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On a Sunday morning in 1987, 13-year-old Kur Mach Kur sat in church in Makol Cuai, a small village in southern Sudan, when armed Muslim raiders burst in during the pastor's sermon. The raiders demanded that the preacher renounce his faith in Jesus Christ. The pastor refused, and as Kur watched, the raiders shot and then dismembered the man who moments before had been teaching from the Bible.

A few months later, as Kur kept watch over the family's cattle outside the village, the marauders returned. On this Sunday morning raid, they did not stop with the pastor. The intruders moved through the sanctuary, promising jobs and comfort to those who agreed to become Muslims and relocate to Khartoum, Sudan's capital. Kur's mother recoiled at the offer—and as a result she was fatally shot. The gunmen set fire to the church and homes across the village.

So began the harrowing odyssey for Kur and thousands of other Sudanese "lost boys" who have experienced similar horror. With most of their parents murdered or taken captive for slave labor to northern Sudan, these youth (many of them Christian) have lived in refugee camps in Ethiopia and Kenya. But the United Nations changed their status recently, allowing them to resettle in other countries, become citizens, and attempt to make new lives for themselves.

Kur is making his new life in the Seattle suburb of Kent, living in a two-bedroom apartment with three younger cousins from the same village. Cal Uomoto, director of the World Relief refugee program in Seattle, laments that the resettlement of these Sudanese youth "should have happened years ago." One reason for the delay, according to Uomoto, is that the United Nations took too long to approve permanent refugee status for people from Sudan, which would pave the way for refugees to become citizens of other nations. Uomoto says the Sudanese boys were overlooked while the international community focused on refugees from the Balkans and other nations.

Christian ministries, including World Relief, Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services, and the U.S. Catholic Conference, are among the nine agencies that have stepped up to the job of resettling at least 3,000 Sudanese young people. By the end of summer, Uomoto's staff will have found places for 50 Sudanese refugees in the Seattle area.

The four cousins are polite, personable, and friendly, remarkably well adjusted for what they have been through. Yet their smiles do not come naturally. "We used to cry. We have seen so many people die," says Abil Abil, 18, who was 5 when the atrocities in his village began. "We don't cry anymore."

In Kent, one of the fastest-growing cities in Washington, they live in a $750-a-month apartment, full of modern conveniences they once had no idea existed: a flush toilet, a refrigerator, carpeting, electric lights, and beds with mattresses. During the refugees' initial 16 weeks in their new home, World Relief pays their rent, helps them find employment, and provides a small amount of spending money. They are eligible for employment immediately because of their refugee status. They qualify for $349 in food stamps and medical coupons. In March, Kur and Abil began working the swing shift at Insulate Industries, a vinyl-window manufacturing plant.

"It's been a major mental adjustment," Uomoto says. "They really didn't know how to relate to U.S. culture. They hadn't been acclimated." Instead they have been trying to survive for 14 years, relying on each other, themselves, and the Lord.

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July 8 2001, Vol. 45, No. 9