The strength to crawl

The strength to crawl

My name is Malong Tut. I am a lost boy from Southern Sudan. It is currently 1998 in southern Sudan, the war has been happening for some years now but even before the war, my life was excruciating. When I was born, I almost couldn’t make it due to my mother not eating enough during her pregnancy. Life was even harder when she found out she couldn’t breastfeed due to agalactia and even the water we drank was contaminated with bacteria. I became severely ill, eventually becoming paralyzed from the waist down.

Growing up I was upset seeing people being able to walk, jump and run around throughout Sudan while I had to stay home at the jabalia refugee camp. I frequently got sick from drinking water until I turned 16 years old. It was 1983 and the fevers finally stopped, but the peace of my recovery did not last. Just 5 months after my recovery, the sounds of gunfire shattered our village, flying past my ears, seeing my people die, forcing me to crawl into the nearest hiding spot leaving me with no food, no water, and no help.

I stayed in that very spot waiting for the shooting to stop, only to then wait, wondering how long it would take for help to arrive. On the 3rd day, I got captured. The other tribe carried me back to the village where my people were killed and they tormented me. It was like a horror movie. They were dragging me against the concrete ground, beating on me, pulling my hair, breaking my fingers, and trying their best to get me to tell where my relatives were.

I became hopeless. I couldn’t walk, I didn't know my way around, and I'm hurt. I had no chance to escape. Everything around me was totally unfamiliar, and every direction looked the exact same. I tried to stand up and move, but a sharp flash of pain shot straight up my leg, making my knee buckle so hard I slammed back onto the ground. I was completely lost, I couldn't even walk, and my body throbbed. A huge wave of hopelessness hit me all at once. There was absolutely no way I was getting out of this. Or at least, that's what I thought.

Mysteriously a sound interrupted the other tribe leaving me alone stranded in the village. I stayed there clueless wondering what I was going to do before they came back. I tried crawling against the dry rocks, scraping my legs, my knees, and my hands. I became exhausted. I wanted to give up but I didn't. I kept pushing until I heard my relatives talking. I finally made it to the Dario refugee camp.

Medical workers at the Dario Refugee Camp quickly rescued me, providing the food, clean water, and medicine I needed to survive. Over the next few months, the safety of the camp gave my body a chance to recover from the brutal journey. Thanks to regular meals and proper medical care, my health steadily improved. The numbness faded away, and my legs were back to normal now, letting me walk freely around the camp without any pain.

A year later, I was given an amazing chance to move to America as one of the Lost Boys. Starting over in a brand-new country was scary, but the strength that kept me alive in Sudan helped me through it. I worked hard in school, got a good job, and built a peaceful life in a safe place. As my life improved, I never forgot where I came from, so I began donating money and supplies back to Sudan to build clean water wells and medical clinics. Even though I will never forget the hardships of my past, helping others heal became my true purpose, showing that the strength in us can change the world.