Nyori Refugee Camp, Story & Photos

I had a chance to visit the Nyori Refugee Camp recently, for Congolese running from the Lord's Resistance Army, and fleeing into southern Sudan. I'll include the article I wrote about it below the slideshow.



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In the shade of an enormous tree, Kulito Change sells Pure Milk brand Glucose Biscuits, bright-blue Mukwano bar soap, and small pieces of candy. Fifty meters to his left, a long line of men and women wait to register their bar-coded ration cards at a table cordoned off with red-and-white police tape tied to the antenna of a nearby Land Cruiser.

“Two packs for one pound,” he says hesitantly, pointing to the biscuits.

Whether he’s struggling over the English phrase, or the currency exchange isn’t clear – he’s more accustomed to selling in Congolese Francs, and to speaking French or Lingala.

Five weeks ago Change arrived at the Nyori refugee camp from the village of Aba, 18 kilometers from the camp and 10 kilometers outside the Sudanese village of Lasu. He and 6,000 others fled after the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA) attacked Aba in December.

“The LRA came, they destroyed homes, and they killed many people,” he says.

Founded in 1986 under the leadership of Joseph Kony, the LRA has become infamous for widespread atrocities in Northern Uganda, the Central African Republic, Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), and southern Sudan, notably the kidnapping of children to use as soldiers. According to the Swiss NGO Trial Watch, more than 85 percent of LRA fighters are children between the ages of 11 and 15, 40 percent of them young women.

Kony, who claims to be guided by visions instructing him to overthrow the Ugandan government, and to conduct attacks as a means of ‘purification,’ has largely led the LRA away from northern Uganda in recent years. Beginning in December 2008, a joint operation has combined the Ugandan, southern Sudanese, and Congolese military forces in the border region, in an attempt to eliminate the LRA. Despite this, the LRA has attacked numerous times along the DRC and Sudanese borders, in Aba and other communities.

With ongoing attacks in the region, refugees have flooded into southern Sudan, leading to a string of camps along the DRC/Sudan border. According to the United Nations, more than 16,000 refugees have fled Congo, spread across an area of 600 kilometers. Since their arrival, the refugees in Nyori camp have depended largely on the support provided by international agencies, as they were forced to abandon virtually everything as they fled their homes. And while they appreciate the work relief agencies are doing, some wonder if either the camp authorities or the Congolese government are listening to their concerns. Despite the challenge, however, they are moving forward, building what they can in the midst of a violently disrupted life.

Nyori camp, run by NGOs, and coordinated by the United Nations’ organization for refugee affairs, the UNHCR, straddles a small creek. At the bottom of the steep ravine, a newly painted red-and-white wooden bridge connects the two sides of the camp. On either side, the refugees live in small rectangular grass huts, most of which have been reinforced with UNHCR-issued white plastic sheeting.

Jamba Abarago’s small hut sits at the edge of Nyori. An older man, Abarago is the Chef de Camp, the ‘Camp Chief.’ Wearing a faded French Football Association jersey, he sits on a folding chair made from animal hide and wood with a small group of other men and describes the situation. A crowd quickly gathers.

Abarago says roughly 600 LRA soldiers attacked Aba, killed the village administrator and burned numerous buildings and vehicles. Several children were kidnapped; many others were murdered.

“They killed more than 100 people,” he remembers, speaking in French.

According to Gaston Madsona, another refugee, the LRA forces attacked as a group, but quickly split into smaller units.

“They divided up so they could kidnap more of the children,” he says.

After the attack, residents of Aba began to flee.

“We abandoned our manioc and peanut fields,” remembers Samuel Binima, another one of the men gathered around Abarago. The people of Aba and other surrounding communities traditionally rely on agriculture to support themselves, as industry in the region is all but non-existent.

Among the refugees from Aba, there is a pervasive frustration, a sense of ‘why us?.’ People in Nyori camp struggle to understand what would motivate the LRA to attack inside DRC, or anywhere other than northern Uganda. The cross-border region, a small sliver of territory where the Ugandan, Sudanese and Congolese frontiers intersect is largely an unpatrolled and unenforceable area, giving LRA fighters the flexibility to strike when and where they choose, seeking to terrorize the population, and steal supplies.

