Those of us fortunate enough to have direct contact with refugees and displaced persons often find that even their simple, offhand comments catch us up short, inviting us to a new perspective on our own lives and values.  Here are several such comments from Sister Marilyn’s recent interaction with displaced persons living in Southern Sudan and with refugees resettled in California.

• “Today is a miracle; this is the most wonderful miracle!” (New!)
• “A Wheelchair for Rose” (New!)
• "My uncle's wife died and therefore it was my duty to take care of his children…. By Amal Solomon" (New!)
• “We never minded, as long as we were alive. By Christine Apio” (New!)
• "The last four hours I walk uphill with my suitcase on my head."
• "They’re serving porridge—with sugar!""
• "I can imagine how that would be…"
• "Wow! I’m getting a lot of things!"

“Today is a miracle; this is the most wonderful miracle!”

The town of Juba is a fast-growing jumble of haphazard construction along the eastern bank of the Nile. This was my first visit. I stood alongside the dusty road across from the Bedouin Bar and Hotel, waiting to meet a colleague. It was dusk; the few cars that passed by raised clouds of red dust in their wake. A blue van drove by, then braked suddenly and backed up to where I stood. The driver rolled down his window, leaned toward me and said excitedly, “I KNOW YOU!” Puzzled, I met his gaze but did not recognize him. “Where might we have met?” I asked.

“You’re Sister Marilyn! We met in 1998 in Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya!” He jumped out of the vehicle and wrapped me in an enthused hug.

“What is your name?” I asked. As soon as he said “John…” my memory kicked in with his surname: John Bullen! No wonder I hadn’t recognized him. The only time we’d met before was 12 years earlier in a different country, when John had been about 14 years old. Now he was a strapping 6-foot man. We had spent a few hours together one afternoon when I was working in Kakuma Refugee Camp. I had listened to his story and his dreams. I had let him write his name in my notebook. I had given him a few dollars.

When I expressed amazement that he had recognized me, he said, “I would never forget your kindness or your face. In fact, I have been looking for you in Kenya and Sudan for the past 12 years. Whenever I see a Sister, I ask if they know you… Today is a miracle; this is the most wonderful miracle.”

The lesson in this encounter is certainly not that I am memorable, but rather that refugees are rarely paid attention to. They thirst for recognition and welcome. And when someone does listen, does want to hear their story, does treat them with basic human respect, it creates a precious, indelible memory. These are small things, but oh, so important.

“A Wheelchair for Rose”

One look at Rose, and you suddenly know what the term “strong woman” really means. Rose has been a leader of the women’s group in Rumbek for nearly two decades. She survived polio as an infant, and cannot remember ever having been able to walk. For many years she managed to stay mobile by hauling herself onto a rickety metal wheelchair and using her arms to pedal, but now she lacks the arm strength to navigate the unpaved and deeply-rutted local roads.

After meeting Rose, Mercy Beyond Borders was able to get a wheelchair manufactured especially for her in Nairobi by APDK, the Kenyan equivalent of Goodwill Industries for the Disabled. Thanks to Sister Maureen Limer, the Diocese of Rumbek has offered to deliver it to Rose at no cost via lorry in one of their transport containers.

MBB hopes that life will now be just a tad easier for Rose, whose spirit inspires us!

"My uncle's wife died and therefore it was my duty to take care of his children…."

My name is Amal Solomon.

I was born in 1990 in southern Sudan in a town called Kadugli. My father's name is Solomon and my Mother's name is Bethelm. My father has 2 daughters and 7 sons. Trouble happened when the Arabs were fighting with the Nubians; my people in my Country were being shot to death and even sometimes you may find that 100 people are killed within a single day. So the war was still continuing until this forced the UN to come to Southern Sudan but the problem was not able to be solved. Parents and children were still being killed at that time.

Furthermore, there was also this organization which came in and offered people to register to go to Kenya for protection with the UNHCR. By that time my father went and registered us as refugees and we were then transported to Kenya to a camp called Kakuma Refugee Camp and this is were I grew up to the level that am in now. I started my class 2 (2nd grade) in the camp and in the year 2003 I received a scholarship which was JRS means Jesuit Refugee Service. They sponsored me from class 3 to 7--after which time, by bad luck, I had to abandon this scholarship and return into Sudan because my uncle's wife had died and therefore it was my duty to take care of his children. It all happened quickly; I could not even inform anyone at Kakuma about it. I left and stayed there for 2 months until I was able to return to Kakuma.

