A Homesteader Visits Sudan

by Tanya Balsky

Photos by Dr. John Glover

I walked off the plane in March expecting to get smacked in the face with heat and dust.  “115 degrees,” they told me, “and the dust will cake on you, are you sure you want to do this?”  Instead, it was 85 and drizzling when Joseph, one of my host organization’s drivers, picked me up at the airport.  “A blessing,” he told me, and indeed it was — as soon as I got off the plane, I knew that despite the city’s bare appearances, things could grow. 

Juba, the capital city of South Sudan, is very likely like nothing you’ve ever seen before.  It was certainly new to me — despite working on HIV/AIDS issues for several years and a having Master’s degree that focused on international development, I’d never set foot in Africa before.  As you might imagine, no amount of dire warnings could have kept me from taking the opportunity to teach advocacy strategies to a group of HIV-positive men and women in Juba.  Adding icing to the cake, my host organization focused almost exclusively on development through agricultural growth — as a  homestead admirer, I couldn’t wait to get out and see what was being done, despite my current city-girl status.  There was certainly a lot to see: the Nile, the treeless city surrounded by green hills, the marketplace of imported goods (including winter coats and fur-lined boots!), the United Nation’s planes, vans and buildings, the university, and the hospital.  But mostly I had questions about what Juba could do to improve the quality of life for it’s residents quickly and, to my mind, one of the top answers is encouraging the development of homesteads. 

Hot and dusty half the year, most work that gets done in Juba is done during the rainy season, March to October.  Work continues until almost all roads are completely impassable.  With just two paved roads, the second built during my visit, the majority of the infrastructure in South Sudan is washed away in the rains and not fixed.  Running water is scarce.  Most potable water comes from trucks which go from well to well, dropping of water that is potable only for those who have never left.  Electricity, when available, comes from generators in the middle of compounds.  Any native Sudanese who want to can pick a plot of unused land and claim it for themselves, and unused land is not scarce.  Instead, much of the “city” is empty patches of land, barely needing clearing, covered with piles of half-burnt garbage picked over by goats, hens, and several other animals that would look tasty were it not for their diet.  Personal safety, despite a strong international presence and dramatic improvements in the past few years, is still a problem.  I was stunned one morning to hear from one of the women in my class that there had been a shooting at the market that morning, and even more surprised at how dismissive she and all of her classmates were at my concern.  This, they told me, happens all the time — some Dinka must have come by drunk, they conclude, and picked a fight.

 (continued)

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