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Choices Impose Responsibility
Drinking From the Stream follows two young men in 1971 who are on the run and attempting to escape their pasts by traveling to East Africa, where their personal reckonings unfold alongside violence. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
Sometimes great events touch us deeply.
In June 1972, when I was twenty-two years old and hitchhiking across Africa, I was sitting in a student cafeteria at the University of Luanda reading the International Herald Tribune. Angola was then a Portuguese colony, but armed African guerrillas in the countryside were fighting to overthrow white-minority rule. I had been hosted at the Zaire border by conscripted Portuguese soldiers who had seen combat with MPLA guerrillas. An article caught my eye that morning about ethnic killings in Burundi. I had been within fifty miles of Burundi, having hitchhiked from Ethiopia through Kenya, Uganda, and Rwanda, then to Zaire (Congo) and Angola. The article described a bloody uprising in late April 1972, where Hutu rebels had used pangas — machetes — to kill hundreds of unsuspecting Tutsi citizens with the idea of sparking a civil war to end Tutsi rule. Even more shocking were the slaughters by the Burundi army that followed. It turned out that unemployed Hutu school teachers — unable to find a job in Tutsi-ruled Burundi — had led the revolt. Burundi’s solution to the unemployment problem was to kill all the educated Hutus they could find. The Tutsi-led army countered the Hutu death squads with a much bigger, much better-organized ethnic bloodletting of their own, killing any Hutu who had completed the fourth grade. Tens of thousands were already dead, the report said, and the killings were gathering momentum with no end in sight. By 1973, well over 200,000 Hutus had been murdered.
This made a deep impression on me. How could so many people be murdered so quickly? More importantly, why was the world ignoring it? And why and how did it come about? What if I had decided, as was entirely possible, to visit Burundi myself? And if I had, I would have been on the spot when the killings broke out. What then? The entire African continent seemed to be on a bloody run. A year or two back, peace had been restored to Zaire, formerly the Democratic Republic of the Congo, after ten years of mayhem and revolt. Mass ethnic killings were in full swing in 1972 in Uganda, when I was there, led by the Ugandan army under Idi Amin. Rwanda had seen bloody spasms of anti-Tutsi violence even before independence in the early 1960s. And all of southern Africa, not just Angola, was in revolt against white minority rule. The 1994 Tutsi holocaust in Rwanda was still twenty-two years away.
This is a coming-of-age novel, but a harsh one. What does “growing up” mean here?
I spent three years in Africa when I was quite young. I worked construction jobs in the bush and at line camps, I bumped into white supremacists. Basically, they were American nazis. I kept my distance even though they sometimes tried to recruit me. They spoke openly of violence against Jews and Blacks. Listening to them made me extremely angry. They had no idea I was Jewish. But what would happen if I weren’t Jewish and one of them thought I was? That was the inspiration for Jake Ries.
The characters discover that their choices impose responsibility that must be faced and borne; there’s no magic that will make it disappear, and its weight increases over time. Knowledge imposes its own burden. And it doesn’t matter if they never wished to make those choices or learn those things in the first place. Maybe they never asked for them, but they still can’t put them down.
What scenes were hardest to write—not technically, but ethically?
This may sound funny, given the extent of political chicanery in the plot, but the parts of the book that gave me the most trouble were working out Karl’s relationships with his girlfriends, first Helen, then Swee’Pea. Karl might have been conflicted about both those relationships, particularly in combination, but I wanted to present them as believable dilemmas not only for Karl, but for both women, while trying to be fair to all three.
What lessons from the 1970s feel disturbingly contemporary?
What I see today is that resentments never cease, that humanity is easily misled and memories are short; that peace is fragile, something not to be taken for granted; that politicians can seduce thousands, or millions, to contemplate unspeakable acts; that the great issues of the past, which we thought were finally settled, are never really settled; and that active individuals following the ancient moral codes or their own personal compass to judge right from wrong can do a great deal of good.
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Jake Ries, a twenty-two-year-old Nebraska farm boy turned oil roughneck, turns fugitive when he unintentionally kills a homicidal White supremacist on an oil platform in the Gulf of Mexico. On the run, he meets Karl Appel, a restless Oxford dropout and former anti-war activist struggling with his own personal demons. Together they throw caution to the wind and plunge into the Ethiopian and East African hinterland, where they discover that dictatorship and mass murder are facts of life.
Drinking from the Stream
Drinking from the Stream follows two young Americans, Jake and Karl, whose chance meeting turns into a long, hazardous journey across East Africa in the early 1970s. What begins as flight, Jake from a violent past in Louisiana, Karl from ideological and emotional dead ends in the United States, becomes immersion. As they move through Ethiopia, Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, and beyond, their personal reckonings unfold alongside coups, ethnic violence, and the aftershocks of colonial rule. The novel braids coming-of-age restlessness with political catastrophe, asking what it means to stay human, or decent, when history is on fire around you.
I read this book with a mounting sense of unease, and I mean that as praise. Sacks doesn’t offer Africa as backdrop or metaphor; he insists on its specificity. Roads that punish the body, bureaucracies that toy with fate, conversations that slide from flirtation to terror without warning. Jake’s voice, in particular, is sharp-edged and morally alert, a man who knows he has crossed an invisible line and can’t uncross it. The novel’s early scenes on the oil rig, heavy with menace and casual hatred, establish a moral pressure that never really lifts, even when the landscape opens into beauty. I felt myself reading faster, not because the prose rushed me, but because it refused to soften what it saw.
