Part Two
2001 – 2004
Chapter 4
Nairobi
Lopez
heard the airplane before he saw it. He was in his tent with his friends
talking about America. He and his friends ran to the airstrip and stood in a
crowd of boys lining the fence around the airstrip.
The
same man who has first given him his envelope began yelling out names. Finally,
he called out – “Joseph Lopepe Lomong.” Lopez jumped up and down with a huge
grin on his face, waving the envelope over his head. “Here! Here!” He said.
Lopez
got on the plane. A nice lady came over and showed him how to buckle his seat belt.
Lopez had never ridden in anything other than the rebel and Kenyan trucks in
his whole life!
Lopez
was off to Nairobi for a set of interviews, tests, shots, and orientation
classes. He never realized that once he stepped on that plane, he was never coming
back to Kakuma.
The
staff in Nairobi gave Lopez a crash course on life in America. His favorite
lesson was handling a strange, cold, white substance – snow! He had never felt
anything so cold in his life. Then it dawned on him: No wonder Americans are so
white. The cold and snow make them that way! Little did he know that God
planned on sending him to one of the snowiest places in America.
The
lessons – stripes on streets, toilets, etc. – all began to run together. But
there was one lesson that he could not forget. According to his orientation
class, there is no such thing as hakuna matata in America. Hakuna matata means
“no worries.” In Africa, it is more than a saying. It is a way of life. Time
simply does not matter. The instructor was very firm. “Hakuna matata does not
work in America and it will not work here.” The instructor meant what he said.
Lopez had to arrive everywhere on time.
During
his stay in Nairobi, Lopez went through a series of four interviews spread over
several weeks. Finally, his interviews came to an end. Every Wednesday, a list
of names was posted on a bulletin board in the middle of the facility. The
moment the list went up, boys crowded around, looking for their names.
While
Lopez looked over the list week after week, a man named Rob Rogers picked up a
bulletin on his way into church near Syracuse, NY. There he saw an announcement
that read, “We need host families to serve as foster families for the lost boys
from Sudan.” He later showed the bulletin to his wife, Barbara, and said, “I
think we should do this.”
Barbara
wasn’t so sure. However, she agreed to attend the informational meeting the
following Thursday while Rob travelled. By the time the meeting ended, she had
signed the two of them up to become a host family. Over the next few months
they attended more classes and had every part of their life investigated by the
state of New York. Finally, a letter arrived telling them they had been
certified to serve as foster parents.
Lopez
did not know any of this. All he knew was that his weeks in Nairobi had turned
into months and still his name did not appear on the list.
Wednesday
rolled around again. Six months had passed since he had climbed on the airplane
in Kakuma. Most of his friends had left for America. Lopez had begun to wonder
if he would ever join them. But there it was – “Joseph Lopepe Lomong, Syracuse,
NY.” He was finally going to America.
