Running for My Life: One Lost Boy's Journey From the Killing Fields of Sudan to the Olympic Games (21 page)

The celebration of that day was tempered with sadness. Death is a daily reality in equatorial Africa. Medical care is very limited. Doctors and hospitals exist only in the large cities. Even the most basic medicines rarely make it to places like Kimotong. I came face-to-face with these limitations when a mother came to me, holding her little girl. The child appeared to be moments from death. The mother pleaded with me. I could not understand what she said.

“Medicine,” my translator said. “The child has malaria and the mother wants you to give her medicine to make her well.”

My heart broke. “Why does she think I have medicine?”

“Because you came here from America.”

I began to weep. “Please tell her that I do not have the medicine she needs. I cannot do anything for her daughter.” The translator told the mother. She did not move. She looked at Clement, then looked at me, desperate. Her eyes told me,
But you are my only hope
. Finally, she walked away, sad and dejected. The child did not survive the day. In the three days I was there, twenty-four children died. Several desperate mothers came to me, pleading with me to heal their children. “My child is vomiting and cannot stop. Can you help him?” I was asked multiple times. Sadly, I could do nothing. On the other side of the village, the celebration of my resurrection continued. I almost became angry. “Why am I celebrated when another life is taken by a disease so easily prevented?”

On the morning of the third day I pulled my father aside. “Father,” I said, “I have no choice. I must go back today.”

“No, no. One more day.”

I shook my head. “No, Father. I must leave today. But I will come back. I promise.”

He let out a long sigh. I took his hand. “My father, I give you my word. I will be back. Thank you for bringing me home again. Thank you for digging me out of the grave and for showing me life here. God wanted me to see my home again, but He also wants me to go back to America.”

“Okay,” he said.

After many tearful good-byes, I climbed into the rental car and headed back to Kenya. My mother and father came with me. Even after we left, the celebration in Kimotong continued. The party would not stop until the food ran out.

I rode along in the car, swaying from side to side from the deep ruts of the washed out road. My heart remained back in Kimotong. God opened my mind during that ride home. My life now came into focus. I had always wanted to use the platform my gifts gave me to make a difference in the lives of others, especially in my home country. Now I understood the depth of the needs there. I have to do something, I told myself.
Something
was a very broad term for a place where everything was needed. Schools, clean water, medicine, decent farming equipment, you name it, anything and everything could make a difference for my people. I knew I could not supply all these things by myself.
But where can I find help?
I wondered.
Where can I find others who care about my people as much as I do?

The trip back to Juja took just as long as the trip to Kimotong. Saying good-bye to my mother and father was very difficult for all of us. Tears flowed freely. My mother clung to me. She did not want to let me go. “I will come back,” I assured her.

“When?”

“December. Christmas. I promise.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she said. “I must give you something to remember me by before you go.”

“But my plane,” I said.

“Wait,” she said. She flew into a whirl of activity. A few minutes later she placed a woven ring in my hand. “I did not have any red beads, only yellow, black, and green. The yellow is supposed to be red. When you wear this, you will think of me.”

I placed the ring on my finger. I have yet to take it off.

TWENTY
Running Down My Dream

I
went back to Flagstaff after returning from Africa to get ready for the fall semester and the upcoming cross-country season. Most experts tagged our team at Northern Arizona as the team to beat in the Big Sky Conference after we won the conference title the year before. Even before our first practice, the team set its sights on a much larger goal. Winning the Big Sky Conference was nice, but we wanted to win the team national title at the NCAA championships at the end of the year in Terra Haute, Indiana. Personally, I wanted to win the individual national title not just for me but for the team as well. I loved my teammates at NAU. Running with them felt like running with my friends back in Kakuma. I would do anything for these guys.

Training began like it always did, with an overnight camping trip in the mountains above Flagstaff. We ran and played a lot of silly games that helped bond everyone together as a team. In the serious moments, I talked to the team about our goals for the season. And of course, we ran and ran some more. Running always gives me joy. When I run, I feel set free from the world.

