Bassoff places one hand on his belly and says, "It is a time to have a full stomach." Then he places a hand on his chest and says, "And it is a time to have a full heart." The young men nod silently. Then Daniel jokes, "But it is not a time to have a full head!"
After dinner, Bassoff tells the group about the Iroquois talking-stick tradition, in which the holder of a ceremonial staff is allowed to make an address. He then presents his own walking stick, which has been customized to ward off bears with a rear-view mirror, bells, a picnic basket and even a siren. At his urging, dinner guests take turns accepting the stick and addressing the gathering. Jennifer Gueddiche and Dorothy O'Donal both describe how they have been inspired, touched and amazed by the young Sudanese men.
John Johnston
Daniel Lual fled his village in 1987. Fourteen years later, he landed in Denver.
John Johnston
We are family: Dorothy O'Donal (seated, center) and other volunteers host a Thanksgiving dinner for the young men from Sudan.
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After a while, Daniel reaches for the staff.
"Four days ago I fell sick," he says. "For me, it was easy. After going through so many things, it was nothing. Yet people here showed concern. E-mails were sent. Calls were made. That made me to feel happy and excited. The sickness and the suffering did not last long.
"I do not believe how I have come to be here with you different people," he continues. "All of you are dear to me. I would like to meet you again. I would like us to be together again. You are making us forget the past. You are like medicine on our wounds. You are making us to be someone for tomorrow. I do not know how to express my gratitude, so I will just say thank you. Thank you very much."
As Christmas approaches, the apartment in Westminster is shaping up. Daniel and his roommates have added two more lumpy plaid couches, an artificial log in the fireplace, a color TV, a wall print of a Sumo wrestler and a shot glass from Mexico, which they insist is for decorative purposes only.
Daniel's job is going well. He is paying bills, making friends and establishing contacts. He has added a few stilted phrases of slang to his vocabulary, including "Yeah, right." Not long ago, he even received his driver's license, which he cannot wait to use.
"The traffic here, it is wonderful," he says. "There are so many curves that you don't know where to enter. Each one takes a different path. If you are not careful, you could go to Arizona!"
Money is still tight, and he has been able to buy himself only a new belt. But on the whole, he and the Lost Boys are moving forward. Professor Bassoff plans to meet with CU admissions officials to see if Simon can qualify for in-state tuition, possibly a college scholarship. Simon is even studying for the SATs and is considering auditing a college course in spring. Isaac, encouraged by his Internet discovery, plans to resume the search for his family. One of Daniel's friends, Peter Deng, has already moved to Boulder and bought a Maxima and a laptop computer. Even David Kuer John has found a job.
But success has been bittersweet. When Simon imagines thinks of people starving in southern Sudan, he cannot enjoy his own meals. And when he pictures the wounded and diseased refugees suffering without medicine or proper care, his own body aches.
"Crossing the Atlantic cannot separate me emotionally from southern Sudan," he says. "To come and stay in America alone when you have a family of seven or eight is a traumatic thing. You cannot sleep. Some of my family may be there still. One day I will go to southern Sudan, whether it is peaceful or not peaceful. One day I will do it."
Daniel is also haunted. When he is cooking, he stares into the blue flames of the gas stove and imagines the march toward Kenya, when the barren landscape offered not even a stick of firewood. So he and his companions used what was available: the sun-bleached rib bones of fallen travelers.
"That fire, it burned the same blue as the stove," he says. "Even now that I am here, so far from that place, it is with me. It is still here."
Unlike Simon, Daniel is not certain when he will return to Sudan. If the opportunity arises, he would like to find his family; he visited the Red Cross office downtown and asked if he could somehow send a letter back to Sudan, but they told him they did not handle such things. And if he is able to complete a Ph.D., he would like to teach at an institute in his homeland. But for now, while the war continues, the best way he can help his people is to make sure that he and the other Lost Boys are successful in Denver. The best way to stop the suffering at home is to raise awareness in the United States.
Much work remains to be done. The journey is not over, and many difficult obstacles remain. Yet, after enduring so much for so long, he and his friends are comfortable now. They have steady jobs. They have textbooks to read. They have a future to imagine. And some of them, Daniel included, no longer have persistent nightmares. For the moment, that is enough.
"I have no real home," Daniel says. "I know this. So where I am peaceful, that is my home. In Denver, I am peaceful."