When the people of Aba fled, some came via the main road from the Congo border, with others making their way through the bush, arriving near the site that would become Nyori camp within a day or two. Once they arrived, UNHCR began working with the refugees to provide basic needs such as food, water, and sanitation.

“The UN helped us with things like jerricans and buckets,” says Change, the young man selling biscuits.

While NGOs have been working diligently at Nyori since the refugees arrival to provide support, distributing buckets, silverware, and plastic sheeting, and other items from large cargo containers at the edge of the camp, some feel they are having a difficult time getting key needs met.

“We don’t have enough food, and it’s causing nutritional problems,” says Logala Bang. “We only have sorghum and beans,”

“The health situation is catastrophic. Many people have died even since we came here,” adds Madsona.

The Aba refugees are concerned about a lack of educational opportunities. Many of the young people who fled Aba were in the middle of the school year, and there is a great deal of concern that the academic year will be an année blanche, a wasted year. Rather than being in classrooms, even makeshift ones, school-age girls gather at the bridge to wash red and white enamel dishes in the creek, while the boys fish for tadpoles with handmade fishing rods built of sticks and small bits of string.

“There are many students who were forced to abandon their studies,” Madsona says.

Having never been in a similar situation., many people at Nyori express a sense of confusion about what they should expect.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been a refugee. I’d like to know what is expected of us, and what rights we have with the UN and with the Sudanese government,” says Emmanual Tamaro Tembe, a young man with short-cropped hair and a pink-and-white striped shirt.

Many of the refugees wonder if anyone in their country is paying attention to their situation, and are concerned that the authorities in Kinshasa, more than 1,800 kilometers southwest, have turned a blind eye.

“Does the DRC government even think of us?” asks Nathaniel Dramule, a refugee sitting next to Abarago, their leader.

“How can we communicate our situation to the Congolese government? They’ve said nothing,” the chief adds.

Despite the challenges they face, the villagers of Aba are hopeful for the future, and ideally would like to return home to Congo, should the situation permit. For the moment, however, they feel safer staying in Sudan, and hope to improve their situation where they can.

“Our desire is to improve the quality of our lives here,” says Dramule.

The refugees have been taking concrete steps to develop the camp where they can. The path leading down to the bridge is a steep dirt trail, one that will undoubtedly become treacherous as the rainy season intensifies. A group of men work with hoes and picks, widening the path, and cutting the outline of steps into the loose soil. Nearby, a man in ripped white tank-top hacks at fallen logs with a panga, a machete, each subsequent ‘thwack’ spitting a spray of wood fragments into the air. The logs will be placed into the newly cut gaps, providing a safer path for the stream of mothers with babies strapped to their backs as they move from one side of the camp to the other.

And while the refugees seem resigned to the thought of remaining in Sudan for the near future, their desire to return home is obvious, something pointed out by one of the youngest members of the group. ““If security is guaranteed, we’ll return,” says Tembe. “For the moment though, we’ll stay here.”

A Few New Developments

Sorry for the delay in posting anything here- it's been a busy couple weeks, and blogging has taken a backseat to work and moving around. To attempt to make up for it- here's a three-part post.

About a week and half ago, I had a chance to visit a refugee camp for about 6,000 Congolese who fled to southern Sudan following an attack by the Lord's Resistance Army in the area. Founded in 1986 under the leadership of former altar-boy Joseph Kony, the LRA has become infamous for widespread atrocities in Northern Uganda, the Central African Republic, Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), and southern Sudan, notably the kidnapping of children to use as soldiers. According to the Swiss NGO Trial Watch, more than 85 percent of LRA fighters are children between the ages of 11 and 15, 40 percent of them young women.

Nyori camp, where I visited, is only about 10km from the DRC border. It's run by NGOs, and coordinated by the United Nations’ organization for refugee affairs, the UNHCR. It straddles a small creek. At the bottom of the steep ravine, a newly painted red-and-white wooden bridge connects the two sides of the camp. On either side, the refugees live in small rectangular grass huts, most of which have been reinforced with UNHCR-issued white plastic sheeting.

(By the way, I have photos from the camp, which I'll post as soon as I get the chance.)

