The Sudd

I have never been so happy to leave somewhere. The waiting area at the airport in Malakal was a storm of flies, buzzing through the heat that hung heavy in the air. I was on the “standby” list to fly to Bentiu in a UN helicopter, and the prospect of being stuck here, missing the story I was aiming for in South Sudan’s Unity State, was not a pleasant one.

As the chopper rose into the air, the White Nile stretched out below, cutting through this fly-infested town. As we flew west, the small round porthole windows—open at our altitude of 1000 feet—gave onto a sea of green below. The vast swamplands of The Sudd, which swallow up the Nile as it moves north towards Khartoum, stretched into the hazy mist of the day’s deathly heat.

It was the swamps of The Sudd that caused so many problems for the early explorers in the 19th century, trying to trace the Nile to its source. For months they would drag themselves through, meeting unknown tribes, battling the flies, the mosquitos, and the impenetrable sodden land. And now, as South Sudan is on the verge of its independence, it is this same swampland that renders many of the routes impassable during the rainy season, cutting off towns like Malakal from Juba, except by boat.

But from the air, this ocean of green betrayed none of its dangers. Cattle herders moved their livestock across the fields as carrion birds flew over them. A man stood repairing the thatched roof of a lone tokul, the traditional Sudanese mud huts. Isolated isles dotted small, unknown lakes, and a serpentine river slithered to the horizon.

An hour later, the helicopter landed in Bentiu, and I was back amongst the realities of South Sudan, leaving behind the romanticised version from the air.

South Sudan - Losing Power

South Sudan - Losing Power

The frequent buzz of the motorcycle taxis—boda-bodas—of Juba have diminished somewhat since I returned to the South Sudanese capital. The thumping of the generators that power the city are also somewhat more discrete.

For South Sudan is suffering from an acute fuel shortage, caused by the block—I want to say “-ade”, but that engenders an act of war—so we’ll say “-age” of trade routes between the north and south. Despite South Sudan’s impending independence, she still relies on the north for much of her supplies. And despite producing the majority of Sudan’s oil, the South relies on the north for its refinement, and therefore, domestic fuel supply. The conflict in South Kordofan and Abyei are, by no means, helping the situation.

Other routes are open, with neighbouring Kenya and Uganda, but a regional fuel crisis, partly as a result of the conflict in Libya, means that South Sudan’s problems are exacerbated by being at the end of that chain.

The “city power” is virtually non-existent much of the time. It’s source? Large diesel generators near the Nile. And establishments here are worried about their stock of diesel to keep their jennies running.

Getting around is a lot more expensive: petrol, the rarest of fuel-stuffs right now, is going for $10 a litre on the black-market. Many people, and in some cases, organisations, are having to ration their driving. Local watering holes are becoming more and more frequented compared to their farther flung competitors.

But the effect is rather more dramatic on those who have not the capacity to deal with commodity-price increases. Almost all of the products in local markets are imported; South Sudan’s agricultural sector is far from developed. And so with many good coming from neighbouring Uganda, any fuel-price increases mean an increase in food prices. An increase few southern Sudanese can afford.

It's Official

On the ninth of July 2011, six years after the signing of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement, southern Sudan will become South Sudan, the world’s 193rd nation.

In Khartoum’s Friendship Hall, a far-cry from Juba’s John Garang memorial that has been the scene for most referendum-related events, people filled the room as dignitaries and journalists waited for the announcement.

Omar al-Bashir, Sudan’s president, had earlier in the day vowed the north’s acceptance of the result with Salva Kiir, the south’s president-to-be. “We will announce today in front of the world our acceptance and respect for the choice of the people of the south” Bashir said. This evening was just a formality.

But as the screen flashed up the final results — a 98.83% vote for secession — tensions did fill in the hall. One man stood, waving his fist in celebration. Another woman, from the north, started weeping before being escorted from the room by security. “Sudan is one country, not two” she wailed as men whisked her away.

Over a thousand kilometres further south, my friends and colleagues in Juba were watching the results on the television screens, broadcasting live from Khartoum. A text-message told me that a cheer went up as I strayed into the cameras behind the speaker, catching the view from their podium.

Now begins the path to independence, which will not be easy for the South. The entirety of the border that will now separate the two states has yet to be demarcated; the popular consultations in South Kordofan and Blue Nile state have not yet taken place; there are the questions of debt-sharing, and of oil revenues. And then the South has to acquire the means to actually run its own country.

An Independent South

An Independent South Sudan

The result was already known. From looking at the figures posted at voting centres, to reading the reports meticulously compiled by the wire agencies as they phoned around each state, gathering the latest counts, to the sentiment of people on the street. South Sudan would vote for its independence.

But today, the preliminary results of voting in South Sudan (and northern & overseas voting counted for little in the grand scheme of things) were announced.

The figures were of little interest—virtually 100% voted for secession—but the celebrations and decorum were.

The John Garang Mausoleum was filled with people, dignitaries and journalists. As Riek Machar and Salva Kiir made their speeches, the security was struggling to hold back the (slightly premature) celebrations of the crowd gathered.

Justice Chan announced the results, state-by-state, and then school children recited a song about South Sudan following Kiir’s rambling speech in Arabic, Dinka and occasional phrases in English.

But then the party began. The crowds rose from their seats. The beads rattled as traditional dance groups bounced on the dry earth. A festival-like crush formed around local hip-hop artists. And men fell as their shields were beat by traditional clubs.

The people of South Sudan have spoken. And they await July 9th for their independence.

A new town in a new nation

A new town in a new nation

The tok-tok weaved its way through the pot-holes and sand-traps on the long, dusty road from Aweil to Apada.

Just a few months ago, this place was “nothing but trees and scrub-land” said one man. There is little evidence of the trees he spoke of, as ten-thousand people have arrived from northern Sudan and need homes; the trees form part of their rustic shelters.

Apada is one of the biggest returnee camps in South Sudan, land allocated to them by the government. But little awaits them, with no homes, no jobs, and little in the way of water and sanitation. Long queues stand outside NGO-organised water distribution points that have been established, but if this is to be one of South Sudan’s newest towns—and this is no temporary camp—then infrastructure needs to be developed.

Workers here say that the government is focused on the referendum, and so everything here—aside from the land—is provided by international humanitarian organisations. The most urgent need is shelter, but the NGOs are trying to provide vaccinations for children, hygiene promotion, food security and job opportunities. “We are looking for professionals” says a representative from the International Rescue Committee, hoping to source teachers and nurses from those arriving from the north. “Malaria is a big problem here, as it is not prevalent in the north.”

Over the next three months, the size of the “town” is expected to grow to over eighty thousand people, making it a major settlement in South Sudan.

Despite the difficulty that these returnees face, both from the arduous journey here, and the situation that faces them on arrival, many are upbeat. “I am really happy to be back in my original place” says Yel Yel Anei, who has lived in the north since 1993. During his journey back to the south, his convoy was attacked by armed militia in South Kordofan, extorting money from those traveling if they were found with “illicit” items. “My father was stopped because he had an American dollar bill” says Yel, who had to pay 150 Sudanese pounds (over $50) to release him.

Nyibol Deng was less fortunate. Her convoy was attacked in South Kordofan, and militia demanded money from them. “We didn’t have anything, so they started beating us” she says, sitting on a stool with a suspected broken leg from the attack. “I have lived in Khartoum all my life and never seen my ancestral land.”

She is now back in that land, and will begin the long process of constructing not just her new life, but the town in which she will live it.