Anydidi was my home. I remember happy days with my parents, sisters, and extended family. We were farmers who cultivated the land and raised cattle. I can still see it in my mind. Anyidi was my home and then it was taken from me, from my family, and from my people.

My people are a proud group known as the Dinka of Southern Sudan. We believe in contributing to our community. Everyone takes care of one another and we lived a peaceful life together. In 1987, all of that changed. I was forced to flee my home and to leave my family behind. War came without warning and we were gone.

It was Anyidi where many young Dinka boys gathered to leave. We stood in the shade of trees away from the intense heat of the East African sun. Mothers set their sons on a path away so that they could be safe. I was one of those young boys, just six years old and leaving on a journey that took me thousands of miles away and twenty-two years without return. I left my village when Muslim forces from the north invaded, killing people, burning homes, raping women and girls, and leaving Anyidi destroyed. My people were beaten down but no one gave in to the invading troops. Our mothers saw to it that the young men could leave while fathers, older brothers, and uncles died trying to save the village.

I traveled with 20 ,0000-30,000 other Dinka boys from ages five to twelve, walking from our homes near Bor, Sudan, to Ethiopia where we found relative safety. We left with only the clothes on our backs and without food or water. The path was difficult, our feet cut and blistered, and our legs carried us farther and farther away. We felt the pain of hunger and our throats cried out for water. Most of our travels were at night and we made our way lit only by the moon. We did not know where we were headed, only that we traveled toward the sun and away from danger.

But danger did not stay far away. At night wild animals attacked us and many were killed by lions or hyenas. Death became a constant companion as many of us fell in its grip. We watched our brothers fade away, dying from disease, hunger, and dehydration. We buried our brothers and watched hyenas drag their bodies away from their shallow graves. I was one of the fortunate ones, for I made it to Ethiopia.

There we found safety in a refugee camp where we built our own homes. Imagine, being six years old and building your own house. I did that—built a home of mud and grass along with others in my group. We lived there with hardly any food. Some days we had kernels of corn and other days were black days with no food to be found.

While I was there, I fell ill and was placed in a hospital. It is so unlike the hospitals I know now. There were only a few beds under trees with a few doctors and nurses. I lay on my bed for over six months, wasting away from lack of food. I could not eat what was offered. It was not what I knew, not my mother’s tasty soup or bread. It was not the sweet milk on which I grew. No, this food would not go down my throat, and so my body slowly thinned as I lay dying.

Each day I knew that someone, on my right or my left, would die. I just did not know when I would be the one to leave. After months and months of wasting away, I had a dream unlike any I had ever had. Three figures surrounded my bed, dressed in black. Two stood at my feet and one was at my head. One figure put hands around my neck and began to strangle me. I struggled and felt no relief until I saw three different beings replace those dressed in black. These three wore white clothes and stood near me as the others had. One said I was not to die. At that moment I sat straight up and heard the nurses and doctors telling me to sit up. I was alive! My relief was great and I knew I had a reason to be alive.

One nurse took me as her son, feeding me and giving me drink. She knew that I would not eat the corn we were given. When she asked me why, I said it was not ground smooth like my mother did it, so she learned how to make the corn into smooth flour. Then, I ate. When I refused to drink the milk, she learned how to sweeten it and traveled far to buy it from other cattle farmers. I drank its goodness and grew stronger. She was, for me, the reason why I now want to be a nurse.

I was fortunate to get stronger, because in time the Ethiopian government sent us away. We were again forced to flee, homeless boys in search of safety. We walked back over the hardened, dry earth, returning to the edge of Sudan. We knew we could not be there, because the Muslim troops were still trying to kill us. We headed off across the River Gilo where many died from alligator attacks and from the Muslim soldier’s gunshots. Bombs were dropped from planes flying above us. Those of us who survived arrived in Kenya, tired and shaken. Kenya gave us a place to build another refugee camp and I lived there for ten years. By then I was a young man, tall like my Dinka people. In the camp I learned to read in English and to do math. I wrote in the dirt, practicing my letters and learning their sounds. I advanced through primary school and was one of the fortunate ones who attended high school in the camp. I loved learning and found science to be one of my favorite subjects. Perhaps that, too, is why I am pulled toward the medical field.

In 2001, I learned that the United States was offering refugee status to many of us. I applied, writing my life story and interviewing for the chance to go to such a rich land. My name was posted on the board with other names showing where each person would relocate. I was going to Syracuse, New York. I knew very little about the climate there and was overwhelmed by the cold and snow. I wished I could move somewhere else but there was no choice. There was nowhere else to go. I knew that this opportunity would allow me to live a better life and to get my education.

Now I am an United States citizen. I work full-time and go to college. I am studying to become a medical administrator and hope to be a nurse someday. This is how I can honor the Ethiopian nurse who cared for me. I can give back to other people through kind, compassionate medical care.

There are many other things that I want to do so I can give back to my home community. Children there have no schools. My friend and I are working with our American professors and fellow students to plan and build schools in our villages. A school can start in just a shady area as long as there is a teacher. Many of us know how to read and can teach others. Also, we want the girls to be able to attend school, too. With the difficult work of cooking and walking many miles to get water, most girls are unable to spend time studying. We hope to change this situation so that schools are available and so that all children, boys and girls, can get their education.

Anyidi still calls to me. I want someday to stand again at the village center, under the refreshing shade of the wide-spreading trees. There I will hug my mother and sisters, and there I will know that I have a purpose for living. Anyidi and my Dinka people will welcome me home.