A return to war?

The vast, green grasslands stretch across the impossibly flat plains, a few hazy trees pockmarking the stretched horizon. Every now and then, a small pocket of tokuls, the traditional Sudanese mud and thatched huts, pop-up alongside the dirt road that leads to Pariang, at the heart of Sudan.

Pariang lies in the north of South Sudan’s Unity State, a name that seems rather odd considering the impending independence of the south. In January’s referendum, citizens were asked to vote for either unity or secession; the latter was chosen with nearly 99% of the vote.

It is at the northern-most tip of Unity state that Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF), the north’s army, have been bombing the town of Jau, lying right on the north-south border-to-be. This lakeside town has been attacked several times by the SAF’s infamous Antonov bombers, which reaped fear amongst the southerners during the bitter, decades-long civil war. The International Organisation for Migration has said that 3700 have so far fled, and many more have “run to the bush”.

The first bombs fell on Jau on June 10th, and the town has been hit several times since. “Antonovs bombed the area and killed my son” said Thrab Deng, a woman who fled Jau. She spent a day walking through the mud to Pariang, the capital of the county, where she has been for the past week. “We don’t have food here” she says, “I go and beg from people”.

The community in Pariang is doing their best to support the displaced, but have little resources with which to do so. Much of Unity State relies on road links from the north to stock their markets, but these roads have been closed for the past three months. According to market surveys conducted in Bentiu, the state capital, by the World Food Programme, the price of sorghum, a staple for the Sudanese, have doubled in recent weeks. Fuel prices have also rocketed, limiting the transport available to these remote regions, as well as raising commodity prices. Add to that no tarmac roads linking Bentiu and Pariang, the dirt road becomes all but impassable when the rains come. As I drove back from Pariang to Bentiu after an afternoon of rain, one of the two lorries we passed en-route was stuck in the mud. The second, up on axles, changing a blown-out tyre amidst the thick mud.

Thrab is not alone in being short of food, far from home. Taking shelter in a building on the outskirts of town, the fifty or so families staying here all came with virtually nothing, fleeing the bombs. They carried their children during the day-long walk through the mud from Jau to Pariang. “Today we don’t know what we will eat” says Martha, another mother staying there. “We have yet to get assistance from the government or NGOs.”

The World Food Programme, in association with World Vision, an NGO working in Unity State, will soon start distributing food to the most vulnerable, but in this town of little, many will lay claim to that title.

Unity is also the southern state that has received the most returnees from the north, in the build-up to independence, further stretching already limited resources. From late October 2010 to June 21st of this year, nearly 78,000 South Sudanese have come to the state. And over 45,000 are displaced this year in Unity.

But for those fleeing Jau, they live amongst the fear of further bombing from the North. Local officials here say that they can hear the bombing from Pariang, and have seen planes flying over Panyang, a village fifteen kilometres further north. “I am worried that Antonovs will follow us here and bomb Pariang town” says Ayak, a mother of three. Her husband stayed behind in Jau when she fled, and she says that she has not heard from him since she left. “I am worried that my husband may not be alive” she adds.

Col. Mabek Lang Mading, the Commissioner for Pariang County says “I appeal to the international community to condemn the attacks”, asking also for international intervention. The South Sudanese army, the SPLA, has hitherto been relatively restrained in their response to the bombings, possibly fearing that any retaliation could jeopardise their chance for secession come July 9th, the day the South will officially declare independence. Thereafter, this restraint could change. Col. Mading says that “if the SAF are still bombing Jau after 9th July, then we will definitely respond”, reiterating that “we have the right to respond and we must protect it”. This would mean a return to war, but this time between two sovereign nations.

Some, such as Thrab, wish to remain here in Pariang. “I will not go back, no way” she says. But many want to return to their homes, and reunite their families. “When there is no more fighting, I can go back to Jau to see if my husband is still alive” says Ayak. For that to happen, there needs to be an end to the fighting. “We cannot go back to Jau unless there is security there” says Abdullah Ibrahim Suleiman. But with continued bombing, and two states on the verge of war, this security could be a long way off, with many more yet to suffer.

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.
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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.

