South Sudan

Two years ago I was fortunate enough to spend some time working in an incredible place; the semi-autonomous South Sudan. There I met a people who are at once heartbreaking and inspiring. They look desperation in the face every single day and are able to overcome it with incredible humor, hope and faith. I was excited to bring Jay to a place I grew to love but at the same time nervous at what type of progress had been made in the past two years.

This past week we have stayed with Acen's extended family just outside of the capital, Juba. To give an idea of the level of development there, South Sudan is a place the size of England and France combined and has less than 20km of paved roads (this is up from 5km in 2007). All of those roads are in Juba. There is some electricity in the capital, although it comes from a diesel-fed generator that powers a tiny portion of the offices of non-governmental organizations and government. All of these offices also have personal generators however, as they can only expect one to two days of power a week. Residents do not even dream of benefiting from the large generator.

Acen's family has no electricity and no water. The women have to walk well over a mile to get all of the water for cooking, cleaning and bathing (in fact, the women do pretty much everything from home construction to cooking, cleaning and even brewing the local alcohol that they sell to soldiers for a modest income). Even with what little Acen's family has their hospitality is incredible. We were treated to meat every night, a luxury they rarely enjoy under normal circumstances. Every neighbor stopped by to greet us and all went on at some length (the Sudanese are known for their drawn-out formalities) about how appreciative they were to see us staying in a real Sudanese home. There are some white aid workers in Juba but they all stay in relatively comfortable homes with provided transportation. So we were certainly a rare sight on the local buses and on the walk home from the bus stop.

We were also able (after way too much hassle and bribery) to make a trip to rural part of the South. It took us five hours to drive the sixty-miles to our destination (weighted down by the seven officials and security personnel needed to insure our safety and access). While the place we visited was stunningly beautiful it was also extraordinarily tragic. The area, located between Juba and Uganda, is of great strategic importance. As such, it was decimated during the Sudanese Civil War and, for much of the time since the signing of the peace agreement, was occupied by the brutal Lord's Resistance Army. The LRA are known for (among other atrocities) abducting young boys and girls for use as soldiers and prostitutes as well as for cutting off fingers, breasts, genitals and lips. Signs of these tragedies were evident on many of the people who watched us curiously from the roadside.

(A typical South Sudanese school)

Almost everyone we met here was a recent returnee from internally displaced camps in Juba and Khartoum or refugee camps in Uganda. What is most appalling is that they were forcibly returned here from their camps where at least there were hospitals and schools. In this area there is one school with just one teacher who had only a high school education. The rest of the teachers are mostly-uneducated but literate volunteers doing everything they can to help their people. There are just two primary health care units to provide for tens of thousands of people. These tiny mud huts are stocked with nothing but soon to expire first-line anti-malarial drugs and no way to diagnose the disease. The two community health workers who staffed the clinics have not been paid in months and they themselves are starving while trying to help their neighbors.

The people themselves were angry, and justifiably so. Traveling with the chief of the area we were obliged to stop at a funeral that was being held beside the road. The funeral was for a two year old boy who had died of malaria; an easily preventable and treatable disease. He had come back from Uganda with his mother months earlier where they had access to the drugs they would have needed to treat the boy. Back home in South Sudan they did not have the money to travel to Juba to get the needed medicine. As the chief said, they had to "give up and let the boy die." His tiny gravel grave is placed directly in front of his mother's hut's door signifying that he was her first born.

(A typical health care center found in South Sudan)

To add to the problem, tribal violence wracks South Sudan with return to war with the North all but imminent in the next months. The people repeatedly told us they were being brought back to die; and many are. South Sudan is in desperate need of help. We are doing our best to remove students from these horrible situations at the South Sudan Scholarship Foundation, but we need your help. Please pass along our web address to friends and family in a time of ever increasing need: www.southsudansf.org.

To end with a humorous note (for you, not for Jay, Acen and I). We returned to Kampala yesterday and were prepared for the long journey. We were not prepared for the lack of suspension and the 40 plus speed bumps we hit in a three-mile stretch (still no idea as to their purpose). We also stopped about five hours from Kampala to get food at a gas station. Incredibly, an hour after we had left the gas station we ran out of gas. So, after leaving at five that morning we arrived back in Kampala at midnight.

We will update with our plans again soon and with stories about the newest additions to SSSF!