I certainly wrote about this plenty while I was in Chad, but seeing the camp made me realize yet again just how incredibly lucky we all are in the developed world. We never think about what would happen if a militia suddenly attacked our community, what we might do if we had a parent, sibling, or child dying from a completely treatable disease, or how we'd manage go half the places we do if we had to use roads that were more crater than gravel, spending four hours to go 30 kilometers. This is southern Sudan, and this is the situation the Congolese refugees are fleeing to. I don't have anything particularly pithy of profound to offer on this, but it's just something to think about the next time you might feel like complaining about your flight being delayed 20 minutes.

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Speaking of flights, the travel from Juba to Agok was...exciting, as usual. Flying out of Juba is always a challenge- the airport has one entrance, guarded by SPLM (the southern Sudan military) troops, and always surrounded by a mob of people, every one of whom is trying to get in the same doorway, waving passports and southern Sudan travel permits. I did make it through the door, however, but quickly found myself in the midst of another mob- it so happened that my World Food Program (WFP) flight happens to be checking in at almost the exact same time as one of the regular flights to Nairobi, leading to a huge crush of people trying to check in at the single counter next to me. I'm able to push my way through, however, and hand my agency identity card to a man in a fluorescent green vest at the counter so that he can check my name on the manifest, the only ticket needed for UN travel.

In Juba, you walk behind the counter to deal with your baggage, causing a huge crush as people try to squeeze through. On WFP flights, you can carry a maximum of 15 kilograms, officially- in practice, the number seems to be higher, if you're friendly enough. My bag seems to always be a few kilos over the limit, and again I'm lucky that after throwing it onto the scale, the baggage handler shrugs, and hands it off to me. The next step is security- I lug my bag to another countertop, where an SPLM soldier and airport security officer wait. They gesture for me to open the bag, which they ruffle through, setting aside clothing, multivitamins, and a jar of peanut butter I picked up at the Sri Lankan-owned supermarket in town. Airport security. Over to the side, a new X-ray machine waits, turned off.

Checking my big bag, I squeeze through to the other side of the counter, and make my way to the other half of airport security, the waiting room before the terminal. In another logic-defying move, the entrance to the waiting room is only accessible through a single tiny door, where other security agents wait to search your carry-on bag. A huge line divided in two is parked in front of the door- one for men, one for women- in a huge blow for equality, I guess, the women's line is about 1/8th the length of the men's. Making it to the front, the agent searches through my bag by hand, removing the batteries from my alarm clock- almost as logical as airport security back home. I duck under the fake leather curtain separating the security checkpoint from the waiting room, am quickly frisked by another agent, and waved through. Mission accomplished, much pushing and shoving later.

To get to Agok we fly first to the town of Wau, via another town, Rumbek. We take a small turboprop exactly like the ones you might take in the US between San Francisco and LA, or Miami and Tampa. We arrive in Renk just under an hour later, hitting the dirt runway with a cloud of red dust behind us. After picking up a few passengers, we're on the way again, off to Wau. 30 minutes later we touch down at the airstrip- as we flash past, I can't help but notice the broken fuselages of two large jets. Each is tilted crazily up on their wing and in several pieces- whether it was a poor landing or artillery that brought them down, it's hard to say.

After a two-hour delay that was supposed to be 30 minutes, I head to Agok. We fly on a tiny plane called a Twin Otter, which bounces through the clouds as I hold on, trying not to think about it. On a rational level, I know everything is fine- a pilot friend of mine explained to me recently how they look at turbulence in the air in the same way that the captain of a ship sees waves. Still. I'm close enough to the controls that I can see a GPS unit ticking away the distance- that helps, plus the fact that I see the pilots joking with each other over the headphones. If they were concerned, I'm sure they'd look serious.

We fly past the runway first, in a wide circle. No air-traffic control around here, so this is the only way to make sure that the landing strip is free of children, goats, or anything else that might get in the way. Doubling back, we hit the gravel and bounce along, coming to a stop next to a few parked Land Cruisers. I've arrived- 400 kilometers and six hours later.

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So, the village is called Agok, but I think 'surface of the sun' might be a better name. Holy crap, it's hot.

Agok is dry and brown, with a few tough acacia trees hanging on to provide a bit of shade here and there. It reminds me a lot of Chad- same heat, same dust, same goats, same seko grass mats, same women in bright headscarves.

I'll be in Agok and the surrounding towns for about a month, looking at the organization's work in Economic Recovery and Development, writing stories, and taking photos. It's interesting stuff, but still not exactly what I want to do- fortunately it looks like I won't be doing it for much longer... Details to follow.