The Fargo man, 26, keeps in his head stories from his native southern Sudan, tales handed down through generations and taught to him by his grandfather.

One of those tales is on a compact disc of Ma'di music produced by the North Dakota Council on the Arts.

In helping record that CD, Silvestro did more than preserve the culture of an embattled people. The project also reconnected Silvestro with a sister he has not seen in 16 years.

Smiling broadly, Silvestro radiates hard-won joy as he sits on a couch in a clean, tidy south Fargo apartment he shares with two other Sudanese men.

He tells a story beginning in war-ravaged Sudan when Silvestro was an orphaned youth, fleeing the country on foot with his grandfather.

Silvestro's mother died in childbirth in 1983. Sudanese rebels killed his father in 1987. Two older sisters were married and living elsewhere in Sudan, a brother was a Catholic priest in Khartoum and a third sister had settled in Australia, leaving Silvestro in the care of his elderly grandfather.

"He'd tell me a lot of stories," Silvestro recalled.

In 1989, the pair decided to strike out for refugee camps in Uganda. Along the way, the old man would amuse the boy with stories that recounted the culture and history of their Ma'di tribe.

But only one of them made it to Uganda.

During the journey, the grandfather, who was in his 90s, tripped, fell into a hole and broke a rib.

"There was no good medical care," Silvestro said simply. His grandfather's condition worsened and the old man died, leaving the boy alone. He hooked up with other refugee groups and continued his trek.

After reaching Uganda, Silvestro lived in the camp for four years. In 1993, he reconnected with his sister, Valeria Foni, who had moved to Uganda with her own family. His other sister, Antonita Tizza, was in Juba, in southern Sudan, with her husband.

Foni emigrated to the United States, settling in West Fargo in 1994. Silvestro followed her to Fargo a year later.

Silvestro became involved in an apprenticeship program run by the North Dakota Council on the Arts and its folklorist, Troyd Geist. The folklorist worked with recent immigrants, including Silvestro and a friend he made in the camps, Iijo John Stephen, who also settled in Fargo.

Silvestro, Stephen and other recent arrivals taught traditional music to local Sudanese and performed at nursing homes around the state.

In late 2003, the Historical Society, which produced similar CDs with other ethnic groups in the state, released a CD of Ma'di music featuring Silvestro, Stephen and other area Ma'di musicians.

The CD made it back to Sudan, often by a circuitous route. People here sent it to friends there and it was transferred to tape; bootleg versions actually are for sale there.

Geist said that when Stephen returned to Sudan for a visit last year, a friend urged him to listen to a tape of Ma'di music the friend had bought. When he put the tape on, it turned out to be a copy of the North Dakota Historical Society CD.

Among those who sent the tape back to the homeland was Silvestro's sister, Foni. Their brother, the Khartoum priest, had tracked down the remaining sister, Tizza, who also had remained in Sudan. Through him, Foni was able to get a copy of the CD to Tizza.

A few months ago, Tizza met a Catholic relief services worker named Theresa O'Hare, who was about to return to the United States for school. Tizza - who, in the confusion of the war-torn country didn't know that Silvestro was living in Fargo - asked O'Hare if there was any way she could track Silvestro down.

O'Hare came back to the United States and did a Google search for the CD, Geist said. She found it and contacted him by e-mail, which he passed along to Silvestro and Stephen. The long-separated brother and sister had found each other.

While he now knows the location of the sister he has not seen since 1989, Silvestro said he has yet to actually talk to her, mostly because the war has disrupted telephone service in Sudan.

He plans to return there for a visit this summer. There is danger in returning, he said, but he's willing to chance it to see her.

While the CD has meant re-establishing an important family connection for Silvestro, Geist said, it has cultural value as well to the larger, local Ma'di community.

Silvestro learned some of the songs and the one story on the CD from his grandfather.

That story, told by Silvestro in the Ma'di language and translated by Stephen, is about orphans and the role cooperation plays in survival, themes that resonate with many Sudanese today.

Stephen said it has particular meaning to those who lived in the refugee camps. "Because we were in the same situation, we stuck together," he said.

The music, played on traditional Ma'di instruments built by the musicians, is in a traditional call-and-response format. It's very melodic and sounds almost Latin.

The songs are in Ma'di, but the enhanced CD includes translations. The subject matter runs from love to war, from holiday celebration to humor. One song, "Kalendo," has a calypso feel, but the lyrics speak to a soldier's weariness of war and longing to return home. Another song, "Ojja" ("War"), dates from Sudan's past as a British colony but has been updated to talk about Ma'di resistance to Arabic Moslems who now rule the country.

Stephen, a soft-spoken 29-year-old who worries a guitar pick while he talks, said the songs are both a form of teaching and oral history for the Ma'di.

"They kind of simplify the social events," he said.

The reaction among local Sudanese has been strongly positive, he said, with most people asking, "When's the next one?"

"I didn't know (the CD's reception) was going to be so positive," he said. "The fact that the culture is not dead is the big message."

Stephen is proud of the CD, especially the enhancements that give cultural context to the songs. But more than that, he performs the music for perhaps the oldest reason in the world.