What it was like to flee

This 15 second clip sums up the spirit of the Sudanese refugees from Blue Nile state and how they have come to terms with the terror that caused them to flee their country.

Amani recalls the terrifying sound of approaching missiles, and then how everyone fell to the ground (kida!), even the children (kida!).

The main road runs through the market in Yusuf Batil.
[Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

A tinge of hesitation

It was raining when we arrived in Yusuf Batil that morning. I was accompanied by my colleague, John, a South Sudanese citizen.

To be honest, I was more than a little apprehensive about approaching refugees... just to talk. 

I had been chatting with Pillar, UNHCR's public health officer. They were battling a crisis.

Every time I saw kids like these, I imagined the terrifying
ordeal that brought them to Yusuf Batil. Many died on the
or were simply abandoned on the way.
[Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Children were in a fragile state of health, their immune systems weakened grievously by the trauma of extreme physical exertion and prolonged lack of essential nutrients. These were the effects of grueling journeys endured by refugees who had hidden for weeks in in forests, mountains and caves, moving only at night under the cover of darkness. 

I was awed by the burden of responsibility borne by my UNHCR colleagues their peers in other organizations, an a daily struggle against overwhelming odds in a life-or-death contest.

Owning a camel is a lifesaver... [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Armed with just camera and note book, I felt a rush of self-doubt as John and I set out to talk with refugees. My work tools seemed grossly inadequate for the needs of the people. But this was not time to indulge in sentimentality.

I indulged in internal pep talk. There is nothing you cannot not get if you show respect, I told myself. Explain to what you do... the worst anyone will do is refuse to talk. And that, too, is OK.

This was the scene as we entered Ratina's tent. She was seated
on the right. Her two daughters Amani (far door) and
 Tayana (pink dress) were visiting. Her youngest daughter
lay asleep on the floor covered in a blue sheet.
[Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

A homely atmosphere

I remember vividly someone calling out, "Fadhal!" (Arabic for "please join us" or "welcome"). 

We were walking past the first tent in our path. We had exchanged greetings: Salaam aleikum....  Aleikum salaam.

John and I peered into the tent. There were three women seated on the floor. 

"Fadhal!" they called out again.

Ratina's was recovering from malaria. She had been to the 
health centre and was following a course of treatment.
She said she was feeling better. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

They protested as we took off our shoes. It was the least we could do out of respect for their abode.

I walked barefoot to the other end of the tent and sat on the floor next to Ratina. I noticed there was a child asleep next to her. Her daughter Tayana held a small baby in her arms.

John sat across across from me. We thanked the ladies for inviting us into their home. They thanked us for the visit.

A blue mosquito net hung from the ceiling, reminding me of the ever-present threat of malaria. I thought of the pools of water outside. I imagined swarms of mosquitoes at night.

We introduced ourselves and explained why we wanted to talk with them. People around the world knew about the war that had caused them to flee Blue Nile state and become refugees in South Sudan.

I turned to my sid and saw Ratina's had placed a protective
hand her grandchild. This is one of my favorite photos. In it
I see both fragility, strength and a feeling of safety. The
sleeping child, grandma's hand, medication, blanket,
blanket, sleeping mat--symbols of the caring needed
to maintain life and dignity.
[Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

We said people and governments all over the world contributed money to enable UNHCR and other organizations to assist refugees. Refugees' accounts of their experience were important for helping sponsors to understand why support to refugees was important, the kind that brought tents, blankets, mosquito nets, food, water, health services and all of the assistance was being provided in Yusuf Batil.

We asked if I could take photos, and when Amani told her story I could not resist asking to film. They consented.  My earlier hesitation was consigned to oblivion. I immersed myself in the cosiness of this family setting.  

Amani's rendition

Amani's flair for storytelling was captivating. I sat on the floor of her mother's tent enthralled by the fusion of perspectives playing out in front of me. 

These refugees had lost everything. Fate had brought them here in terrifying death defying circumstances. Not a trace of bitterness did I sense, not in the atmosphere of good cheer that pervaded that tent. I felt the power of their kinship, the intangible quality of togetherness.


Seated on the floor, sheltered from the rain outside, it occurred to me that things might have been different. What if there was no tent? Amani's mother, Ratina, was recovering from malaria... what if there were no health services. Ratina's grandchild lay on the floor, on a sleeping mat, with a warm blanket... what if these things had not been provided? What if there was no food distribution? What if? what if? what if? This was just one of family in a refugee camp with 36,000 people.

Amani's family

Medina, Ratina's young daughter-in-law, arrives to check on her. [Photo: UNHCR/T. Ongaro]

Amani with her grandmother. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Amani's grandmother looking regal. She was grateful that all of her family survived and made it 
to South Sudan. She regretted that they lost all their livestock. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Tayana was nursing a baby. He was born as they fled. They said she was with her 
grandmother when she went into labour. The grandmother rushed to get help. I asked why she
did not help. They told me, according to custom, the grandmother could assist the birth. She
would be fined. Even in war? while fleeing? Yes, came the reply. Tayana did not rest after
childbirth. She had to keep moving with the rest of the family. Mercifully she had the 
breast milk her infant needed to survive. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Amani's uncle arrives to check on his sister, Ratina. It was touching to see the tent fill up
with family members concerned about how her malaria treatment was going.[Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Najwa is Amani's cousin. She is 16 years old and has been married for one year.
She has no children. She, too, came by to visit her aunt, Ratina. Najwa's grandfather
was abandoned when they fled because he was to old to make the journey.
[Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro] 

Amani with her nephew, Tayana's son. All of these kids came to South Sudan
through terrifying ordeals. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

More relatives visit Ratina. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Medina, Amani's sister-in-law, still has nightmares about leaving her grandmother as they fled.
It was in the village where they abandoned the livestock. Medina's grandmother had been
carried a donkey. They all scattered into the night when the village was attacked, leaving her
 to an unknown fate. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Amani with her youngest sister, Najwa. Najwa goes to school. Her elder siblings did not get
a formal education. They are determined that their children, their daughters will. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Amani and her two sisters. Two of the sisters fled with very young children. The third gave
birth on the way. Amani's son, who could have become separated, even killed, by weapons
 fire looks on. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Ratani plays with her grandchildren. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

This little angle is Amani's daughter. She had to carry her baby brother for much of the way
as her mother was carrying water, food and clothes. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]

Ratani's brother looks at her fondly. [Photo: UNHCR/T.Ongaro]