Libya: A Precursor I didn’t know it yet, but this would be my first taste of the Libyan revolution. With such sensitivities around protests in Sudan, it was with a healthy dose of trepidation that I drove over to the Libyan embassy in Riyadh, Khartoum’s rich, eastern district. I had got word that some people would be demonstrating about the events unfolding in Libya, and was curious to see what would happen. Arriving at the embassy, there was no-one but a few heavy-looking security officials at the door. This was not a good sign, and being a khawaja with a camera, one tends to stand out a lot in Khartoum at the best of times. After more driving around, wondering if I would catch sight of a group marching Libyans, I returned to the embassy as a handful of Egyptians arrived, print-outs of slogans in Arabic taped to their chests. It was Egyptian tricolours that they held, not the green of Qaddafi’s flag. Photographing them as they stood on the pavement opposite the embassy, one o the heavies crossed the road to come and speak to us. “This is it”, I thought. But he seemed relatively uninterested in my gear as I prepared to show my Press Pass from the ministry. And then I was bundled into the back of a pick-up truck with some of the protestors. With my limited Arabic, and their limited English, I knew not where we were headed, and I questioned how I could explain my association with them if we were stopped by Khartoum’s heavy-handed police, en-route. And then we arrived outside the main building of the Sudan Students’ Union and a large crowd had formed. I have never seen anything like this in Khartoum. “Today this demonstration is called for by the Sudanese and Egyptians to support the Libyan people to help remove Qaddafi and his government.” This, as one of the student leaders told me, was what those assembled were risking their freedom for. They wanted to demonstrate their belief that Qaddafi should not “kill Islamic people, the important thing for humans is freedom”. Freedom. An interesting concept for those living under the Khartoum regime. “We are annoyed that he [Qaddafi] is using planes and helicopters to kill people” they told me, and that they are wish to show that “all the Arab nations are with the Libyan people and their struggle against Qaddafi”. And then it all melted away. Students piled into mini-buses, cars drove away, flags hanging out of windows, and I was left in another empty street in Khartoum, with my camera, some photos and my freedom.
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Libya: A Precursor

I didn’t know it yet, but this would be my first taste of the Libyan revolution.

With such sensitivities around protests in Sudan, it was with a healthy dose of trepidation that I drove over to the Libyan embassy in Riyadh, Khartoum’s rich, eastern district. I had got word that some people would be demonstrating about the events unfolding in Libya, and was curious to see what would happen.

Arriving at the embassy, there was no-one but a few heavy-looking security officials at the door. This was not a good sign, and being a khawaja with a camera, one tends to stand out a lot in Khartoum at the best of times.

After more driving around, wondering if I would catch sight of a group marching Libyans, I returned to the embassy as a handful of Egyptians arrived, print-outs of slogans in Arabic taped to their chests. It was Egyptian tricolours that they held, not the green of Qaddafi’s flag.

Photographing them as they stood on the pavement opposite the embassy, one o the heavies crossed the road to come and speak to us. “This is it”, I thought. But he seemed relatively uninterested in my gear as I prepared to show my Press Pass from the ministry.

And then I was bundled into the back of a pick-up truck with some of the protestors. With my limited Arabic, and their limited English, I knew not where we were headed, and I questioned how I could explain my association with them if we were stopped by Khartoum’s heavy-handed police, en-route.

And then we arrived outside the main building of the Sudan Students’ Union and a large crowd had formed. I have never seen anything like this in Khartoum.

“Today this demonstration is called for by the Sudanese and Egyptians to support the Libyan people to help remove Qaddafi and his government.”

This, as one of the student leaders told me, was what those assembled were risking their freedom for. They wanted to demonstrate their belief that Qaddafi should not “kill Islamic people, the important thing for humans is freedom”. Freedom. An interesting concept for those living under the Khartoum regime.

“We are annoyed that he [Qaddafi] is using planes and helicopters to kill people” they told me, and that they are wish to show that “all the Arab nations are with the Libyan people and their struggle against Qaddafi”.

And then it all melted away. Students piled into mini-buses, cars drove away, flags hanging out of windows, and I was left in another empty street in Khartoum, with my camera, some photos and my freedom.

Sufi Celebrations in Sudan

It is rare to see gatherings such as this in Sudan. But as much of the western world was celebrating St. Valentine’s day, Sudan’s sufis were this year celebrating the birth of the Prophet Muhammad.

In Khartoum, in Omdurman and in Bahri—the three cities centred on the confluence of the two Niles—tents were erected and, for Sudan, a carnival atmosphere ensued.

Amid the sellers of traditional sweets, people listened to tales of the Prophet’s life from various Sufi sheikhs, they prayed en-masse, and the dervishes entered trance-like states.

Working on a piece with Simon Martelli for AFP, we were told:

“Some of them feel like their minds are out of their bodies. At this time, they do not feel anything outside. An old man who cannot normally stand for 15 minutes; here he will dance for three of four hours.”

A welcome break from the typical pace of Sudanese life.