A lesson in humility

If, like me, you're a creature of habit and you pretty much have a predictable existence, so that flight delays, power cuts or traffic jams are more than mildly irritating... if you're like me in this sense, you will be humbled by the insights into how those Sudanese refuges took into their stride the earth-shattering change that brought them to Maban county, Upper Nile state, South Sudan.

Literally, the ground opened up and swallowed them. Entire villages came under attack from the air; inhabitants were caught in the crossfire of fierce fighting. People fled; many of the weak were left for dead. Later there was hunger as granaries emptied and food ran out because the fighting prevented the people from cultivating the land. Many died from war, hunger and disease. Those who survived have incredible stories to tell, a kaleidoscope of traditions, triumphs and tragedies.

This woman's granddaughters welcomed my
colleague John and I into their tent. They regaled us
with stories about their escape from their village in
Blue Nile state. All of them made it safely to
South Sudan; two of her granddaughters gave
birth on the way. Two of her granddaughters-in-law left
grandparents behind who were too old to walk the
long distance. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

This blog is my retro chronicle--a random selection of memories from five wonderful weeks in Maban county. Wonderful because everywhere I saw brilliant affirmations of the resilience of the human spirit among people who had endured unimaginable hardship--Sudanese refugees from Blue Nile state. 

When I left Juba for Maban county at the beginning of August 2012, I had no idea what to expect. I had worked in South Sudan for seven months. During that time, the population of refugees in Maban county swelled from around 30,000 to almost 110,000. 

These staggering statistics obscure incredible stories of resilience and survival, and the day-to-day struggles of beating the odds to start a new life as refugees.

This 80 year old woman was recovering from 
malaria. Looking  at her emaciated frame, I 
wondered how she had made the journey from
her village. Probably able-bodied members of her 
 family carried her, I thought. I was speculating. 
This was no time to engage in chatty conversation.
She was evidently weak. She said she was hungry. 
Her elderly husband had gone out to look for food,
 she said.  According to tradition, the old couple 
could not live in the same tent or shelter
 as their son's family. So they lived in this make-
shift structure, exposed to the cold and rain.
 Joyce, the UNHCR social worker organized for the 
couple to get a proper tent, mosquito nets, blankets, 
food, clothing and other basic items. 
[Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Alive, by God's grace

Without exception, all the people I spoke to believed they were still alive and in South Sudan solely by God's grace.

They had survived harrowing journeys. Some were forced to leave family members behind, particularly those who were not strong enough to make the distance on foot. Some died on the way; we will never know how many. 

They told their stories without a hint of bitterness. Even regret was only expressed when I asked what they missed most about home. 

Among older people there was bewilderment at having been rendered destitute for no good reason, scattered unceremoniously with only their lives to cling on to. 

One man told me that in his 56 years he had never experienced or imagined the kinds of events that forced him out of his village and country.

This man was overjoyed. His wife had given birth to
twins in a border village just after they crossed into
South Sudan. He had left them behind, and gone ahead 
to see if he could get help. Unknown to him, she and
the babies were brought to the UNHCR Transit Centre 
in Jamam by humanitarian workers. When I met him
he had just returned from the hospital where his 
wife and newborn twins were admitted. 
[Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

If only it was merely a matter of packing one's bags, saying goodbye to family and friends, and boarding a bus, train or airplane to a known and desired destination--the way many of us travel.

Not so for refugees. They had precious few moments to decide what to carry (food, water, cooking utensils, mats to sleep on), not knowing where or how far they could go. Treasured assets like homes, land, crops and livestock had to be abandoned. Imagine having to scramble in terror, having to flee familiar surroundings at short notice and start life in another country.

Small children aged as young as three often had to walk because adults had younger kids or important items to carry. Many kids had to carry younger siblings. 

This is how refugees fled their villages, walking for days,
sometimes weeks before they crossed the border into South
Sudan. I could swear there is a child's arm hanging from the 
bundle on the woman's right. Women bear an inordinate 
share of the physical burdens of flight. They carry 
children, water, food and domestic items hanging from a
wooden stick balanced across their shoulders. 
Rarely do you see women ride camels or donkeys.
Photo: UNHCR/T.Lomuya]

Time and again I heard refugees describe how they had boiled the bitter leaves of the lalobe tree when their food ran out on the way. They ate wild roots and gum arabic to keep them going, not knowing where to or how far.

Some refugees were luckier. They were given food and water in the villages they traveled through. Others helped themselves to food in abandoned granaries and fields.

