Last night I dreamt about the “lost boys of sudan” but, it was Somalian lost boys. I remember the pain of not being able to help the children, and the desolation of the area. I then dreamt about the children coming to America and them being totally lost and confused. I think this bit spoke to me the most. I have read a lot about the movie and the children’s reactions and how they coped, but it is affecting me more than I thought.

The pain of seeing your family die, walking hundreds of miles to a refugee camp, seeing friends die on the way, living in fear the whole trip. Living a refugee camp, then being uprooted once again and flown to America, all your stability is lost, no friends, no family, and trying to make a new life, learn a new language, and all the time, wondering what is happening to the people you have left behind.

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