Then the worst thing happened in my life. When I came back from Sudan I found that my Mum was in the Hospital delivery but unfortunately the baby was not in a position of coming out. So what was to be done? The doctors operated to remove the baby. But in process of her operation my Mum immediately died; the baby, however, was alive and was put under the care of the hospital. Soon the baby also passed away and with all that had happened so suddenly, I was really in a very bad mood for almost a month, not even able to speak to anybody. But it helped me that I was a Christian, so I kept on reading the Bible all the time. One day a pastor who was our neighbor came to me and advised me about many things concerning life and how things had changed for me. And also many of my friends advised me not to think of anything because all of us are going in the same way as death.

So I decided to enroll again into a nearby school; this one was 5 miles from our home. By that time I was now in class 8. Every day, when the lessons were on in the class I was always thinking of my Mum. Even when we were given exams by our teacher I always scored at the bottom of the worst students. So it happened on one day that my English teacher called me in his office and encouraged me to stop thinking while in the class. He narrated to me a story in a novel, Think Big. He loaned me the book so that I could read it by myself. I kept on reading the book every weekend and from there my performance began improving. Soon it was our time to sit for our final exams (KCPE: Kenya Certificate of Primary Education). By a miracle I achieved high marks; in fact, I was the highest scoring girl in my school. And I really thank my English Teacher because he is the one who changed my life in some of the areas that I was weak and through thinking big and that is my best book I have ever read.

Since that day I believe that God has a purpose for my life and I know God is still going to do very great wonders in my life. The best thing was when I met New Scholars in the refugee camp. I really thank them for trusting me with a secondary education scholarship. Even when I was doing my KCPE, I dared not think of joining any secondary school because we had no money for school fees. New Scholars changed all that. I really appreciate them because they are preparing me to be a leader of my community. As their student I really don’t have anything that I can give them other than just praying for them so that they may continue with their work in helping the needy people and maybe one day, one time, they will get their reward.

My main dream is to educate my community about HIV/AIDS because it is a killer disease which destroys the lives of too many people. For me to reach this dream I need to be serious in my work that I'm doing. My community members are suffering from many problems and they need me to address some of the problems and work for solutions. Through education I can make it. If others can make it by becoming the presidents of nations, so why not me, too?

[Note: MBB partners with New Scholars to pay the high school scholarships for its female Sudanese awardees.]

“We never minded, as long as we were alive.”

My name is Christine Apio.

I was born in 993 in a small village called Chukudum in the Western Equatoria region of S. Sudan. Actually I grew up there with my twin sister and sibling. My parents took care of us until we became old enough to help on the farm. We used to rely on agriculture in order to survive. Due to lack of advanced equipment, people work manually but harvest a lot to feed their families.

It happened one day that civil war arose. My mother was going about her daily activity while my father was away on a journey and we were left alone at home. I was shocked to see our neighbor’s house burnt down. Everyone ran for safety. My sibling and I took another route because we did not want to lose our lives. We walked for a long distance following some others. We sheltered in a cave where it was terribly congested and hot, but we never minded as long as we were alive.

For two days I never heard any news about my parents. I thought they had died. For all the days we spent in the cave, we went without food but we were lucky to get water. One morning my uncle emerged from nowhere and I was very excited because I thought it was the end of my suffering. He took us to a place called Narus. It was safe there. We stayed there for more than a month until my parents arrived. The following morning we boarded a vehicle and rode to Kenya. That was in 1998. We came to Lokichoggio where we found many refugees settling. The following morning we registered. Conditions were not favorable due to the large number of people. Two weeks later, a lorry came and took us to Kakuma refugee camp. In the camp, the UNHCR provided us with food, shelter and other basic needs. There are also schools and hospitals free of charge.

During my childhood, I used to climb hills with my friends, make small houses using grass. Sometimes we spent long hours in those thatch houses. I was interested in exploring new areas to see what is not from my area and what people of different nationalities practice. Usually after my day’s work, we gathered with friends and danced our traditional dances as others sang wedding songs. Sometimes we went swimming in the river and watched birds singing softly.

I started my primary education in the camp in 2001. Though the school was not very good, my parents encouraged me to work hard. Life was so difficult. In 2008 I sat for my Kenya certificate of primary education and managed to get good marks that enabled me to go to high school. I always thought when I completed my studies, I would like to become a politician to help stop corruption in my country.

One of the remarkable days in my life was when I performed the oral narrative, I was dressing traditional so it was exciting. It made people in the hall to burst out in laughter. I was proud of myself; as the saying goes, “If you abandon your culture you become a slave.” The day I will never forget is when my aunty and I traveled to Lokichoggio and had an accident. The vehicle lurched and fell and got stuck in the mud. It was unfortunate that two people died and some others were injured, including my aunt.

