PVCC Puma Press: December 2006

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	Photo By Roman Khomautinnikov
	Santino Majok Nyang plans to major in accounting or become a social worker to help those with similar experiences like his
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Santino Majok Nyang, 24, walks at an unhurried pace past the cafeteria and readjusts a stack of books under his right elbow. He leans left to rebalance, pulls a Pink Floyd “Dark Side of the Moon” baseball hat over his brow, and proceeds to the refreshing chill of the library. There Nyang sits on the edge of a chair and pushes the hat away from his forehead, revealing tribal etchings in his skin shaped like the Chevron logo. He is not eager to talk about it, but discloses that getting these markings was a painful procedure involving sharp instruments.

Nyang’s narrative is one of survival. The Sudanese Army would enter the villages before sunrise seeking members of the Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA). The SPLA are nomadic rebels who fight for the Christians’ right to hold a position in the government.

When the army arrived at his village, 11-year-old Nyang had no choice but to flee into the jungle. He survived among pythons and lions, remaining in the wild four days, alone and hunted.

Nyang comes from Sudan, Africa, a country that, from 1983 until the signing of a peace agreement in 2005, was torn apart by the Second Sudanese Civil War. The war took place in the south where the Arab Muslims from the north invaded the Black Christians. The Arab Muslims comprised the majority of Sudan, three-fourths of the population. They forced the Christians to convert in order to obtain the minerals from the South. Nyang, a Christian from the south, witnessed violent religious strife that culminated in deaths of his family members.

The name of Nyang’s tribe and language is Dinka. He lived in Panacier, a small village with a school, hospital and police booth. His father was a farmer who cultivated corn and kept cattle, and his mother worked around the house. The conditions, Nyang says, were poor. They had no running water inside and had to go out and use the tap in the street. They ate beans, corn and rice cooked in a large cauldron.

“The villagers are innocent and very peaceful people,” he says. “They aren’t considered citizens of Sudan until they become Muslims. The Christians want a place in the government but are denied power and basic human rights. Religion is something you practice by yourself without fear. We don’t hate the Arabs—they hate us.”

The Sudanese government is conducting a genocide. More than two million people have died, and over four million have been forced to abandon their homes.

The Muslim military rode in jeeps or marched early in the morning and opened fire. They were only looking for SPLA in the villages, but shot everyone. “And when you hear shots—run!” says Nyang.

Hundreds of soldiers with black leather boots cut through the jungle at night with AK rifles slung over their shoulders and RPGs fastened to their backs. They wore camouflaged shirts and pants that were hardly visible in the darkness, and muzzle flashes illuminated their red berets. They marched hurriedly; behind them, havoc followed.

On the day the military came to his village, Nyang remembers that the sun had not yet risen. The forest wildlife had quieted down and the villagers were asleep. Then Nyang’s mother frantically approached his bunk and roused him with frightened cries. Her sobs echoed throughout the village as civilians scattered about, some safely evading gunfire, others left wounded or dead on the ground.

Upon hearing shots fired, says Nyang, they ran out and tried to find cover in the jungle. He heard the rapid whistle of bullets all around and could discern the direction of the fire by the burning of tracer rounds lodged in the automatic rifle magazines after every fourth round.

“They weren’t just trying to scare us. I saw people gathering their cattle and little children and running into the forest,” says Nyang. “The military fired at anyone—old women, children, anyone in sight. They shot my uncle and brother. My parents and cousin ran away. And I ran.”

Events of that night recur in Nyang’s memory as muted scenes of terror with the smell of gunpowder. In order to survive, Nyang was forced to hide in the bushes of the deep jungle. He kept running through the wilderness for four days—hungry, thirsty, with no home to return to. “I had to run in the day because at night there were lions, tigers, and snakes around,” says Nyang, pausing for a moment.

Back then Nyang was 11-years-old and very scared. He wanted to cry but couldn’t because that would disturb the wild animals. He had to tread carefully and at all times remain aware that behind any given bush there might lurk a voracious jungle cat or a slithering snake. During the day, Nyang looked for food and water, sustaining himself on corn soaked in water. He collected bedewed leaves and felt stronger after drinking coconut juice.

It often rained, but Nyang managed a restless sleep. One day he sat up on a bush when something walked or crawled on the grass. He jumped up startled and ready to flee.

Nyang couldn’t see what it was and thought that it was a snake. He decided to climb up a tree to escape, but as he got higher, one of the branches broke. “I fell down and saw the tail of a squirrel as it ran away. I was relieved,” says Nyang, appreciating the humorous moment with a quick smile.

That incident reminded him of a childhood encounter with a snake when he climbed a tree, reaching for a branch which turned out to be the tail of a snake. Nyang dragged the snake down to the ground with him and sped away in horror immediately.

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	Nyang, at 11, survived among pythons and lions, remaining in the wild four days, alone and hunted
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On his fourth day in the jungle, Nyang found his cousin Anyuon Chan. He was glad to stop running and finally have company on his journey to Ethiopia.

Once in Ethiopia, Nyang lived and studied among other refugees. The United Nations gave the refugees food, clothes and shelter. Nyang describes the group house where he lived as a mud hut with wires and straw on the roof. The number of refugees rapidly increased, and they had to fashion larger huts out of the materials provided by the U.N. The living conditions were far from perfect: there was a shortage of food and water, and gangs looted the supplies.

Nyang doesn’t share fond memories of the camps, but says that the Ethiopians were very friendly and welcoming people. There were English-speaking people there, and Nyang was given an opportunity to learn. From a relative, Nyang found out that his father had been shot by the government military and his mother had died of sickness.

Years later, Nyang reported to a U.N. group house in Kenya where he and his cousin Anyuon were offered aid. “The U.N. came to Kenya with food and clothes and looked to help the children of Sudan. They chose us, and we went to Arizona in the year 2000,” says Nyang.

Upon reflecting on his reaction to the conflict that brought him to the United States, Nyang says that he isn’t mad or angry. “I love my people and want them to be free. I want the Arab Muslims to respect life with no distinction between religions,” he says.

He asks why the Christians should change the way they are and adds that even if he was forced, he would not change. “Let them do whatever they want. I want my people to live.”

In Sudan, a black Christian from the south is not allowed to attend a university until he or she converts to Islam. One of Nyang’s uncles, Akuol Bak, tried to get into the University of Sudan, but was rejected because of his beliefs. “And why should I convert and add Ahmed to my name?” asks Nyang.

In six years, says Nyang, the Sudanese government will be divided into two groups headed by the president of SPLA and the president of Northern Sudan. He is skeptical of optimal results.

Upon his arrival in Arizona, Nyang attended Paradise Valley High School where his biggest challenge was grasping the language. “It is a good school, but I often didn’t understand what the teachers were saying.

“Learning English and changing countries was difficult, but I am glad to be here,” he says. “I like the people and have many friends. No one hurts your feelings and everyone treats me nice,” says Nyang who believes that America is a different world where you can live as a human being and “won’t get killed like a chicken for religious beliefs.”

Nyang plans to major in accounting or become a social worker for an immigration agency. “I want to help those with similar experiences,” he says.

Nyang wants to be successful in life and wishes to become a citizen. He works at Fry’s grocery store on Thunderbird and 40th streets and lives with his cousin Anyuon. He also has a sister in Uganda whom he supports and misses.

Remembering his trying childhood, Nyang considers himself a survivor. He works and he studies, but still finds time to cheer for the Phoenix Suns, “unless they are playing the Lakers,” says Nyang.

Nyang enjoys the challenge of living in America, is eager to finish his education and says that he is a happy person who wants to help.