friends. The new
recruits get out slowly as the others wave their rifles at us. We’re like young goats coming out of a pen. We scoot to the edge of the truck, where the soldiers are, then run right past
them.
Akot and I are still scooting when I hear other soldiers coming near the truck.
‘Captain!’ they shout with big smiles, running towards him.
‘Whoa, Captain!’ one shouts. ‘Are you sick? I’ve got some malaria tablets if you need them.’
‘Not me,’ the Captain replies. ‘See that one in there, with the bruises? It’s his. Baboon’s Ass puked right on me.’
More soldiers stand at the edge of the truck. ‘Come here!’ they yell at me. ‘Baboon’s Ass!’ I hear. ‘Hand him over!’ another says. They are grabbing the
other recruits and pulling them out of the truck and just pushing them away, like meerkats digging for a bug. Six huge men, just torsos because their legs are hidden by the edge of the truck, claw
at me.
I grab Akot, but I know it’s no good. They seize me and Akot and tear us apart. I don’t see where Akot goes, but I land in the dirt with these six men towering around me.
‘Puke on the Captain?’ Kick. One of my cuts reopens.
‘He’s a great man!’ Kick. I’m bleeding.
‘Enough!’ the Captain yells. They stop.
I hear stepping around me. No one’s talking, but someone’s crying. When I try to open my eyes it’s like they are sewn shut. When I do open them a little the world is blobs of
colour. Tears in my eyes. The crying is me. I’m crying. The monsters didn’t beat it out of me. Now I
want
to cry. I want them to see that they are kicking a child.
That they’ve stopped kicking me is the best thing that’s ever happened.
‘So,’ says the Captain. He’s standing next to me. I turn my head and try to look up. ‘Do you know why I told them to stop?’
I don’t reply.
‘I want you to get well soon,’ the Captain whispers. ‘Then we can start again.’
He stands up and walks off with his soldiers following, like he’s Michael Jordan.
I look around. Akot stands by the truck. A soldier holds onto my brother’s shoulders, rising behind him. I know that look on Akot’s face. It’s hate, for either me or the
soldiers.
The soldiers give the girls cardboard boxes to sleep on. ‘We want them to stay soft,’ one of them says. He laughs. The Captain and other adults have tents.
Akot and Otim carry me to the other seated recruits. A couple of girls come over when they see Akidi and other girls from the truck. They bring bandages and cover my worst cuts – they
sting then fade to a dull throb. A boy makes a fire and a soldier brings us a dented pot and wilted vegetables. Akidi crouches near the cooking fire and makes a soup. The vegetables are old and
dissolve in my mouth, but the soup is hot, and pushes back against the cuts and bruises.
While we sit around the fire, trying to eat, Otim says to Akidi, ‘Tell us a story.’ In the village, Akidi was famous for her stories. She would tell them to the rest of us kids when
the adults were away in the fields, or at times like now, when we’d eaten and the fire was burning low. But now isn’t like any time we had in the village. Akidi shakes her head.
We’re not alone. ‘Yeah!’ says a soldier at the next fire. ‘A story! Let’s hear what the new recruits have got to say for themselves.’ The other soldiers with
him grin and look at Akidi.
Akidi shrinks with all these men looking at her. Now she looks scared again, like she thinks if they don’t like her story, they’ll kill her. Maybe she’s right, these animals
will kill you for anything.
‘Come on,’ says the first soldier, whose face we can’t see properly. ‘Tell us a story! Otherwise I might tell you one.’
And all the soldiers laugh, and sing out, ‘Yeah,’ ‘Tell us,’ and ‘Come on.’ Akidi just stares at the bonfire. I can see the flames’ reflection in her
eyes.
Next to me, Akot’s foot moves. He has given
recruits get out slowly as the others wave their rifles at us. We’re like young goats coming out of a pen. We scoot to the edge of the truck, where the soldiers are, then run right past
them.
Akot and I are still scooting when I hear other soldiers coming near the truck.
‘Captain!’ they shout with big smiles, running towards him.
‘Whoa, Captain!’ one shouts. ‘Are you sick? I’ve got some malaria tablets if you need them.’
‘Not me,’ the Captain replies. ‘See that one in there, with the bruises? It’s his. Baboon’s Ass puked right on me.’
More soldiers stand at the edge of the truck. ‘Come here!’ they yell at me. ‘Baboon’s Ass!’ I hear. ‘Hand him over!’ another says. They are grabbing the
other recruits and pulling them out of the truck and just pushing them away, like meerkats digging for a bug. Six huge men, just torsos because their legs are hidden by the edge of the truck, claw
at me.
I grab Akot, but I know it’s no good. They seize me and Akot and tear us apart. I don’t see where Akot goes, but I land in the dirt with these six men towering around me.
‘Puke on the Captain?’ Kick. One of my cuts reopens.
‘He’s a great man!’ Kick. I’m bleeding.
‘Enough!’ the Captain yells. They stop.
I hear stepping around me. No one’s talking, but someone’s crying. When I try to open my eyes it’s like they are sewn shut. When I do open them a little the world is blobs of
colour. Tears in my eyes. The crying is me. I’m crying. The monsters didn’t beat it out of me. Now I
want
to cry. I want them to see that they are kicking a child.
That they’ve stopped kicking me is the best thing that’s ever happened.
‘So,’ says the Captain. He’s standing next to me. I turn my head and try to look up. ‘Do you know why I told them to stop?’
I don’t reply.
‘I want you to get well soon,’ the Captain whispers. ‘Then we can start again.’
He stands up and walks off with his soldiers following, like he’s Michael Jordan.
I look around. Akot stands by the truck. A soldier holds onto my brother’s shoulders, rising behind him. I know that look on Akot’s face. It’s hate, for either me or the
soldiers.
The soldiers give the girls cardboard boxes to sleep on. ‘We want them to stay soft,’ one of them says. He laughs. The Captain and other adults have tents.
Akot and Otim carry me to the other seated recruits. A couple of girls come over when they see Akidi and other girls from the truck. They bring bandages and cover my worst cuts – they
sting then fade to a dull throb. A boy makes a fire and a soldier brings us a dented pot and wilted vegetables. Akidi crouches near the cooking fire and makes a soup. The vegetables are old and
dissolve in my mouth, but the soup is hot, and pushes back against the cuts and bruises.
While we sit around the fire, trying to eat, Otim says to Akidi, ‘Tell us a story.’ In the village, Akidi was famous for her stories. She would tell them to the rest of us kids when
the adults were away in the fields, or at times like now, when we’d eaten and the fire was burning low. But now isn’t like any time we had in the village. Akidi shakes her head.
We’re not alone. ‘Yeah!’ says a soldier at the next fire. ‘A story! Let’s hear what the new recruits have got to say for themselves.’ The other soldiers with
him grin and look at Akidi.
Akidi shrinks with all these men looking at her. Now she looks scared again, like she thinks if they don’t like her story, they’ll kill her. Maybe she’s right, these animals
will kill you for anything.
‘Come on,’ says the first soldier, whose face we can’t see properly. ‘Tell us a story! Otherwise I might tell you one.’
And all the soldiers laugh, and sing out, ‘Yeah,’ ‘Tell us,’ and ‘Come on.’ Akidi just stares at the bonfire. I can see the flames’ reflection in her
eyes.
Next to me, Akot’s foot moves. He has given
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