But this season, something had changed. On long runs, my mind raced back to Kimotong. I saw the faces of the children as they played in the dirt. Here I was, working on my college degree, and those children had no hope of any kind of education. I felt guilty being here, even though I shouldn’t. God gave me this opportunity. I had to take full advantage of it. Yet the more I reminded myself of this fact, the more I saw those little kids, playing in the dirt, without any hope of a better future.

I also saw the mothers who brought their children to me, desperate for help. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get that image out of my head.
I have to do something for them
. I knew God had not brought me this far for me alone. He did not give me the ability to run just for me to go out and win races or even to support my team. He had something much bigger planned.
God, help me know what to do
, I prayed as I ran.

The faces of my own family flashed in my mind as I ran. I closed my eyes and saw my mother and father, sister and brothers. My relationship with them changed after actually spending time with them. Talking on the phone, I knew this was my family and I loved them. But after spending two weeks in Africa with them, my heart ached for them. The money my American parents sent them each month made a tremendous difference in their lives, but I did not feel right about asking Mom and Dad to continue supporting my family. After Dominic, Peter, and I graduated and moved out, the Rogers brought in three more lost boys to live with them. Mom and Dad had done enough for me already. I needed to take over this responsibility myself, but how could I do that and remain in college?

The questions in my head grew louder and louder the closer I came to the start of the cross-country season. I knew I had to do something. I felt like it was time for me to turn pro. This wasn’t the first time I’d considered becoming a professional track athlete. After I won the 1500 NCAA championship, reps from different shoe companies let me know in a roundabout way that they would be open to sponsoring me when and if I decided to turn pro. I talked to Coach Hayes at the end of the 2007 track season. He knew this might be a good time for me to go pro, but also knew how important it was for me to stand on the podium at the National Cross Country Championships with my NAU teammates. Nike really wanted me but I had an obligation to the team that had become my family. We decided that I would stay at least through cross country. Coach Hayes left NAU during the Summer to take the same position at the Air Force Academy. I trusted his judgment and stayed through Cross Country. The Olympic trials were coming up in June. Turning pro after the fall 2007 semester would set me free to train exclusively for the Olympics. “You can always negotiate to have your sponsors pay for your college so you can go back to school during the off season,” he told me. I liked the sound of that. I wanted my degree, which is what made this decision so difficult.

I knew after making this decision that I had to make another phone call. I didn’t want to call, but I knew I had to. I took a deep breath, dialed the number, and said a quick prayer while the phone rang.

“Hello,” Mom said.

“Hi Mom, it’s me, Lopez.”

“Joseph, it’s so good to hear your voice. Everything okay in Arizona?”

“Yes, everything is great. But I need to talk to you and Dad about something. Is he there?”

Mom paused. “Yeah, let me put him on the other line.”

A few moments later he said, “What’s going on, Lopez?”

My heart raced because I did not know how they would take my news. “I have decided to drop out of school and turn professional in track,” I said. Before either of them could say anything, I added, “I only have three semesters of work left to finish my degree, which I can do during the off seasons. I give you my word that I will get my degree.”

“Are you sure about this?” Mom asked.

I knew she was worried I would not reach the goal the two of us shared. “I will make sure any contract I sign has money set aside just for school. I promise. I will graduate; it will just take a little longer than I first planned.”

Neither of my parents said anything for what felt like a long time. Finally Dad said, “You don’t have to do this because of the money. You know that, don’t you?”

“Dad, Mom, you have been great parents to me. You have given me so much. But now it is time for me to support myself and to support my family in Sudan.”

“We—” my dad tried to interrupt.

“I have to do this,” I said, “and now is the best time to do it. The Olympic trials are in June. If I am going to make the team, I need to start training full-time. Coach Hayes said I can work out with the Air Force Academy team. He’s even going to let me live with him until I am able to move into the US Olympic training center in Colorado Springs.”