They told me they drank water from open sources, any water they could find, even if it was dirty, because they were thirsty. They simply skimmed the dirt off the top before they drank.

This woman in Yusuf Batil refugee camp showed
me the leaves of the lalobe tree, bitter leaves that
she boiled for her family when their food ran out. 
Her severely malnourished daughter, perched 
astride her hip, was on a treatment programme. 
[Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

I came face to face with the debilitating effects of going for long periods without proper food and clean drinking water, manifested in sickness and severe malnutrition among the very young and the very old.

Face to face with children who had been dragged to the jaws of death, the magnitude and tragedy of war crashed into me with a violence I cannot describe. 

Those were gut-wrenching moments. They brought home the weight of the wanton injustice that was sapping the life out of those kids. 

This child was in treatment for severe malnutrition
as an outpatient. Every week, severely malnourished
children are weighed, measured and screened  
for possible illness. During such a visit my colleague
  noticed her older brother showing serious symptoms
 of sickliness and immediately rushed him to
hospital. Their mother seemed listless, exhausted
no doubt, by the burdens of sick children,
domestic chores and the pregnancy she was going 
through. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

It was difficult not to ponder justice. Where does justice fit in the equation of the refugee condition? Is theirs simply a case of collateral damage? Are they merely inadvertent (or perhaps intended) casualties, passive victims of malevolent forces that prompt them to flee into an unknown future, where only disease and death can be predicted with certainty? But I digress. 

One of my colleagues, Muirean, explained the things that had struck her most about the refugees in Maban. "...The thing that will stay with me is the really poor conditions that the refugees arrived in. I was struck by how grateful the refugees are to be here. They finally got somewhere safe. Somewhere safe and someone is helping. These are ordinary people. Never seen the UN and no-one ever gave them anything before..."

Typical scenes around refugee camps before
nightfall. Two women prepare the evening meal;
one stokes the open wood fire while the
other grinds millet. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]  

New challenges: less terrifying than bombings, yet inherently as deadly

The refugees I met were hugely relieved to be safe from bombings and gunfire. That was all they had prayed for. Here, they said, they felt secure and safe, away from the threat of violence.

Yet the hazards were far from over. Insidious dangers lay in store, far less terrifying perhaps than bombings and fighting, yet inherently no less deadly for a population severely weakened by acute privation. 

The landscape is stunning in the rainy season. It has the
character of a park: grassy flatlands with ponds and trees,
 and occasional herds of cows grazing peacefully.
It is difficult to imagine that in the dry season the
lush vegetation will disappear and the ground will
be covered in dry grass. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

The scenic landscape with its lush vegetation and pools of water in Maban county are a beguiling cover for treacherous nuisances. 

With the rains come flooding, and the risk of waterborne disease soars. In places where people and livestock tread, the black cotton soil transforms into gluey sludge with muddy puddles creating perfect conditions for bacteria to thrive. 

Deadly diseases carry the greatest threat to the wellbeing of refugees, alongside a high risk of contagion. 

I took shelter from the rain in a UNHCR tent with these
refugees in Jamam. We had just brought the 35 exhausted
women, men, and children of all ages from an open field
to theUNHCR transit centre when the rain poured so heavily
thatwe all had to huddle in the tent. They had spent many
nights, including the previous one, in the open. The women
said that all night long they warded off swarms of
mosquitoes and tried and tried to keep the children warm
twith their tobes, the untailored length of cloth they wear
over their clothes. I could only imagine what it must have
been like huddling in the dark. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro] 

Rain brings cold temperatures, especially at night. Chest infections are common and can lead to fatalities if not properly treated. 

Most refugees own only the clothes they were wearing when they fled; when they are rained on they just shiver in the cold until their clothes dry. 

Mosquitoes breed in the pools of stagnant water then swarm like savage predators spreading malaria. Rainy season is malaria season in South Sudan. No-one is safe from the ravages of this killer tropical disease--not refugees, not humanitarian workers, not local people. Those who catch it must receive proper and timely medical care or risk certain death. 

A quick stop to wash his hands in a muddy puddle, exposed
to all manner of bacteria which he could transmit to others

through handshakes or touching food. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Poor hygiene practice like not washing hands with soap and clean water before eating, or defecating in the open by people or livestock helps spread death-dealing bacteria. 

Infections of any kind--malarial, bacterial, you name it--take on deathly proportions in these surroundings, particularly when one's immunity to disease is weakened. 

