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  • Year of No Rain
  • Written by Alice Mead
  • Format: Trade Paperback | ISBN: 9780440420040
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Year of No Rain

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In the spring of 1999, hunger and thirst are constant companions to 11-year-old Stephen and his family and friends in their southern Sudan village. Stephen wants to go back to his books, but the village school is closed due to civil war between the northern soldiers and the southern rebels. When bombs explode in their small village, Stephen’s mother tells him and his friends to quickly pack, and they run and hide before they’re caught by the enemy soldiers. Stephen leaves with a few precious possessions, wondering if each step will bring him closer to water, food, and freedom—and maybe home again someday.

“Mead puts civil war in human terms through the eyes of one young boy. In the context of an artfully told story, much is told about how war works. . . . The history, the land, and the determination of a band of refugees to care for each other are vividly evoked in this important work.”—Kirkus Reviews, Starred

“Mead conveys the particulars of the place and the desperate longing of a displaced child for home, education, and peace.”—Booklist


"There's a full moon tonight," Naomi Majok said to her younger brother, Stephen. "And that means a dance!" She pulled him to his feet, dreamily closing her eyes and swaying.
Naomi and Stephen lived with their mother in the Bahr el Ghazal region of southern Sudan, in a small, out-of-the-way village, surrounded by mile upon mile of vast grasslands.
"Uh-oh, Naomi! You're in love!" crowed Stephen. "Who is it? Old Peter Garang? I know--you want his cows. He offered us five for your bride price. We'd be practically rich!"
"Stephen! Of course it's not Peter Garang. He has only three teeth! Anyway," she said, "Wol's mother has ten cows. I know she could match Peter's offer."
"Wait a minute! What are you saying? Wol's interested in offering us a bride price for you? He's just a boy! He's fourteen! Only three years older than I am!"
"Don't tease. I know he's young, but imagine me as Peter's third wife."
"Yes, but he belongs to the most influential family in the village. They have twenty cows!" Stephen said. "Naomi, be serious. Did Wol really make Mama an offer for you?"
"Not yet. But he's going to. At least, I think he will. What do you think? Would he be a good husband for me?" Naomi asked.
Stephen burst out laughing. He couldn't imagine it. He and Wol and Deng, who was thirteen, worked and played together all the time. He couldn't picture Wol and sixteen-year-old Naomi married.
"Stop laughing!" Naomi cried.
"Okay, okay." Stephen cleared his throat and tried to settle down. "Being married to Garang would be awful. And since both families could offer us a price of five cows, the offers are equal. So that means it will be up to Mama to decide."
"Oh, don't say that," Naomi moaned. "That's just the problem. She's sure to choose Garang because of his position in the tribe. And listen, I don't want you to say anything about this to Wol today. Promise?"
"Calm down, Naomi."
"You think this is easy? In three or four years, you may be in the same position."
"Me?" Stephen looked at his sister, surprised. He would never be married. He would study in Egypt or Kenya or who knew where and become a teacher.
At that moment, their mother entered their tukel, a round hut made of mud and grass, with a cone-shaped roof. She was carrying two calabash gourds filled with water from the well. She set them on the dirt floor and rubbed the small of her back.
"There's going to be a dance tonight, Mama," Naomi said.
"Is that so?" her mother said.
She glanced at the mattock leaning against the wall by the entrance. The tool was for digging, for chopping at the dry ground and loosening it. The tarnished blade was bound to the wooden handle with a long cord.
"Naomi," she said sharply, "never mind tonight. What about the crops? Do you expect us to eat weeds? And, Stephen, you boys didn't fix the thorn hedge around the cattle pen yesterday. Three cows disappeared last night. Now you'll have to go looking for them."
Stephen made a face. He, Wol, and their friend Deng had all made new spears yesterday, while watching the cattle. Late in the afternoon, when the heat eased a little, they had thrown their spears at the round gourd they used as a ball until their shoulders ached. So when they brought the cattle back to the village, none of the boys had wanted to repair the thorny branch fence that kept the cows safe overnight.
Acacia thorns were long and sharp and left deep, bloody scratches on the boys' hands and arms. The branches were the cows' only protection against predators. There was always the danger of attack by wild animals, maybe lions, hyenas, or leopards. And the villagers depended on their cows for everything--they drank the milk and blood and burned the dried dung when no firewood could be found.
Stephen thought about the difficulties of dragging more branches to the fence. Still, when their mother ordered them to work, they obeyed. The children quickly hurried out of the tukel.
Sudanese children learned early to work hard for their families. Girls always worked in the home and the fields, struggling to keep the sorghum and maize alive and growing through the terrible heat and what now seemed to be their third year of drought in a row. Boys herded the cattle, which were the pride of all Dinka tribes in the region of Bahr el Ghazal, the River of Gazelles.
It was Stephen's job to take their two cows, a rangy white one with long curved horns and his favorite, their old yellow cow, from the large pen and out to pasture with the rest of the village cattle. Wol and Deng, the only other older boys in the village, went with him.
Stephen walked across the circle of cone-shaped huts, past the village well, to the cow pen. He saw the tips of the cattle's wide-spaced horns, visible above the thorny branches. One of the old men, dressed in a cloth fastened at the shoulder, was using a long stick to refashion the branches so they would block the hole where the cows had escaped during the night.
Peter Garang watched. He had twenty cows, more than anyone in the village, although once people had had many more. He shouted to Stephen, "Look at this hole! This fence is no good. If you boys did your work properly, my cows would never have gotten loose."
Oh no, Stephen thought. Why couldn't the missing cows belong to someone else?
"Maybe your cows couldn't sleep well last night. The cows want to stay awake when there's a full moon, just like the rest of us, uncle," Stephen said, trying to pacify the old man. "Don't worry. We'll find them."
"Huh. I doubt that," Peter said in disgust, spitting a stream of tobacco juice in the dirt.
Making sure that the children did their work and minded their elders was the job of all the adults in the village, not just the parents. Peter had a right to criticize the boys. Stephen didn't want Peter to beat him with his stick, so he tried again to change the subject. "There's going to be a dance tonight."
"And your sister needs a wealthy husband," old man Garang said. "She's always singing love songs out in the fields. I hear her. We all hear her. Maybe I'll marry her myself, eh? I've made my offer. When is your mother going to make her decision?"
"I don't know. Soon, I think."
"Your sister is a little too full of herself," Peter Garang said, his dignity somewhat injured.
Stephen stifled a laugh. Naomi was proud of her beauty. And he was sure that she would never marry a snoopy old man like Peter, no matter how many cows he had or what Mama said.
Alice Mead

About Alice Mead

Alice Mead - Year of No Rain
Alice Mead is also the author of Junebug and Adem's Cross.

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