There are places that you visit and forget. There are people that you meet and never think of ever again. And then there are places that burrow into you and people that will walk with you for the rest of your life. More than memories. More like tattoos invisible to everyone else but you.
The three and 1/2 days in South Sudan were just like that. We visited with my brother who’d been living there for over 7 years, so we felt safe, he knows how to navigate the unwritten rules of the 4th poorest country in the world. The UK government strongly discourage any travel to South Sudan, and the travel agency was unable to sell us flights there unless we had travel insurance, which was, unsurprisingly hard to obtain. The Central African state was only formed in 2011 when it split from Sudan and it is one of the most diverse countries in Africa, more than 60 ethnic groups cohabit not always peacefully. The political situation is unstable at best.
It was my first time on the African continent and I can honestly say that nothing could have prepared me for the onslaught to the senses. Even now, almost two months after returning home, I still struggle to give words to my feelings, I am unable to give justice to what I saw. It feels wrong to say I loved it. Did I love seeing the poverty? The children half naked in the streets? The unpaved rutted roads? The living conditions? The mountains of rubbish everywhere? No. No. No. No. No. I felt ashamed of where I came from. We must do more. We must stop complaining about what we have, about what we think we don’t have.
And yet. The people. The smiles. The untapped possibilities of a whole continent.
I’m just going to offer you photos. A lot of them. Indulgently they will mean more to me than you, but I need to keep the place alive out there. Hiding behind the ‘I didn’t know’ is a stale excuse.
























Is it crazy to feel at home somewhere like this?

