Benjamin Ajak marks Sept. 20, 2001, as his birthday, even though it is not the date he was born.

"Every Sept. 20 is my American birthday, my anniversary," he said, the day he arrived at his new home in San Diego, Calif.

His journey began 20 years ago in Sudan when Mr. Ajak fled as a 7-year-old orphan of genocide. Both his parents were killed when he was 5. Traveling with his two similarly displaced cousins, Alephonsion and Benson Deng, he set out on foot from refugee camp to work camp to refugee camp, first to Ethiopia, back through Sudan, then to Kenya.

Mr. Ajak, co-author with his cousins of a book called "They Poured Fire on Us from the Sky," spoke of his ordeal last week at Sewickley Academy. He is one of 27,000 who are known by relief organizations as "The Lost Boys," Sudanese who fled in 1987 when the government-armed Murahiliin soldiers sought to kill all males in the southern part of the country.

"Helicopter gunships came all the night and day to drop the bombs on us while we are unarmed children," he said. "We didn't do anything, and we didn't know the cause of that."

Before it ended in 2003, the Second Sudanese Civil War would claim nearly 2 million lives and last for 20 years, making it one of the longest civil wars in history.

Ironically, the peace in the religious conflict came as the tribal-based strife in Darfur in western Sudan began to escalate.

To Mr. Ajak, the impact of the two wars is a distinction without a difference. Genocide is genocide, he said, no matter the cause.

When several people asked how they could help his homeland, Mr. Ajak referred them to both theypouredfire.com and savedarfur.org.

Mr. Ajak was one of the fortunate 12,000 boys who found their way to Kenya by 1992. He was one of an even luckier 3,800 who gained entry to the United States during the next decade before the immigration doors would seal in the wake of the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks.

An overflow crowd of nearly 200 packed the hall as Mr. Ajak retold his story. To set the tone, the crowd viewed a 15-minute spot on "The Lost Boys" that ran on CBS' "60 Minutes" in 2001.

It captured the culture shock some faced upon their arrival in Atlanta as they marveled at household staples such as an electric stove, vacuum cleaner, even a hand-cranked can opener.

"A wonderful machine," one of Mr. Ajak's compatriots says in the piece as he unfurls a can of tomatoes.

The lights come on and Mr. Ajak begins his half-hour talk with a question.

"Can he or she tell me what they learned from seeing this documentary?"

"That God is good," a woman replies.

Yes, Mr. Ajak says as he begins another question.

"No news, no nothing coming out of nowhere, but we still knew the President of the United States ... .

"Now can someone tell me the name of the Sudanese president?"

First comes silence. Then, embarrassing laughter.

"His name is Umar Hassan Ahmad al-Bashir," Mr. Ajak replies, referring to the longtime leader as a war-stoking killer.

"Two million lives, that's why we're here. We couldn't stand that war ... the Sudanese people have been suffering for 20 years silently, and nobody has heard of them."

What was the single thing that brought you the most joy in America?

"The freedom in this country is the best ever," comes his reply.

Mr. Ajak lives in San Diego with his sponsoring family. He is close to earning an associate degree at the local community college, he said, and has earned his keep by driving 18-wheelers, cleaning toilets, vacuuming casino floors, stocking grocery shelves.

Many in the audience were students of Jessica Peluso's African Issues class at Sewickley Academy, where they've read Mr. Ajak's book. Ms. Peluso coordinated his visit to the academy, one of three Pittsburgh-area schools he visited last week, along with Shady Side Academy and Jefferson Middle School in Mt. Lebanon.

"Education is the mother and father of our future," he told the crowd. "When you need that path to be cleared, you've got to have an education. This is my advice to you."

No good speech lacks a punch line, and Mr. Ajak delivered his when someone asked what his college major might be.

"I think I'm going for psychology," he said. "I need to see what's going on with those dictator presidents."