In August, his colleague journalist Jason Patinkin and I crossed northern Uganda in South Sudan held by the rebels. During four days, we have traveled more than 40 miles across the bush, escorted by rebel soldiers, to shed light on one of the most underdeveloped conflicts in the world.
The Southern Sudan War Report, which began in 2013, has always been a challenge due to the risk and logistical obstacles associated with access to distant areas where fighting takes place. But in the past year, covering the war and its humanitarian benefits have become particularly difficult. Since the beginning of this year, the South Sudan government has banned at least 20 foreign journalists in an apparent effort to silence journalists who have had a critical relationship experience on the government.
This systematic repression of the foreign press (Sudanese South journalists have long been in charge of imprisonment and death for doing their job) coincided with two important developments. In November 2016, the United Nations warned that the violence committed against civilians in the southern Equatoria region risked spiral in the genocide. Then, in February, the UN declared an artificial famine, warning that 100,000 people were likely to die of hunger following a civil war.
Journalists seeking to cover these events were left with two just as not recommendable options: self -censorship or a risky trip to rebellious parts of the country. Only a handful of journalists tried the latter since the fighting increased in July of last year. For us, it was our second integration with the rebels this year.
Martin Abucha (second on the right) rests with his troops in South Sudan held by the rebels. Photo by Jason Patinkin
We started from a city in northern Uganda at five in the morning, bouncing along a border of jumped earth to the southern Sudan border. Commander Rebelle Martin Abucha, a double American and South Sudanese citizen, started.
Just as the sun started to get up over a range of distant hills that we tried to cross later in the day, our car stopped in front of a stream. For the rainy reason, he transported more water than usual. It was time to disembark and start walking, or “foot” because South Sudanese tend to call it.
We removed our shoes and swarled in the cold water from the stream. It was the first of many rivers that we had to cross along the way, either on foot or in small fragile canoes dug in tree trunks. Each time, we reduce the idea of falling with our camera equipment.
The first part of our trip to northern Uganda was very much like a hike in a national park. Going through beautiful landscapes and idyllic agricultural villages, we could almost forget that we are heading towards a war zone – but we were about to make a control of reality.
We had just crossed South Sudan when he came out of nowhere, two dozen armed men came out of the big grass and surrounded us under the threat of a weapon.
“Stop! Who are and where are you going,” called a soldier in Arabic Juba from his hiding place over 20 meters, pointing his AK47 on us. Another next to him had a pomegranate propelled by rocket supported on his shoulder, also targeting him unequivocal in our direction.
Instinctively, we threw our hands in the air and exchanged a disconcerted glance. Have we accidentally come across government soldiers? Or maybe we came to the “bad” rebels? The group of Abucha, called the liberation army of the people of Sudan in the opposition, is the largest but not the only armed group of Equatoria, an elegant area with militias and rival bandits which exploit the security vacuum left by the war.
To our relief, and only after Abucha answered a series of questions, this routine safety check quickly gave way to a warm welcome. The peloton would be our escort for the next four days when we went to their base and in Loa, the hometown of Abucha.
Following the rebels was not an easy task. Given the omnipresent lack of the country of basic infrastructure, the Sudanese from the South grow up by walking for dozens of miles just to spend their daily life. For sedentary Westerners, keeping the target pace of “two meters per second” (about five miles per hour) turned out to be difficult in the midst of temperatures of 90 degrees, while turning and making our way through the dense and itching elephant grass.
The advantage of the bulky terrain was that he kept us safe. During our four -day trip, we did not cross a single road, instead of walking along a dizzying network of narrow bush paths that the rebels seemed to know like the back of their hands. An unwanted meeting with government troops, which tended to stick to the roads and move to vehicles as opposed to foot, was very improbable.
The closest that we have obtained from the government -controlled area was a visit to Loa, located just two kilometers from a main road frequently patrolled by government soldiers. We could not stay long, but the time we spent on the ground has offered us an overview of what the villages should look like in many regions of Equatoria: burnt mud huts, schools and looted clinics, fallow terrains and – the most striking – no civilians.
The war had a devastating impact on the South Sudanese communities like that of the LOA, but a large part remained outside the projectors of the international media. Our four-day adventure in Sudan in Sud-Soud Rebel offered us a rare opportunity to report field truths, and we are grateful.
