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The journey into Gulu used to hurt my feet. I walked alone then. I carried a blanket and I would cry as I walked. I would cry because my feet hurt. I would cry because I was afraid. I didn't want to leave my family to walk alone into the city, but the city was safer than my village. The rebels come and take children in the night. They cut off their noses. They force them to kill their parents. They make soldiers of the boys and wives of the girls. I do not want to kill my parents. I do not want to be a wife, and so I walk. But I don't walk alone. Not anymore.
I have made this walk for three years. I was nine when the walking began. I am twelve now. I have made this walk many times. I know every rock in the road. I know every hole and every bush and I know where the older boys hide to force girls to do things that girls shouldn't have to do. My feet don't hurt anymore. And now I have company for the walk. A boy, who is five, walks with me. He cried at first, but not anymore. Now he holds my hand as we make the walk together. He is very little, and at first I didn't welcome him, but today I'm glad for his company. I like feeling his hand in mine. I feel like a little mother when I am with Patrick. I wonder what it would be like to have a baby of my own.
When we get closer to the city, my hand gets wet because Patrick grips me harder. He doesn't like the crowds in the city. There are more children on the path leading into city the closer we get. Some of the other children aren't nice and pick on the smaller children, like Patrick. He stays close to me, because he knows that the bullies will leave him alone if he is with me. Some of the children are no better than the rebels. They will take girls who are alone and grab them and put their hands places they shouldn't. Sometimes they pull them behind a wall and I can hear screams and cries. I know what they are doing, but I don't stop it. I don't cause trouble for myself. I hold onto Patrick's hand and keep walking. The screams get quieter and then they are gone.
We make it into Gulu early and to the shelter where we sleep. If we are late, there isn't room, and we have to stay at the bus station, or in a doorway. When we sleep outside, I share my blanket with Patrick and hold him against me. His blanket is small, and he doesn't like to sleep at the bus station. But today, we make it in time. The white people smile at us and the lady with the pretty yellow hair asks if we are escapees from the army. She has asked us this every day, but there are too many of us. She does not remember. I tell her no and her smile gets wider. She looks glad that we have not been in the army. They come too. The ones who have had to kill babies and their parents and they cry out at night. Sometimes, they seem to forget that they are not in the army and will pick a fight. The more army children that show up, the more trouble there is at the shelter. So the pretty yellow-haired lady is glad that Patrick and I have never been kidnapped. I am glad of this, too. She pushes us into another line and we are given food to eat, then we find a spot on the floor to make our beds. There are no mats on the floor at this shelter, so I spread my blanket down so we don't have to sleep on the bare floor. There is another shelter that has mats, but it is farther to walk and Patrick is little, so we stay. Patrick curls into me as I lay down and we use his small blanket to cover ourselves. He lays his head on my arm, and I know that it will start to go numb before morning, but I let him lay there anyway.
The shelter is loud with voices as more and more children come to stay. There is yelling at the door when they begin to turn the latecomers away. I close my eyes and sing softly to Patrick to block out the sounds so that he can sleep. He is tired from the walk. He closes his eyes and snuggles closer to me and smiles as he goes to sleep. I wish someone could sing me to sleep so that I could not hear the noises around me. It will grow quieter as it gets later and it gets dark, but it will never be quiet. I have learned to sleep with the noise.
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