My Name is Sangoel

Don’t worry the Wise One said as Sangoel prepared to leave the refugee
camp. You carry a Dinka name. It is the name of your father and of your
ancestors before him
The old man hugged him, and Sangoel could feel the bones in his thin arms. Remember you will always be a Dinka. You will be Sangoel even in America. Sangoel’s father was killed in the war in Sudan. His family had to run from the fighting in the middle of the night. Sangoel was a refugee. He did not have a home. He did not have a country. Many people in the camp were waiting to be resettled, but the wise one could not leave. No country wanted one who was too old to work. “In America you will have a new home,” Sangoel’s friends told him “you will never again have to escape in the night. Everyone waved goodbye. Sangoel’s little sister, Lili, cried. Silent tears rolled down mama’s cheeks. Sangoel knew he would never see his friends again. The “sky boat” took them to America.