What stayed with me most were the arguments about race, revolution, guilt, and responsibility that erupt in buses, bars, and borrowed rooms. These exchanges feel earned rather than staged, the product of young people who are smart, frightened, idealistic, and often wrong. The author has little patience for slogans, whether they come from Western radicals or newly empowered strongmen, and that skepticism gives the book its bite. Sometimes the historical density is demanding, but it mirrors the characters’ own overwhelm; ignorance here has consequences, sometimes lethal. By the end, I felt the weight of the knowledge the characters carry, knowledge they never asked for and can’t put down.
This book will most reward readers of historical fiction, literary adventure, and political coming-of-age novels, especially those drawn to morally complex travel narratives. If you admire the restless intelligence of The Sheltering Sky or the political consciousness of A Bend in the River, Drinking from the Stream belongs on your shelf. It’s a novel for readers who don’t want reassurance so much as reckoning. This is not a story about finding yourself abroad; it’s about discovering how much of the world you can carry back, and what it costs to do so.
Pages: 377 | ASIN : B0DXLQTN5M
Unexpected Psychologies
Drinking from the Stream follows two young men on the run for different reasons who cross paths and set out together exploring East Africa and their own morals in a world where dictatorship and mass murders are the norm. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
I left the US to travel one week after graduating college. When I came back five years later, my mother kept asking me, “What did you really do in Africa?” How to explain what I was thinking, whom I had met, where I had gone, what I had seen and felt and heard, smelled and tasted, what I had learned, what scared me, what made me laugh, and what inspired me? I decided to write a novel, a kind of anthem for the generation that came out of the wreckage of the ’sixties and whom I met on the road. I thought the story I wanted to tell would have more weight if the character who kills his antisemitic persecutor was not actually Jewish, thus forcing him into unexpected psychologies. Having two narrators allowed me to broaden the scope and to develop the characters in many more settings and situations than would otherwise be possible, and through their eyes also to show more of Africa and of the world.
You took your time developing the characters and the story, which had a great emotional impact. How did you manage the pacing of the story while keeping readers engaged?
There are novelist tricks that I had to learn. A novel consists of scenes. Something must happen, or else there’s no reason for the scene to be there. Scenes should ”start late and end early,” not waste time, and leave the reader wanting to know what comes next. I alluded to massacres at the start of the book, which I hoped would give readers a feel for what came next. There is a rhythm to travel which speeds up and slows down, and the action of the book also speeds up and slows down.
What were some themes that were important for you to explore in this book?
A partial list: friendship, long-distance travel on bad roads with little money, politics and history, courage, the world of the early 1970s, East Africa and Ethiopia, judgment, colonialism, revolution, mass murder, dictatorship, insurrection, racism, loyalty, small acts of bravery.
What is the next book that you are working on, and when can your fans expect it to be out?
Next book: A TRIP BY CANOE (short stories) to be published by Koehler Books July 2026.
Author Links: GoodReads | Website | Amazon
Jake Ries, a twenty-two-year-old Nebraska farm boy turned oil roughneck, turns fugitive when he unintentionally kills a homicidal White supremacist on an oil platform in the Gulf of Mexico. On the run, he meets Karl Appel, a restless Oxford dropout and former anti-war activist struggling with his own personal demons. Together they throw caution to the wind and plunge into the Ethiopian and East African hinterland, where they discover that dictatorship and mass murder are facts of life.
Drinking from the Stream
Drinking from the Stream follows two young men on the run from themselves. Jake, a Nebraska kid turned Louisiana roughneck, flees the guilt of a killing on an oil rig. Karl, a disillusioned American student at Oxford, escapes the wreckage of the sixties and a painful relationship. Their paths cross, and they drift through Ethiopia, Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi and Tanzania in the early seventies, bumping into coups, massacres and love affairs as they go. The book stretches from the Gulf of Mexico to the Great Lakes region of Africa and on to Chile, and it ties private coming-of-age stories to state violence and postcolonial chaos.
I felt like the writing landed with real weight. The prose has muscle and rhythm, and it keeps a steady pace through long stretches of travel and talk. Scenes on the road, in trucks, on ferries, and in cheap guesthouses felt vivid to me. Dialogues carry a lot of the load. Characters argue about politics, race, faith, and guilt, and the conversations feel relaxed on the surface but tense underneath. I could sense the author’s years in Africa in the way a village lane or a border crossing appears in a few sharp strokes. The flip side is density. Historical detail piles up. I stayed invested in Jake and Karl, and in Beatrice, Bridget and the others, because the book lets them be flawed, funny and sometimes selfish, not just mouthpieces for a lesson.
The novel looks at racism and antisemitism inside Jake’s own story, then places him in countries where mass killing happens out in the open and on a terrifying scale. It plays with the dream of revolution and tears it apart. Young Westerners arrive full of ideals, then watch soldiers and militias burn those ideals along with villages. The book keeps asking who gets to walk away and who does not. Jake carries private guilt from the rig into places where guilt comes in rivers. Karl drags his Vietnam-era anger into a world where America is almost irrelevant. I felt anger, shame, and sadness while I read, and also a stubborn hope, because the story keeps circling back to friendship, loyalty, and small acts of courage. The novel does not pretend to solve anything. It simply puts you close to the fire and forces you to look.
I would recommend Drinking from the Stream to readers who enjoy historical fiction with grit, to people curious about East Africa in the early seventies, and to anyone who likes character-driven travel stories with real moral stakes. The book asks for patience and a strong stomach. It pays that back with a rich sense of place, big emotions, and a set of memorable characters.
Pages: 377 | ASIN : B0DXLQTN5M
