The nightmare of falling into the abyss

By Hezekiah Abuya in Renk, Upper Nile state



Teta rarely leaves her mother's side in Renk, perhaps
hoping to stave off the unexpected, the nightmare of falling
into the abyss.

Teta's story warms my heart as I contemplate the crowds of people in Renk, South Sudan's northern-most river port along the Nile.

Teta is one of the masses, the thousands of people from all corners of South Sudan, who linger among their worldly belongings in Renk, waiting patiently for the day when they will travel home.

For most South Sudanese, it is an epic journey. It is the realization of a dream, a return to the homeland, an adventure into the unknown. The majority do not have the means to pay for the journey from Khartoum and other parts of Sudan. For them it is an odyssey and often, simply, a waiting game. Weeks and sometimes months are spent at one departure point and then another, waiting to board a bus, train or barge that will bring them closer to home. In that eternity, the unexpected becomes the norm.

Teta, her mother and her four year old sister left Khartoum in March. They traveled on the much publicized convoy, organized by the Government of South Sudan just before fighting broke out in Heglig. Five buses crowded with passengers and several trucks carrying their belongings snaked their way along the south westerly route. Teta was looking forward to joining her elder sister who lives with their grandmother in their home village in Warrap state. The girls' father works in Juba.

Unexpectedly war flared in Heglig as they traversed the oil-rich area in Southern Kordofan. The convoy was attacked. People scattered into the bush. Mother and child were separated.

The prospect of an all-out war loomed large. For a while, the whereabouts of the passengers of the ill-fated convoy remained unknown, even as tensions between South Sudan and Sudan escalated.

Weary and badly shaken, passengers started to appear in Kadugli, capital of Southern Kordofan. The Government of South Sudan organized buses to transport them as they emerged from the bush, taking them to safety through El Obeid (Northern Kordofan),  Kosti (White Nile) and across the border to Renk. That is how we met Teta's distraught mother.

In Renk, protection monitors comb the bus terminus and the shanty settlements that have become temporary homes for the thousands who wait to continue the journey home. These volunteers are trained to identify and report cases. They are equipped with mobile telephones to transmit information rapidly, so that action can be taken to respond to incidents.

The protection monitors came across Teta’s mother at Zero Point, the bus terminus in Renk. She was in despair. Fellow travelers tried to comfort her, pleading with her to have faith in God, that all would be well. She wept inconsolably, resigned to the fear that her beloved daughter was dead.

Teta's mother recounted the ordeal that led to their separation. During the ambush she had scrambled out of the bus carrying her four year old daughter, Teta’s sister. People scattered into the bush. With others, she spent two days walking and begging for food in different villages. Along the way a kindly Sudanese soldier asked a passing truck driver to give the disoriented weary party a lift to Kadugli Road Junction. The buses organized by the Government of South Sudan brought them to Renk.

Teta was recorded as a missing child. Information about her disappearance was disseminated through the protection monitoring network which, in addition to the community-based volunteers, includes UNHCR and NGO staff. A few days later, we received information that a child meeting that description was in Gargal, 27 km from Renk. Immediately we dispatched a team to verify her identity.

And so Teta, a shy ten year old, was reunited with her mother and her little sister. Their joy was moving. Teta was counseled by child specialist social workers. Life has pretty much gone back to normal… well, normal in the sense of waiting. The village in Warrap state, the grandmother, the older sister are still a long way off.

Teta rarely leaves her mother's side. The family is living in Payuer, one of the shanty settlements that have mushroomed in Renk, distinct for the piles of baggage, the mishmash of precious household items that are essential assets to start a new life. Teta's mother sells tea at Payuer. She needs the income to support her children. Initiative and resourcefulness are vital for returnees’ survival during the odyssey.

The number of people waiting in Renk exceeds available transport in colossal proportions. Soon the rains will start. The waiting continues.

A grandmother's torment

Story: Bona Bak
Photos: Pablo Vizcaino

"The attackers came from Unity state through the swamps. Some were dressed in civilian clothes; others wore camouflage clothing. They had AK47 rifles and machine guns."

Achol Akot Bak was describing the ordeal that forced her to flee her home in Turalei, Warrap state. The 50 year old widow comes from a tribe of cattle herders.

"As they raided our cattle, I fled with my grandchildren to this boma," she said, speaking in the local dialect. A boma is the lowest administrative entity in South Sudan.

"My eldest son and three grandchildren disappeared during the raid." She was quiet for a moment. "We don't know if they are alive."


The date was 4 April 2012. I was part of a UNHCR team assessing the humanitarian impact of the cattle raid in Turalei together with local authorities, UNICEF and UNOCHA. We had learned about the displaced persons through the local authorities and community-based Protection Networks.

According to the community, 20 to 30 raiders had attacked a cattle camp, killed two people and injured four. The attackers made off with 3,000 heads of cattle. South Sudan Police and Community Police gave the chase and recovered the livestock.


We had driven for three hours from Kwajok, capital of Warrap state, to Magak boma where Achol and others had found refuge, covering nearly 170 kilometres over rocky terrain in scorching heat.


We found Achol and other displaced persons living in makeshift structures made from palm leaves. There were women and children feeding on tamarind and other wild fruits. Some of them had received small amounts of food from the local population.

Adult males were out grazing the cattle and fishing. They would return at night. In the dry season, herders routinely travel long distances in search of tok (pastureland).


Together with the local authorities and UN colleagues, we assessed the humanitarian needs of the affected population.

They did not want to remain in these conditions. Already several days had gone by. Achol said to me, "We are waiting for the police to confirm that we can go back home to our tukuls (huts). We want security in our village so that we can return home.

Inter-agency Clusters (coordination forums) dealing with food, non-food items, water and health would race against time to deliver humanitarian aid to affected communities before the start of the rains in May. During the five-month rainy season, access to remote areas like Turalei will be cut off as roads become impassable.

As the agency that leads the Protection Cluster, UNHCR would embarked on efforts to locate Achol's missing son and grandchildren. Family tracing and reunification involves local authorities (including security forces) as well as specialized UN and NGO protection actors. We hoped Achol's kin had not perished in the raid. 

As we departed the makeshift settlement in Magak boma, Achol's grandson ran after me.

"I am ready to go back to my village," he said. "There, I can fish and provide food for the family. I just need to know that we will be safe."