How not to be evacuated

On the third day in Bounj, while eating lunch, we heard and saw a small white plane flying over us. Everyone turned their attention to it, and there was much uneasy discussion about the aircraft – and one work we regularly heard was ‘antonov’. This type of aircraft is well known to people in this border region, as it is used by the Sudan Armed Forces (SAF) – and rightly so, they are scared of them. There have been ongoing reports of unrest on the border with Sudan, and in the early morning we had heard the faint but clear, thudding sounds of bombs exploding. The Sudanese President Al-Bashir had also reportedly entered South Sudan unannounced to celebrate Eid ul-Fitri, the end of Ramadan, with some of his troops, a very provocative political move. So we knew that the security situation on the border was changing, and quickly. 

But what we didn’t expect was that around half an hour after sighting the plane, we would again hear the sounds of bombs exploding. The antonov we had seen had dropped them off into the distance somewhere, and we could see and feel a change in the atmosphere of the normally relaxed and bustling environment of Bounj. People were still going about their daily business, but they had worried looks on their faces and the hustle and bustle had reduced to quiet comings and goings.

We carried out our activities as usual for the remainder of the day, and returned to our base. Early the next morning, while I was deep in slumber, others in our camp were awake and hearing more bombings from as early as 4am. They continued until 6am.

Our program manager called us together for an early morning meeting – an unusual occurrence in Jamam – and quietly informed us that the decision had been made to evacuate the entire compound and return to Malakal, via Melut. The safety of Oxfam staff was paramount and therefore it was important that we get away now. We were instructed to gather our things, put them into the Landcruiser, and be ready to go within the hour.

Now when I think of an evacuation, images are conjured up in my mind of frantic rushing around, hurriedly gathering what you can, stuffing it into your bag and running for the car which then cruises off into the horizon, wheels spinning. But this was a more reserved, composed gathering of belongings and setting off on the bumpy road to Melut.

I also found it quite peculiar that we were being evacuated in this scenario. Sure, the shit was hitting the fan on the Blue Nile (Sudan) – Upper Nile (South Sudan) border, but that was 40km away from Bounj. There were soldiers moving up and down past our compound every day, to and from town, but there was no immediate threat to our staff. I guess the antonov could easily start bombing Bounj, or any of the villages around it in which we we work, but that would be another provocative move; or the frontline could be pushed back to Bounj, if SAF took over South Sudanese territory, and therefore put us in a war zone. The only other reason I could think of was that the road from Jamam to Bounj and on to the border was the only road in – and out. So, if this road was blocked for any reason, we would be trapped between the frontline and the road blockage.

From my point of view, it would have been wiser to remain in the Jamam base – avoiding travel and activities in Bounj – and assess the situation over a few days. Then we could monitor whether the bombing continued and determine whether to stay or go. It seemed like a very hasty decision to me. 

Regardless, the decision had been made, and we set off toward Melut, one group of us in the Landcruiser and the other in the ute. An hour down the road we saw a strange sight – a couple of trucks, sitting side by side on the road. When we reached them we realised that it wasn’t just two – it was around ten trucks, lined up behind each other (the trucks go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah) and completely blocking the road. On closer inspection we realised that one truck at the very front was stuck in a mud hole, and another next to it was also stuck – clearly as a result of trying to get around the first one. The other trucks had simply been lined up behind them, and their drivers had abandoned the vehicles.

This was a problem for us because it meant we couldn’t pass them and continue on our way to Melut. Our options were to either drive through the swamp – the road was surrounded by water – or turn back. The former was chosen given the situation with trying to leave (!) so we spent the next 2 hours trying to fill in the swamp and the deep tyre tracks of others who had attempted to drive around the trucks, even cutting down trees for our vehicles to drive over. Eventually, we managed to get out and continue on our way. Phew!

 

The remainder of the trip is a bit of a blur – lots of bumpy travel on dry, dusty roads; passing burned areas of bush;  our approaching Landcruiser disturbing large flocks of black storks and herons camping out in the road; open plains and big sky; dusty villages; military checkpoints. And oil fields.  Lots of oil fields. 

This part of South Sudan is one of the biggest producers of oil, and there are many signs pointing the way to the next oil field. Every now and then a towering drilling rig slowly passed us by. Oil is South Sudan’s biggest income generator, but it sends its black gold to the north via pipelines that were built before separation, and the dividends are supposed to be split 50/50 between the South and the North. But this money seems to just evaporate, and never reach the people on the ground. I don’t know how much of it even reaches the Government of South Sudan. I do know that a lot of the profits stay with the oil companies. The North continues to try and cause trouble, charging the South a ‘transit fee’ of around $7 per barrel for the ‘privilege’ of this oil flow to the waiting ships in Port Sudan. Robbery I tell you.

More locally, the oil company has tried to get the community on side by providing large roadside water containers, and trucking water to them each day. They truck it as far as Jamam, which is some distance on bumpy roads. Only problem is, it’s undermining our efforts to provide a sustainable water source for people, that communities take ownership of operating and maintaining – when the oil company provides the water for free, and it’s convenient, they aren’t interested in managing hand pumps. Especially when they break down and require repair. Providing free water is another way of hindering long-term development for South Sudanese people, and increasing the reliance on hand outs.

We stayed overnight in an NGO compound in Melut, and waited for the EP&R team from Renk to arrive. They too were being evacuated after fighting in the vicinity; Renk is the main transit point into South Sudan for returnees, and another scene of recent fighting between SPLA (South) and SAF (North) troops. 

After two nights there we carried on for the remaining five hour drive to Malakal. From there, a number of key staff stayed in order to be more quickly and easily returned to Jamam, and the rest of us were sent to Juba. Our staff were sent on 2 weeks of leave while things subsided and a security assessment could be done by an Oxfam team from Nairobi.

Given the time needed for the security assessment (about a week), the ‘forced leave’ for staff, plus the pure logistics of moving a bunch of staff from Juba to Malakal and back to Jamam, it means further delays in getting staff back on the ground and working again.

What effectively came out of all of this was that Oxfam looked pretty stupid. While we were being evacuated from Upper Nile, refugees began pouring in from the border regions, running from the fighting. At the first sign of any trouble, we were abandoning the very people we were supposed to be helping. And we were passing NGOs coming to their aid – IOM, MSF, GOAL ... they were all doing the opposite of what we were doing.

As I suspected, it was a complete knee-jerk reaction, contrary to the recommended actions outlined in the security guidelines (effectively labelling the situation a Level 5 – the highest level in which you pull everyone out – when it should really have only been a level 2 or 3), a point well noted by the security assessment team from Nairobi. Our actions were even reported by the BBC.  http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-15708945. 

In Renk, it was the same story. Sure, there were some isolated incidences of gunfire and fighting, but it was not enough to warrant an evacuation. All in all it made our senior management – the people that made the decisions – look like clowns. How could they not know the security procedures? I understand that they were acting in the best interest of their staff, but it was really ignorant and ill-informed. I just hope that in future they’ve knowledged up on the proper procedures, and act accordingly.

After only 6 days in Jamam, I didn’t feel like I’d grasped much of what was going on – nor had a chance to really get to know what Public Health activities we are doing. Grrrrr!