Another long pause on the other end of the phone. “As long as you finish your degree, we support your decision 100 percent,” Mom said.

“We can’t wait to go to Beijing and watch you run,” Dad added. He sounded excited. “You’re going to make the team and we will be there to see it all!” I’d only talked about the Olympics for six and a half years. My dream had never been so close. Mom and Dad believed in my dream even more than I did, if that were possible.

Now that I’d made my decision, I had to break the news to my teammates. “Guys, there’s nothing I love more than running with you. But there’s something I have to do. I am going to leave school and turn pro as soon as our season is over.”

“You’ve got to do it to get ready for the Olympics, man,” one guy said. “We understand.”

“That’s part of it,” I said, “a big part.”

Someone shouted from the back, “If I could run like you, I’d do the same thing. What are you waiting for?”

I laughed. “Thanks for understanding. The way I see it, if this is my last season, I plan on making it my best ever. I say we go out and win a national championship.”

We almost reached that goal. At one point in the season, we were ranked second in the nation. I won the individual conference title, while our team won conference for the second year in a row. We qualified as a team for the national championships in Terra Haute. I finished third individually, while our team finished fourth overall. Our new coach, Eric Heins, was named Big Sky Conference Coach of the Year. I was even named the NCAA Mountain Region male track athlete of the year. Any way you look at it, 2007 was a very, very good season. I ended my collegiate career on a high note.

As soon as the cross-country season ended, I contacted Nike to tell them I was ready. Coach Hayes recommended an agent who negotiated the deal for me. I moved to Colorado Springs in early January after returning to Kenya for the second time to spend Christmas with my family.

The Air Force Academy had just returned from winter break when I arrived. I was a little nervous about training with a new group of guys, but Coach Hayes put my fears to rest. “You’re going to love it here,” he told me. “I know I do. These athletes are different from any I’ve ever been around. Don’t get me wrong. We had a fantastic team at Northern Arizona, but there’s just something about a team whose sole focus is on something much bigger than themselves. Their purpose for being here transcends sports. You’ll see.”

After one or two workouts, I knew exactly what he was talking about. I found myself drawn to the cadets’ sense of purpose, ideals, and their sacrifice to serve the United States. I am a very proud American, but these guys had a deep love and pride for our country unlike I had ever encountered. Every day I came away from practice inspired.

Even though I was at the Academy as a guest of Coach Hayes, I quickly fell in with the team. Everyone here had a nickname. My friend Ian McFarland was Baby Mac, because everyone said he had a baby face. The team named Kevin Hawkins, who stood nearly seven feet tall and ran the 800 meter, “Carl,” after the giant in the movie
Big Fish
. Kenneth Grosselin was Kenny G. He couldn’t play the sax, but he finished at the top of his class. He inspired me both on and off the track. I already had a nickname, Lopez, so I fit right in with the guys. Before long, my new training partners felt like family, very much like my friends in Kakuma.

I dove into my training at the Academy. I came here to train without distractions. However, I never counted on a beautiful blonde distraction finding me. On the first day of hurdle drills, Coach Hayes and I stood to one side talking, when a sophomore cadet girl came right up to me. “Hello, my name is Brittany,” she said with a huge smile. “Welcome to Colorado Springs.”

I am a talker, but I get tongue-tied and shy around girls. I blurted out something like, “Hi, I’m Lopez.”

“How do you like the Air Force Academy so far?” Her eyes danced. I could not believe this girl was talking to me!

Coach Hayes gave me a look and put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

“I like it very nice,” I said, or something that eloquent. I could not get over how happy and cheerful she was.

“Good. I love it here, and the track team is great. We’re like a big family here. I’m sure we’ll see lots of each other. I’m on the girls’ team. Maybe we can run together sometime.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. I would like that,” I stammered.