch and said, “All right, the NCAA says that we have only forty-five more minutes today. Let’s move to the dressing room and pick lockers. Seniors first, as always. Then we’ll hand out practice uniforms, new shoes, anything else you might need. Tomorrow you’ll get your first physical exams so be here a few minutes early.”





CHAPTER 23





Each day began the same. There was nothing to vary the routine, nothing to change schedules that did not exist. For the displaced and war-scarred, waking in safety with the promise of food and water was a gift from God. They knew so many who had not survived.

Beatrice woke first and gently shifted her weight on the hard ground, careful not to wake her boys. The first rays of sunlight peeked through the mesh-covered window above her. She heard a few soft whispers from the nearby tents as mothers moved about. As always, her first thoughts were of her children. James and Chol were with her and they would soon be awake and asking about food. Angelina was gone and finding her would be a miracle. And where was Samuel? The team was scheduled to return by the first of August at the latest. Return to what? Surely Samuel by now knew of the massacre. There was no home, no village. Where would he go? In her dreams he finds Ayak and together they find Angelina, and the three of them are here, somewhere in the settlement, looking for Beatrice and the boys.

She had her morning prayer, followed by her morning cry. It was best to cry alone while the boys slept. For a long time she softly rubbed their legs as things came to life around her. More voices from the tents, more people moving in the mud street in front of the tents.

Soon, they would embark on the daily adventure of finding breakfast. The food drop-offs were well-known. The sounds of straining truck engines usually meant aid workers were arriving. Everyone in the long lines knew how to wait patiently for hours. There was plenty of food, and once those who had been starving realized this they were content to wait. They waited an hour for a breakfast of porridge and water, an hour for a lunch of beans, rice, and a small loaf of bread, an hour for a dinner of whatever was left over from the earlier meals. No meat, no fruit, nothing with a hint of sugar, but there were no complaints. The people had known the fear and physical pain of hunger and were relieved it had ended.

Beatrice and the boys moved around the sprawling and growing settlement. They waited in numerous lines at food points. They waited in lines for secondhand clothing and shoes. They roamed the dirt and mud streets with no destination in mind. They found a small market area and wondered how anyone had money to buy anything. They heard Dinka, their language, and Nuer, that of their biggest rivals, and Azande, Bari, Murle, English, and other unknown tongues. Like many of the mothers, she was searching. She had taught the boys to watch carefully, to quickly examine the faces of all teenage girls. It was possible that Angelina was in the camp and they might find her.

Beatrice saw an aid worker, a white woman, in a smart shirt with the words “Doctors Without Borders” monogrammed over the pocket. She was talking on a mobile phone and standing outside a large military tent being used as a hospital. She lowered her phone, took a deep breath, and noticed Beatrice staring at her from five feet away. Beatrice assumed she spoke English and said, “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” the lady replied with a warm smile.

“Is there any way to use a phone around here?”

“There is some cellular service but not much. Here at the hospital we have our own antenna and generator. There are a few others in the settlement.” She had one of those European accents.

“I’m looking for my children. My son went to America this summer to play basketball. I don’t know where he is and he doesn’t know where we are.”

“Does he have a mobile phone?”

“No. All I have is the name of his coach.”

“Where does the coach live?”

“Somewhere in America, but he’s South Sudanese.”

“Somewhere in America,” the lady repeated, amused. “Okay, give me his name and tell me what he does and I’ll try.”

“His name is Ecko Lam and he coaches the basketball teams from South Sudan. All the paperwork was in my house.”