I am called Jacob.

I live in Uganda.

Every night, I worry of the Rebels
When they arrest us again,


They will kill us.


My brother tried to escape.
They killed him using pagan.
They cut his neck.


I saw.


If I sleep at my home,
I fear I will be abducted
By the LRA.
Again.

My home, it is far away from town.
It is easy for them
To take us.

We come to the town,
Sleep on dirt,
To save our lives.
Of broken dream,
And broken hope.



We starve,
We hurt,
We are sick with illness,
We have no family to call our own.
We are in the hands of the
LRA.

The trash builds up ‘round us.
Caging us in,
Holding us tight.
There is no escape from the fear we have.


We sleep in rooms with 100’s of other
Orphans.
We hide in underground tunnels.
There is no hopes.
We have not dreams
Like normal children have.


When I grow up,
I want to be lawyer.
I want to see world change.
I want to learn something.
But I have not any money to create my dreams.


Money drives the rebels.


For us children,
There is not hope.


We would rather die,
Than stay on Earth.


When I do go to heaven,
I will be able to see my brother
Once again.

And say “I love you.”