LPS bilingual liaison committed to education here, and in South Sudan

The lights are the color of fire. He wants to chase them, catch them, but his mother grabs him and pulls him back.

Those lights, he will learn later, were from bullets being fired, the noises he’d heard earlier in the day explosions, the government fighting with the rebel army, the violence moving closer to their home in Nasir, near the Ethiopian border.

He understood little of this when his family fled that night, leading their cows, sheep and goats across rivers and fields toward the border.

They reached a town in Sudan first and stayed there a few weeks until a U.N. helicopter flew his ill father and the youngest children -- including Jock – to Itang, an Ethiopian refugee camp. His mother and older brothers followed on foot, with the livestock.

That marked the beginning of the uncertainty, a life defined by war and violence and refugee camps. 

“In the Sudan,” he said, “there has always been civil war.”

And while the effects of war may have defined Jock’s young life, so did education.

Education took him to live with his uncle so he could go to school, then to America where he graduated from high school and college. A year ago, it led him to Lincoln Public Schools, where he helps students from his native country as one of 23 bilingual liaisons.

And five years ago, it convinced him to open a school in the newly independent South Sudan because he was – and remains – convinced that education is fundamental to building a nation.

“The more people are educated, the more disciplined the government will be,” he said. “I thought I could bring to South Sudan fundamentals for the children so they would be able to completely know their rights as citizens and South Sudan would be able to eradicate poverty and tribalism.”

<h3>Seeds are planted</h3>

When he was young and living in refugee camps, English was the currency of knowledge.

Those who spoke English could listen to the BBC broadcasts and keep up on the war in the Sudan. They had a chance to get a job with the United Nations.

He attended school through second grade at the Itang refugee camp, though the lessons were in Amharic, not English.

When the Ethiopian government fell to rebels, his mother, now a widow, took her family back to Sudan.

There was no school there, so the 10-year-old Jock and his brothers returned to Ethiopia to live with their uncle.

He attended school, but corruption made getting government aid for he and his siblings difficult, and his uncle was so poor the family -- including Jock and his brothers -- were forced to go to another refugee camp.

There, Jock attended a school taught in English. He excelled, and was among the 50 top scholars chosen to attend high school, but his uncle had other ideas.

“What he told me was, if you really need education, you will find that education in America,” Jock said.

Jock was 17 when he landed in New York City in 1991 with two of his brothers and one sister. A resettlement organization put them on another plane for Omaha and found them an apartment in North Omaha.

It was dirty and smelly and not what they’d expected.

“Our first experience was not so good,” he said. “It was not the impression of American we had in mind.”

But he and his brothers found jobs, and made enough money to find other, better apartments and send money home to help their mother and sisters.

Jock went to Central High School, then Burke, where he graduated in 2003. He worked for Hewlett-Packard for a year, then went to Iowa Western Community College in Council Bluffs. He transferred to Graceland University south of Des Moines and graduated in 2009 with a degree in athletic training.

He moved to Lincoln to help his sister, whose husband had just died, but 2009 was an important year for other reasons.

He got married to a Sudanese woman who'd come from her home in Australia to South Dakota for a cousin’s wedding in 2006. Turns out, Jock was at the same wedding.

When they went back to the Sudan in 2009 to meet each others’ families, Jock knew that independence was coming to his country after a prolonged war with the north.

He knew the schools were of poor quality, that to build a new country that had to change.

“Then I had the idea of launching a school,” he said.

He stayed in the Sudan for three months, talking to government officials about his idea, drafting a proposal, hiring a principal. 

He returned to Lincoln but continued planning. He rented a government mansion from an official to house the school, which would charge tuition.

In January 2011, seven months before South Sudan would declare its independence, Bentiu International School opened.

It began with 50 students and it grew to 200. They served breakfast and lunch, a rarity for many in the poverty-stricken country.

“Most Sudanese, they only eat once a day,” he said. “When kids were able to eat you can see the excitement, and the focus.”

Families who lived nearby would show up with their children, he said. The school fed them.

In February 2012, Jock returned to the city of Bentiu but the next month, bombing from North Sudan caused enough fear that families kept their children home from school. 

Jock decided he had no choice but to shut it down. But students showed up in protest, and they prevailed. 

“I was very emotional,” he said. “I felt I was very selfish to think the decision was mine and mine only.”

He reduced the number of staff, hiring new teachers dedicated enough to make less money, and the school remained open.

In November of that year, Jock came back to Lincoln. But the situation in South Sudan worsened, and in December 2013 civil war broke out and chaos quickly descended on Bentiu.

All the books and computers were either destroyed or stolen. He suspects the building is gone, too, and has no idea where the students are, if they’re OK.

“I hope and pray they are all safe,” he said.

Jock would like to try again one day to open a school in South Sudan. He would do it differently next time, perhaps as a nonprofit so he wouldn’t have to charge tuition. There’s much he wants for his native country.

“I hope for the country to be in peace. I hope for the country to develop. I hope for the country to thrive, to be a destination for people around the world.”

But for Jock, Lincoln is home now. He and his wife have two boys, one who will start kindergarten at St. Peter's School this fall. He's working on his MBA from Concordia University.

About a year ago, some interpreting he was doing for LPS turned into a job as a bilingual liaison.

He likes helping Sudanese students and their parents adjust to life here, he said, though it's a struggle for many.

He wishes the young people would embrace the Sudanese community here, would try to understand the sacrifices their parents made to get them here -- and why. 

“I want them to know where they came from,” he said. “Most parents came here for their children to get a better education, a better life. And to get that better life, then you must be educated.”