An interesting fact about me is that I easily get annoyed but if I do it does not last long. I like writing poems and reciting, too. My best subjects in school are Chemistry, CRE, History and Government, and Business Studies. My favorite book is, Think Big. I am very grateful to New Scholars for giving me this scholarship privilege; I am sure now that I am going to make it in life.

“The last four hours I walk uphill with my suitcase on my head.”

We’ve all heard stories about grandparents walking barefoot through the snow to get to school “when they were young”…. We wink a bit or roll our eyes at the exaggeration.  But in Sudan, these stories are true—except, of course, for the part about the snow.  It is common for young girls to walk 2 or 3 hours each way every day through the bush to attend school.  Boarders come from distances as far as 1,000 miles; they go home only once in several years.  One pre-teen from the Nuba Mountains in Southern Sudan explained how it took her about 14 hours to get home from St. Bakhita School: first, a rough ride in the back of an open truck for 10 hours, bouncing along rutted dirt paths, and then a long hike on foot, up a steep mountain to her village.  “The last 4 hours I walk uphill with my suitcase on my head. If it slips off,” she said, “it tumbles a long way down and I have to chase it and begin again.”

Well, let’s face it: I will never be able to balance anything on my head other than a hat. And I certainly could not carry a suitcase uphill (or even downhill) for 4 hours.  I’m not sure I would be motivated enough, as a primary school student, to be so far away from my family, either, for years at a stretch.  Girls in Sudan, however, jump at the chance to attend school.  Any difficulties melt away when compared to the chance of becoming literate, postponing an early arranged marriage, and developing their innate talents. Sadly, fewer than 15% of girls in Southern Sudan ever have the opportunity for schooling. Mercy Beyond Borders is working to change that.

“They’re serving porridge—with sugar!”

Actually, it wasn’t porridge, it was ugali, a pale, paste-like substance made from maize that has been pounded and then boiled. But what a feast it was for the dozens of women who came to participate in Sr. Kathleen’s health promotion workshop at Loolim Village! Word spread quickly that Kathleen would be serving ugali at the end of the day, and that there would be a sprinkling of sugar (a nearly unimaginable treat) to top it off. The women came from miles away. We’d like to think that their motivation was to learn about health and hygiene, but we know it was really to enjoy a solid meal. There is widespread hunger in the villages now, because the rains have failed. In such a world, it is no small thing to get a bowl of porridge. The women danced! And Mercy Beyond Borders rejoiced with them.

I have hot cereal every morning—along with toast and coffee and perhaps some orange juice. I think nothing of it. The mere sight of it has never caused me to dance. If I need more, I go to the grocery store two blocks away. What would it be like to not have food? What would it be like to live with the sharp pain of hunger? What would it be like to hear the exciting news, “They’re serving ugali this afternoon, just four miles east of here!” and eagerly round up the toddlers to make the trek on foot for a share in such abundance? What would it be like?

“I can imagine how that would be…”

Just before Thanksgiving, an East African woman asked me how I would be spending the holiday. I told her that my family would be getting together at my brother’s home and we would share a turkey dinner. The young refugee woman looked at me without speaking, her eyes brimming a bit with tears, and then said quietly, “Family all gathered around one table. I can imagine how that would be….”

I did not know what to say to her. Most of us have not lived through war or displacement or forcible separation from immediate family. For us, holiday challenges might involve airport hassles or cold weather or makeshift sleeping arrangements for all the relatives who are landing on our doorstep. For refugees, such challenges would be nothing—in fact they would be warmly welcomed, if only the refugees could reunite with their own family around one table.

“Wow! I’m getting a lot of things!”

Over the years, I have become friends with many of the refugees living in my area of California. To celebrate one Sudanese refugee’s recent birthday, his 27th, we met at a pancake house for dinner. He has no family in the U.S. After eating, I pulled out 3 birthday cards from several of our mutual friends. They were just cards—not gifts or money orders or anything unusual. He gazed at this little pile on the table in front of him, and then slowly opened the envelopes. After reading the 2nd card and before opening the final one, he looked up at me, grinning widely. “Wow!” he said, “I’m getting a lot of things!”

I almost cried. Think about it: when was the last time you felt such a surge of gratitude for a few birthday cards? Refugee life is lonely. We can do much to ease refugees’ isolation by reaching out to them in simple ways. Wherever you live, it’s likely that there are refugees bagging your groceries, stocking retail shelves, cleaning hotel rooms. Next time you’re feeling annoyed because someone looks foreign and has a difficult accent, take a minute to wonder what their life has been and how they are coping today. Offer a smile. Introduce yourself. Thank them for being there. These are the ways we spread mercy beyond borders.

Courtesy of Tom Stoddart/Getty Images

Next in this chapter: Stories / This Flowing Toward Me