A hero’s welcome

The Lost Boy looked robust as he strode to the microphone in the gymnasium, a far cry from the emaciated figure described on the pages of his life story.

His arms and legs, which had once nearly wasted away from traveling the desert on foot, nestled comfortably into a red long-sleeved shirt, black slacks and dress shoes. The crowd applauded when an announcer called his name, and he smiled broadly.

“Hi, everyone!” he said cheerily when the applause died down.

“Hi,” 600 or so voices echoed.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes!”

“Can you see me?”

The audience broke into laughter, and Benson Deng was instantly at home. The Sudan native, who fled his country in the late 1980s and endured years on the road without parents or a steady food supply, has spoken about his experiences numerous times since the 2005 publication of “They Poured Fire on Us from the Sky,” which he wrote with his brother and cousin.

On March 11, Deng and cousin Benjamin Ajak visited Huntington Beach High School to talk to students about the book, which the HB Reads program selected as its title for this year. For the last month and a half, the committee had screened documentaries, held book and craft fairs and hosted African story times for kids. Now it was the last day of the program, and readers got to meet the Lost Boys up close.

For that matter, the Lost Boys got to meet the readers. By the time Deng and Ajak walked into the gym, tables were decked with students’ posters depicting scenes from “They Poured Fire”; Orange County for Darfur and the school’s Operation Save Darfur Club set up booths along the wall. Students from half a dozen schools, having gotten out of third period, waited with copies of the book to be signed.

Huntington Beach High junior Saskia Mooy, who snared a seat two rows back, said reading the Lost Boys’ account had opened her eyes to the privileges of living in Surf City.

“I was a little shocked at what was happening,” she said. “I really took it in. I thought, I need to appreciate more what I have.”

Honorary Oilers

Judy Bernstein, the author of “They Poured Fire’s” foreword and afterword, introduced Deng and Ajak to the crowd. The San Diego resident first met the Lost Boys a decade ago as a volunteer for the International Rescue Committee, expecting, as she often puts it, to be a “big sister” for them temporarily.

Since then, Bernstein has become like a genuine family member to San Diego’s refugees. She has mentored them, helped them get jobs, supervised the writing of their book and watched their ongoing assimilation into American life. At the gymnasium, she started with a “60 Minutes” video presentation about the Lost Boys, then passed the microphone to Deng.

Speaking fluent English with a strong accent, he told the audience about growing in his village, when electricity was unavailable and entertainment was storytelling around the fire at night.

“It wasn’t a comfortable life like you have here,” Deng said. “I didn’t have a Wi-Fi or a cell phone.”

He went on to describe his escape from the village and his years spent wandering in search of a home. Still, he made the speech entertaining when he could. The students roared with laughter when he warbled the song he used to teach himself the alphabet, and when he admitted to being puzzled when he first saw a white man “talking to his car” (actually, using a walkie-talkie).

Ajak took the microphone next. A head taller than Deng and dressed in a dark shirt and slacks, he cut a sterner presence than his cousin. Speaking slowly, pausing to add weight to his words, he urged the students not to take their education — which he repeatedly called “your key” — for granted.

“What I came here for is your future,” Ajak said at one point.

Afterward, he and Deng took students’ questions, some lighthearted and others more sobering. The presentation ended with rapturous applause. Before the authors moved to a table to sign books, Assistant Principal Jason Ross presented them both with Oilers baseball caps, which they gladly put on.

A Lost Boy’s life

Less than an hour later, Deng, Ajak and Bernstein were back at the Hilton on Pacific Coast Highway, where they had a short time to rest before a reception at the home of former Mayor Ralph Bauer and another presentation that night at the gym.

The three sat on the patio and ordered lunch. Ajak, a San Diego Chargers fan, waved the sports section of USA Today and lamented that his team had let go of a star player. Deng laughed about the fact that, on a faculty member’s suggestion, he had signed a few students’ books “Benson Deng, the next ‘American Idol.’”

“It’s good to talk to young people,” he said. “Sometimes, you see they’re willing to learn, especially when there’s something that’s different from their lives.”

“They were listening,” Bernstein added.

Ajak’s cell phone rang and he answered, talking in a low voice. A fellow Lost Boy had been beaten up the night before in San Diego, jumped by five young men when he came to a girl’s aid. The police, according to Bernstein, had arrested one suspect, but they said it was a common occurrence in the neighborhood — the same area the Lost Boys moved to when they first arrived in America.

Deng and Ajak had been treated like celebrities in Huntington Beach, and the popularity of their book has made their names known worldwide. But life remains tough for many of the Lost Boys. Ajak, who earns a living as a motivational speaker, spends his time between gigs helping fellow refugees move, giving them rides to the doctor and aiding them any way he can.

The book’s third author, Alephonsion Deng, was absent from the festivities; still pursuing a college degree, he had to attend class. Benson Deng, his brother, hasn’t finished college either and counts it among his long-term goals.

Still, as in their home country, the Lost Boys stick together and support each other through the lean times. A while ago, Bernstein said, several of them moved out of their inner-city area to the suburbs, but they ended up moving back.

“It is convenient, and it’s where everyone is,” she explained.

Guests of honor

Deng and Ajak lived an affluent life that afternoon, though.

At 4 p.m., they and Bernstein stopped at the home of Bauer, who founded Huntington Beach’s Human Relations Task Force in 1996. He created the task force in response to a spate of hate crimes in Surf City, including the fatal shooting of a black man on Beach Boulevard two years earlier.

Now, dressed elegantly in a three-piece suit, he served as bartender for the Lost Boys and the other guests, pouring drinks on the back patio by Huntington Harbour. The authors, still sporting their Oilers hats, chatted in the living room and signed books. Abundant trays of sandwiches and pastries lined the kitchen and hall tables.

With a camera recording the event for HBTV, the authors and Bernstein sat in front of the fireplace and talked more about their experiences. The guests, most of them a generation or two older than the high-schoolers, asked how they had learned to cope with American life and how they felt about the political situation in Darfur.

At one point, HB Reads committee member Richard Moore asked the Lost Boys if they’d had any luck finding women in Southern California. Ajak had entertained the audience minutes earlier with a story of how he’d been told that American women often forced men at gunpoint to marry them. When he first saw Bernstein, he said, he feared she was about to do the same to him.

Responding to Moore’s question, though, Ajak said he’d changed his views.

“Ladies are ladies,” he said, getting a laugh. “There are no dangerous ladies at all.”

The reception soon ended, and that evening, Deng and Ajak gave their second presentation at the gym, talking to a mostly adult audience that packed the bleachers. The Hilton was blocks away, but right afterward, they headed back to San Diego and arrived just before midnight. Deng had taken one day off to make his appearances, and he had to be at the office again by 8 a.m. Friday.