The Final Walk

Many said they had waited their whole lives for this moment, the “final walk to freedom”. South Sudan has been embroiled by two civil wars since independence in 1956, with just over a decade of respite. It ended in 2005 with a peace agreement, which defined January 9th 2011 as the day of self-determination. Even until several weeks ago, many doubted that this day would actually arrive.

At the John Garang mausoleum in Juba, the future-capital’s main polling station, queues had already formed at sunrise, full of people ready to cast their ballot for secession. This was the day they had been waiting for.

Omar al-Bashir in Juba

Omar al-Bashir in Juba

“Bye bye Bashir” people chanted as Sudan’s president, Omar al-Bashir, sped past them in a massive motorcade. Upon the roundabout around which they had congregated, a clock stands, counting-down to the Southern Sudan referendum. Today, it was showing four days.

Despite their chant and the flags they waved which ubiquitously called for secession, with the open palm symbol meaning “separation”, the Southern Sudanese citizens claimed no animosity towards al-Bashir. “We are very happy to see the president here. Southerners have no problem with northerners” said Joseph Mairi from Eastern Equatoria. Banners by the side of the road from the airport greeted al-Bashir, but reminded him that his time as president would soon be over. “We welcome you back to celebrate the independence of south Sudan” read one, erected by a non-governmental civil group.

His visit was one of conciliation, meeting Southern president Salva Kiir, stating that the North would accept the result of the referendum, whether for unity or secession, and that they would help the South post-referendum. “I am going to celebrate your decision, even if your decision is secession” he said.

During recent weeks, the north has made several attempts to convince Southerners to vote for unity, but the feeling here on the street is that it is too little, too late. “What did they offer for the last fifty-five years?” asks Akol Hem Arop, a doctor working in Juba. “We have four days to decide for the future of our people. These four days will not be like the hell of the 50 years of unity. We have to decide at the ballot box. My child will have a better future. He will not be a second class citizen.”

Returning from the north

Southern Sudan was marred by civil war with the north for decades. Villages were burned, families slain, children kidnapped. Despite the enemy being “the north”, tens—if not hundreds—of thousands fled to the north, hoping to escape the fighting and violence.

Since the Comprehensive Peace Agreement of 2005, some have returned, although many feared a return to war. In the seventies, a cease-fire was announced, but war returned several years later. Others now feel that the north is their home, despite large-scale reports of being treated as second-class citizens.

But now, on the eve of the south’s independence referendum, many are returning to their homeland. Yet what awaits them is rather uncertain. Walking around the port at Juba, the area is filled by returning families living out in the open, unable to return to their villages.

One man, who fled the south in 1991 for medical care in Khartoum, spent 25 days with his family aboard a barge to return to Juba. His leg massively swollen beneath the nylon blanket under which he sits, despite the three operations he had in the north, he is unable to walk; his children leave the port everyday to try and find food. The mango trees under which these people now live are all stripped of their fruit. Their source of water is the grimy Nile.

“I don’t know what we are doing here” he says. When he was in the north, he says, police would come to his house and take whatever they wanted. His wife worked as a tea-lady, bringing in a small income. But now, he has virtually nothing, and no means to return to his village in Eastern Equatoria state. He had heard rumours that the World Food Programme would be coming to deliver aid to those stranded at the port, and that buses would be taking them home. But for two weeks now, their home has been this piece of ground of the Juba port authority.

Had he registered to vote? No. He wanted to register at home. But registration ended today. His voice in the determination of southern Sudan would go unheard.

Voter Registration Closes

The people of Southern Sudan became a step-closer to realising their independence today, as a trickle of people wandered through the tents and buildings of Juba on the final day of registration to obtain their voting card for the January 9th referendum.

In a month’s time, these people will be bringing their laminated cards to these same locations, choosing between unity with the north, and independence to form the world’s 193rd nation. Judging by popular opinion on the streets of the capital of this semi-autonomous state, their seems to be little chance of remaining with Khartoum.

The Right to Vote

The Right to Vote

In a country devastated by civil war for almost half of the last century, the government has no accurate information on many of its citizens. The upcoming independence referendum is already complicated enough, but how to ensure that those registering to vote actually have the right to do so?

Katherine Morbe (left) and Khemis Hassan (right) at the Kator Payam voter registration centre in Juba are charged with this role. They are “community identifiers”, and have been working at this centre every day since the registration started. They know everybody in their district, they say, and so it is these social links that ensure that the residents of Hai Kosti can break through the bureaucratic barrier, and obtain what is possibility their first piece of formal identification in their life.

Know thy neighbour.