Jacob Khol grew up in Sudan but had to leave the country after his father’s death. Now he’s studying at Northwestern––and planning to return to Sudan someday.

The Two Lives of Jacob Khol

by Amy Scheer
Northwestern Classic
Winter 2005/2006

In the small village of Yeum, in southern Sudan, Jacob Duoth Khol ’08 would waken with a sense of adventure.   Bounding through his mud and thatch house, past the bountiful banana and mango trees, the inquisitive child would run off to hike, hunt or swim in the Nile when he wasn’t caring for livestock on his father’s farm.  

It was a comfortable and contented life, he remembers, where nature provided all of his village’s needs.  

One day, a southern tribe invaded Yeum.   They humiliated Khol’s tribe, a proud, mostly Christian subset of the Nuer people.   Among the most feared warriors in Sudan, Khol’s people were unwilling to hand over their fruitful land and livelihood to the attackers.   They fought back.  

Sudan, the largest country in Africa, has been embroiled in civil war for 40 of the past 50 years.   Though primarily a religious conflict between the north and south, the fighting also happens among the southern people over land and cultural differences.  

It’s hard to say exactly when the invasion of Khol’s village took place, as Sudanese mark time by events and the moon rather than a calendar year.   When Khol was about five years old, around the time that his twin brother died from an illness, the battles began; his father, an elder in the tribe, was wounded and died.  

"We are the type of people who would die to the last man before we run away.   No one will enslave us," says Khol.   "Family is the thing we value most. Respect, honor, dignity —- once you lose that, once that cycle is interrupted, you have to kill all of us or we’ll kill you."  

When he was old enough to wonder, Khol asked his mother what happened to his father.   She told him three differing accounts—one of which that he was stabbed through the heart—because she did not want her son to avenge his father’s death, as is traditional for his people to do.  

Khol was kept away from most of the violence, though children his age would conduct a miniature battle of their own, flinging mud, corn husks and manure at each other in a serious attempt to earn the same respect their fathers were fighting for.   The warfare he witnessed was "like seeing [the movie] Braveheart," he says.   At one point, he saw a spear fly through the air, take the shirt from his brother’s back, and fall with it to the ground.  

Because Khol’s family lost the head of their household, they needed to pursue a new life.   They left their land and livestock in the care of Khol’s uncle and went to the bordering country of Ethiopia, where they lived in several refugee settlements and Khol and his siblings attended school.  

After several years, Khol’s sister, a teacher, received some forms to help find her a job in America.   In 1998, when Khol was about 12 years old, he moved with his sister’s family to Tampa, Fla.   Along with the move came culture shock.   He plugged his airplane earphones into a wall outlet and received a significant jolt.   He pressed the "Meat" button on his microwave and was angry and embarrassed that no meat appeared.  

"I was afraid of the atmosphere I was in.   I couldn’t understand anything at all," says Khol, who at the time was fluent in two tribal languages but not English.   "At school, I’d sit by myself.   I was in shock; I didn’t know what to do."  

Later, the family moved to Omaha, where a high school friend suggested that Khol apply to Northwestern.   The small community atmosphere appealed to Khol, and he’s been happy.  

A double major in political science and religion, he mostly keeps to himself, though he and his roommate from Alton, Iowa, often pursue outdoor activities together.   He rarely tells his stories of Sudan to others, though a "Life Journey" speech he gave in a class affected his classmates so profoundly they had to stop for a break.  

Khol says it’s hard to be away from his country and his people.   His mother still lives in Ethiopia with two of his brothers, a sister and no phone.  

"It’s hard to hear on the news how people are dying in Sudan.   I miss my mom every day.   Every day I pray that God will continue to keep my mother alive and that I will see her again."  

Does he remember his father?   "No."   Will he ever learn what happened to him?   "I’ll find out.   Once I talk to my mom, face to face as a man, she will tell me."   And what will he do then?   "I don’t know."  

Meanwhile, he studies.   Each day after a class, he spends an hour and a half reviewing what the professor said and planning a study schedule.   He works diligently because he plans to return to Sudan someday.  

"I’m gonna go back," Khol says.   "I’m here for wisdom, knowledge, strategies, and I’m going to take them back.   I want to do something that will be very powerful for the whole country.   Influence it so much that the impact will be great, and I will be remembered."  

Reprinted with permission from Northwestern Classic