Back in South Sudan

Back in South Sudan

It was all set-up. The contacts were made, the logistics organised, and the story there. Conflict has been raging in Blue Nile state in Sudan, following the fashion of South Kordofan.

But then things fell through, and this trip to South Sudan turned into a waiting game. And an expensive one at that.

Juba is not a place to live cheaply, and as I paid $85 a night for a bed in a container—the smell of the local abattoir wafting over—I was given plenty of time to reflect on how fast this city is developing. I was last here in July, covering the independence celebrations. Roads are transforming from dirt to tarmac, buildings are going up, and businesses are opening.

The main basketball courts have been refurbished—basketball is the national sport here in the land of six-foot-plus being the “average” height—and tonight, it was full. Two former NBA stars were here to promote sport and peace.

But in many parts of South Sudan and its borders, peace is still far from arriving. And so was I. Funds have run low, plans have fallen through and promises not kept. An empty-handed return to Nairobi looks likely. Whilst the city is developing, much of its bureaucracy and procedures are not. Things take a long time here

Kidnapping in Lamu

In the early hours of Saturday October 1st, a French lady was kidnapped from Manda island, in the Lamu archipelago, two weeks after a British lady was kidnapped and her husband shot dead, further north up the coast towards Somalia.

I got the call on that Saturday morning, and was asked to take the first flight down. This was a different type of journalism to everything else I have hitherto done.

Arriving in Lamu, nobody on the island could believe that “the Somali pirates” could be so “audacious” to come to Lamu. It was hard to believe that the Kenyan government, police and coast-guard had not stepped up security following the previous kidnapping.

Local hoteliers had themselves organised an aeroplane to fly up the coast and try to track the kidnappers as they fled towards Somali waters. The coastguard did not have a boat, it was rumoured.

The fate of Marie Dedieu is still unknown, but the impact on tourism in Lamu will be enormous. Over eighty per cent of the island relies on the tourism industry, which immediately sunk as news trickled in. Over two hundred people that Saturday cancelled their holiday to Lamu. It will take a long time to rebuild the reputation of the island; the Kenyan tourism indusyry is still recovering from the hit it took following the post-election violence several years ago.

The last time I came here, I came for two or three days. I left ten days later. It was easy to fall in love with the place. It will be harder now.

In the wilderness

The Hurri Hills of Kenya, north of Marsabit and across the Chalbi desert, seemed to be the remotest place on Earth. I hadn’t seen tarmac for days, and small, rocky tracks stretched across the plains and wound their way through the hills.

Small communities live nestled in these hills, miles from anywhere. They draw what scarce water there is, where they can. And that water is becoming increasingly scarce with the drought affecting the Horn. They walk with their cattle across the vast plains, in search of pasture. It is rare that they see outsiders in these parts.

Borders mean little up here. An ageing man in one village I visited told me “our nearest water is the other side of those hills”, pointing towards the horizon. The other side of those hills is Ethiopia, a journey they would make daily. The nearest market, a source of produce as well as an outlet for their goats, was also in Ethiopia. No-one holds a passport.

Across the Chalbi Desert

Driving from Marsabit, crossing the Chalbi desert, we got lost at night, in the vast expanse of black. We were headed to a small town where we could spend the night, but there are few lights in this part of the world, and once we lost the track, it wasn’t easy to find. Our faith was in the driver. In the end, he turned up trumps.

Sacrificing the Lambs

Remaining on the subject of the Horn of Africa drought, I spent yesterday on the road, driving up to Marsabit in northern Kenya. Road investment has got as far as Isiolo, with smooth, tarmac roads. But from then on, things get rough.

Little seems to reach here, and when it does, it is expensive. Kenya has seen massive fuel increases this year, not least due to the conflict in Libya.

Many people here rely on their livestock to live, even more so now that many crops have died due to the drought; animals are more resilient than crops. But many are wavering, skeletons with skin seem to wander much of the landscape.

Prices of these animals has hit rock-bottom in the markets. Nobody wants to buy them, and nobody can keep them. There is not enough feed, not enough water. People cannot afford the meat.

To try and help these communities, an international aid group is working here to provide a solution. As well as helping to keep livestocks healthy, they are also buying off-take of sheep and goats. The owners receive money for the animal, as well as a third of the meat for their family. The remaining two-thirds are divided amongst other families in the community.

This is a short-term solution to the problem, and the money from a goat may keep the rest of the herd alive for another week or two. But it is by keeping those herds alive long enough until the rains come that offers the best chance of survival for the people living here. Their animals are all they have.