A Healthier Future for South Sudan's Families

They cannot remember their ages or how long they have been married. They say this does not matter to most people in the Blue Nile anyway. It’s their five children that matter—and being able to stay together through the constant fleeing and oppression of war. Love's endurance measured, in part, by violence. 

They fled the war-torn state of Blue Nile State in Sudan ten months ago after bombings overran their village. Without water or food, their family hid from the bombardments for three days, followed by a quick dash towards the border. The journey was difficult and his father and step-mother died along the way. Things became much quieter once they crossed the border into South Sudan and settled in the border refugee camps—first in Jamam and later in Gendrassa refugee camp.

But then she faced another battle. At six months pregnant, she contracted Hepatitis E. An International Medical Corps community health promoter found her suffering in her dark tent and immediately dispatched an ambulance.

In a camp of nearly 10,000 refugees, any sense of urgency drowns in an ocean of tents—stopping at one white tent to find directions to yet another white tent. The rainy season makes hard things harder. Mud caused the white Toyota Land Cruiser ambulance to slip and spin as it tediously rushed to her aid. An International Medical Corps physician and driver carried a stretcher across shin-deep waters and into a dark, stuffy tent where a handful of family members crowded around a sullen figure slumped over a bed. “Sabahl-al-kheir” (good morning) the doctor said and she looked up at him.

She was still alive.

She was quickly transported back to International Medical Corps’ clinic and immediately treated for early liver failure and a critically low blood glucose level. In the end, she and her baby were saved.

But they are part of a rapidly rising refugee population in Upper Nile State, South Sudan that is facing urgent health, nutrition and disease prevention needs. Conflict and hunger in neighboring Blue Nile State of Sudan continues to drive people across the border. International Medical Corps is responding in Maban County, which currently hosts over 100,000 refugees.

So for her and her baby and many more like them—thank you for supporting our work in South Sudan. 

“When the Antonovs came we had to run.”

Sitting under the shade of a tree, 20-year-old Gisma recounts her terrifying ordeal to me, fleeing Antonov bombings in her village of Kukur in Sudan’s Blue Nile State. “They bombed my home and my neighbor’s home. We had to leave right away. We took nothing with us except our livestock.” Gisma, her husband and only child, along with their parents and neighbors, then began their 7-day walk in search of safety.

Her daughter fell ill, but survived. She was lucky. “We saw many children die,” Gisma says.

Gisma’s story is frighteningly similar to so many others who fled across the border into South Sudan’s Upper Nile State: bombings of their home villages; a many days-long journey by foot; carrying little more than the clothes on their backs; witnessing sickness and death along the way. 

I recently returned from South Sudan, where International Medical Corps has been providing care for some of the more than 100,000 refugees and returnees from Sudan. One year after South Sudan’s independence, hostilities in many areas in the north – the result of decades-old disputes over land, sovereignty, oil rights, race, and religion – continue to drive civilians out of their homes.

It is sobering to watch hundreds and hundreds of children - malnourished, weak coughing, and crying - file through our clinic. Their needs are immense.

And yet… as I walk through Gendrassa refugee camp amid the thousands of tents, I notice that the camp is teeming with children laughing and playing Frisbee, parents cooking and cleaning clothes with their families and neighbors, smiling and coping and rebuilding some sort of new life.

I remember Gisma’s words, reflecting on the past, the current and the someday:“There were a lot of people shooting guns in my village. It feels peaceful here. I don’t hear the guns anymore. When the war stops I hope to go home."

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