My Name Is Sangoel

Eight-year-old Sangoel steps off the plane from sun-baked Sudan into a blinding swirl of airport escalators, winter snow, and buzzing televisions, clutching the one treasure war never stole—his proud Dinka name, passed like a drumbeat through grandfather, father, son. In the refugee center’s classroom he spells it, the boys mangle it, and every mispronunciation hits like a stamp that erases borders yet bruises identity, turning Immigrant Rights and Racial Justice from headlines into a personal ache. His mother tackles English lessons, his sister laughs at traffic lights that sparkle like neon fireflies, but Sangoel’s silence grows heavier than his donated coat. A fierce spark ignites: he paints his name as a bright, soccer-jersey rebus and teaches classmates to chant it until the cafeteria rocks with “Sahn-GO-el,” an anthem of Education Equity powered by crayons instead of protests. Laughter suddenly bridges continents faster than any plane, and the boy who felt invisible now stands tall, proving a name can be both shield and invitation. One question glimmers like desert moonlight: whose identity will tomorrow’s newcomer reclaim with equal brilliance? Tap the blue ➕ to Save to List for later inspiration, or hit the bold arrow to Learn More and connect your classroom, youth group, or congregation to Sangoel’s triumphant journey toward belonging.