Simple items like soap, blankets, mosquito nets are the proverbial apple a day that keeps the doctor away!


Aid delivery: an obstacle race

Twice we got stuck in the treacherous black cotton
soil, driving along dirt tracks on the 70km route to
the border from Jamam. Our mission was to find
out if new groups of refugees had arrived, so that
we could assist them. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

I was intrigued by the battle to save lives; a virtual crusade to stem and indeed turn the tide of disease, malnutrition and death that threatened to wash over the weakest among the refugees. That battle is fought on different fronts, in hospitals, clinics, water distribution systems, latrines and tents. 

Refugees and humanitarian workers are like an embattled nation surrounded by an array of shifting pitfalls in something akin to an obstacle race. 

This refugee woman at the UNHCR transit centre
in Jamam, has just been issued blankets,
mosquito nets, sleeping mats, kitchen sets, soap,
food rations and other items needed for her
family to settle for the night. Tomorrow they
will be transported to Gendrassa camp, their
new home. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Refugees need uninterrupted periods of good health if they are to restore their innate immunity. Shocks such as infections, lack of food or medicines, and exposure to the elements can have debilitating effects. They must be guaranteed proper shelter, warmth, food, clean water, medical services and so on.  

In the rainy season, overland haulage of food and relief items grinds to a virtual halt as barge movements on the River Nile are reduced and roads are closed. As in much of South Sudan at this time of the year, the rain comes down in torrents. The flooding season follows, as swelling rivers in the Ethiopian highlands overflow, provoking deluges that submerge lowlands like Maban. 

The main road through Bunj, capital of Maban
county under floods after the banks of a river burst. 
It is the artery that connects Bunj to the four
refugee camps, to Malakal (capital of Upper Nile
state), to Melut (river port on River Nile) and
Palouche airport where relief are flown into the
region in order not to interrupt programmes for
lack of stocks. [Photo: UNHCR/C.Kiss]

My colleague, Muirean described the impact in graphic terms. She said, "Here UNHCR is working against the laws of nature and physics: climate and the rainy season and what it does to the roads; geology of where the water will accumulate--you'll drill and there'll be no water... Because of the logistics, the rains and road conditions, you have only a certain number of trucks available in the area. The same trucks have to relocate refugees, move food from Pelouche and Melut, and move around emergency medical supplies. There are just enough trucks for any one of these things, but they have to do all of those things at the same time. You can only transport 1,000 refugees or seven tons of food or supplies at a time. You cannot do it all at the same time." 

Flooding cuts off roads and can halt movement of food or medicines for days. How's that for an obstacle race!

A Kodak moment in the back of the UNHCR

ambulance. This man touched his daughter's head

 fondly as she stared out the window. His other arm 
was wrapped around his grandson who was sitting
on his lap. We were driving through Gendrassa  
refugee camp, taking mother and son to join her 
two other children and the rest of her family. 
They had been separated for several weeks because 

the little boy had been hospitalized with severe
malnutrition. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]  

Heartwarming moments

But all is not doom and gloom in Maban, not by any stretch of the imagination.

Heartwarming moments abound, affirmations of the resilience of the human spirit. Mostly I saw gratitude. Despite the adversity, people were thankful to be alive. 

The refugees I met longed for home. Yet they understood, and accepted, that it will not be possible to return until the conflict is over.

Their stoicism is a powerful lesson in humility in the face of adversity. They don't need hand-outs; those take away one's dignity. The need a leg up!

This woman was preparing asida from ground 
sorghum, the staple food, for the evening meal at 
Jamam camp. She told me she two children.  I
asked why she was cooking such a large quantity. 
She responded in a matter-of-fact way that it was
not just for her family; she was going to share the 
 meal with her neighbors. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Young people wanted to go to school, to get an education in order to have a better future. Men wanted land to cultivate so that they could sell the produce and earn an income to support their families. 

Women and girls, caregivers and homemakers--they toiled unceasingly. They cooked and fetched and bore children. To an outsider's eye, they seem to bear an inordinate share of the domestic burden. If I were granted a single wish for social change, it would be to strengthen refugee women's place in society, so that the entire community would be uplifted. 

Heartwarming encounters with kids like this girl,
as unreserved and friendly as kids are anywhere
in the world [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro] 

This blog, my retro-chronicle will carry photos and stories of my experiences in Maban, my reflections on the humanity, dignity, triumphs, disappointments, adversity, hope and optimism that shone through my encounters with refugees and the people who serve them.