ChildFocus: Chistopher

A boy picks on his little sister, poking her, nudging her, pushing her to the edge of tears. It’s what boys do. This one, his hair dusted red and his torn T-shirt smudged with grime; grins when she finally cries. His smile reveals a chasm where his teeth once were. The damage done, he saunters off. Mindlessly the boy pokes a stick at the ground as he ambles away. He’s moving in no defined direction; his eyes are at his feet, not aimed at the limitless horizon stretching out in front of him.

The boy, lost
Christopher is like so many boys in our country – rough around the edges, flashing good humor and warmth but too often darkened by an anger rooted deep in the past. American schools are full of children aching from the stress of a miserable home life – from an absent father, from an abusive mother, from the weight of poverty. As a result, they act out. They defy rules. They subvert their own good intentions – and their roiled-up emotions leave raw souls desperate for comfort.

Unlike those of the American boys who may find healing in a number of places, the history of Christopher – a 7-year-old carrying the weight too many past terrors – is one from which few find lasting salvation.

His mother, Grace, escaped the LRA six years ago and found shelter in an IDP camp on the outskirts of Gulu. Hardly a haven, the return to community was not easy for Grace and her family. The shadow of fear followed them as Grace and Christopher moved from one camp to another, knowing that her “husband” in the LRA had the resources to hunt them down. Fearful of becoming an LRA target because of her presence, community after community rejected her. The disaffected young mother, weary and heartbroken, was drained of the power to truly mother her son. Outside of her reach, Christopher roamed the streets. He caused trouble, sought trouble. Started fights, and finished them. A 6-year-old boy, missing a home, was finding it on the streets.

The making of Christopher
What happened before returning to the IDP camps is hazy. It’s the type of mystery that ChildVoice staff are always working to solve: What happened? In the vast African bush, in the nightmare of the LRA camps, what happened? When a child mother is telling her story, there is reason to be truthful – yet there is just as much reason to deceive. Hidden motives cloud every perceived truth.

The truth, as Grace tells it, is this: By 2001, she was the “wife” of the LRA’s third in command. She had spent a considerable amount of time settled in southern Sudan at what is now referred to as Kony Village, but by the time she was pregnant, and near term, Grace was on the move again.

There, in the bush, she gave birth to Christopher on a plastic bag in the dirt.

It was a difficult birth, and they had to “cut” her to get the baby out. There was no stopping, no time for recovery. Grace was forced to pick up her child, fresh from the womb, and continue their march through the bush. Grace’s physical healing began at an LRA field hospital – and continued with her escape in 2002 and later with her move to the ChildVoice facility – but the young family still bears deep scars.

The boy, finding his way
Whether it is lies or biography is hard to discern. But whether or not he’s a true child of the bush, Christopher’s treated like one. Derided by peers. Teased. Shamed. In the beginning of his time at the ChildVoice Center, Christopher responded in the way he knew how; kids, both within the compound and outside, were bloodied by him. He wrestles smaller children, drags them around, swipes their toys. The oldest child at the Center, Christopher takes advantage of his size.

But there is a change. In the ten months since Christopher moved in to the Center, the number of behavior incidents has decreased. He is desperate for attention and love. Sharing her son’s love deficit, and long driven by a hairtrigger temper born in the bush, Grace is learning to love as a mother should. Along with his mother, ChildVoice staff and interns provide Christopher with care and discipline – and he revels in it. He is given responsibility – carrying babies, hauling garbage to the pit – and earns recognition for good work.

Christopher is adjusting to this new life. At home now – finally, there is safety. There is food security; meals are guaranteed. There are adults who care, and a counselor who will listen. Like many children at the Center who are newly discovering this sense of comfort, Christopher is beginning to thrive. His aggression, once so near the surface, is slowly sinking away.

A boy, growing
Christopher recently finished the first term of second grade at Lukodi Primary School, which neighbors the ChildVoice site. Filling the pages of his homework book – amid doodles of birds and trees and cows – are neatly formed words, both in English and in his native Luo. Though he is shy to speak in front of strangers, it is clear that language is his strength. On his math pages – lined with 3-digit addition and subtraction problems – red x’s abound. (His teacher relays concerns about his school performance to the ChildVoice staff.)

In this way Christopher is just another boy, a student filling a seat in an elementary school. A boy with talent. A boy who’s difficult, a boy who sometimes picks on smaller kids – but just a boy. Wrapped in the nurturing embrace of the ChildVoice program – where resiliency is an everyday revelation – he will heal. Christopher is a product of his past, but he is not bound to it. He is finding his path. With every passing day, Christopher steps more confidently into the future.