Devastated

Devastated: the word I want to use to sum up the events of the last few days.

Devastated is how I feel.
Devastated is the state of Juba as I write this blog.

These websites can be a good reference to explain what has been happening in Juba in the past few days:

http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-36758013

https://radiotamazuj.org/en/dossier/juba-crisis

On this blog post, I want to write the events as I experienced them myself over the last few days. This is subjective. My disclaimer is that I am not making any comments on, nor references to, certain incidences. If you feel some facts are missing from my story, you would be correct: this is a sensitive time. Some things should not be posted on a blog.

Friday 8th July

I woke up to the blaring ring of my alarm clock just after 6:15am. Just before 7am, I met my friend in the MAF car-park, ready to hit the streets of Juba for some heart-pumping jogging.

As she approached, she mentioned that she had just walked past a security rep in the compound: his advice was to avoid the streets of Juba today. He related that some fighting had broken out across town last night. Five soldiers had died in the gunfight.
This was not good news. Tensions were already high in Juba. Other indicators also pointed to an unsettled time, like the fact that recent inflation was at an all-time high. When we arrived in Juba 2 years ago, 5 South Sudanese pounds were worth US $1. Last week, inflation meant you could receive up to 49 South Sudanese pounds for US $1.

We asked our gate guards for further advice, as one of them had just travelled across town. He thought that the streets felt safe, so we decided to go jogging. Yet as soon as we stepped out of the compound gates, I began to feel uneasy. Juba was uncharacteristically quiet for 7am on a Friday. We jogged up to the main road. It was strangely empty of vehicles. I could feel a sense of tension in the air.

We started to head towards the city hospital but I was feeling more and more uncomfortable. Suddenly, a military vehicle came screeching up the middle of the road at full speed behind us. As it sped past, we were confronted by the sight of the open rear of the vehicle. It was packed to the brim with soldiers in full uniform, clinging to their weapons.
We glanced at each other, our pace slowed. I think we began to realise that we should have taken the advice of that security rep. Something wasn't right in Juba. We did an about-turn and jogged the short distance back to our compound. That was the shortest jog I have ever done!

The rest of the day felt quieter than usual. We carried on with home-school. In the afternoon, the children stayed at home, I put a DVD on for them and returned to the schoolroom. I spent a couple of hours planning school lessons and preparing resources for the children for next week.

Afterwards, we invited our French friends to join us, along with the MAF team, for pizza at a nearby hotel. We left the MAF compound around 5pm. Everyone was aware that the security situation in Juba felt tense, particularly as the next day was Independence Day, to mark 5 years of South Sudan. For that reason, we were all planning an early meal and wanted to be home by dusk, before 6:30pm. The hotel is 10 minutes walk from the compound.

I walked happily to the hotel with Esther, Ben and Joel, my French friend Nathalie and her three children (the same ages as mine) and an overnight visitor who had just arrived from northern South Sudan.

The hotel seating is outdoors, a green hedge separating our chairs and tables from the same main road where I had my short jog earlier that morning. We joined the MAF team- making  a party of 13 children and 14 adults. Comfortably, we settled into our seats and began discussing options for pizza toppings. As we moved on to drinks orders for the children (who was allowed fizzy drinks and who was not!) Andrew came over, looking worried.  He told me, “I just heard some shots. I don’t think we should stay. Things don’t sound good and with this current situation, I think it would be better to return to the compound right now.”

I protested mildly. I had not heard the shots. I was hungry, the children were hungry and they were excited to all be out for pizza together. And this is Juba, after all. It was probably just some random criminal shooting a few kilometres across town- it might calm down quickly.

Sometimes, we can become too relaxed….

A few minutes later, the shooting became more audible. Still, I did not really react. It seemed unreal. The men in our group began to congregate together and look concerned. Andrew and others decided we should leave, but soon realised that the armed hotel security guard had locked the gates. The hotel staff were anxious -they did not want to allow any threatening persons into the hotel.  Of course, this also meant none of us could get out.

 More shots. Next came the sounds of heavy vehicles zooming threateningly down the main road on the other side of the hedge. Then the sounds of people running. Ben said he could hear people’s flip-flops smacking the tarmac as they ran. This added to the alarming noise of speeding military trucks. Soon, a longer burst of gunfire punctuated the air. This time, it sounded like heavy fighting.

 It definitely sounded serious. These were not isolated shots, but a full 15 minutes of banging. This felt like danger.

Now our group began to react. We decided to get the children to a safer place, but the first room the hotel staff offered us had brick walls with decorative holes in! I remember thinking that this would not protect our children from bullets! So we moved towards the toilet area, but there was great confusion and we could not all fit in:

My legs started to tremble, but thankfully I had long trousers on to hide the trembling from my children. At all costs, I was determined to remain calm on the outside, to try and minimise the children's fear.

Thankfully, another staff member took us all round a corner to a door leading to an enclosed courtyard. Here, we could sit down and be sheltered by brick walls from the shooting on the streets. Although we later found out that most of the shooting was happening about 1 km across town, occasional shots erupted much closer, making me jump out of my skin. Each time, I glanced at my children to gauge their reactions and continually reassured them that, no, this was not really serious, we would all be fine.

 It was amazing what I could say on the outside, while inside I felt shaky and extremely vulnerable. The worst factor was not really knowing what was going on outside the confines of the hotel. It was unnerving to feel so unsure about when- or where- the shooting was coming from. Still, I wanted to appear calm, so stood by Nathalie, discussing routine matters and laughing at her stories. Anything to make the children feel like this was not so dangerous for us.

It felt like a long wait, although it was no more than an hour. During this frightening time, the children grew more and more hungry, asking where their dinner was and how long until their pizza would come. Naturally, the hotel chef was a bit too distracted to concentrate on our pizza order! We just stood or sat and waited- and tried to ignore our rumbling stomachs. When the children asked, “How long will we be here?” we had no answer for them. We had no idea how long the gunfire would continue.

 Around 6:30pm, it seemed calm enough for us to exit by a back door behind the hotel. Our deputy programme manager took charge and directed us to walk back in crocodile formation, each adult holding hands with at least one child.
We were instructed that if we heard more shooting nearby we should lie down flat on the ground for safety. What horrible advice for my children to have to hear. Sensible, but difficult to absorb. Joel in particular looked upset and worried, clinging tightly to Andrew throughout the ordeal.

We exited, a solemn procession. Proceeding down muddy side streets, we made our way to the MAF compound. I remember hoping that the shooting would not recommence, as I really didn’t want to lie down on this dirty, muddy road- nor have my children’s muddy clothes to wash! It is strange how the mundane comes to mind in a crisis.

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As we reached the bend facing the main road I was shocked to see all the uniformed, armed soldiers lining both sides of the street. We really were in a dire situation.

 I have never been so relieved to get back to the MAF compound as I was on Friday night! It was good to hear the heavy gate locks clanging into place behind us.

Our French friends came home with us. Nathalie and I prepared a quick meal for the hungry hoardes. It was good to have a distraction and good to have that evening with them. The six children reacted to the evening's events by becoming hyperactive! The relief of getting safely indoors again released an exaggerated sense of joy, so it was a jolly evening despite the underlying stress for the adults. 

The adults were left wondering what this evening's gunfire might could mean for the coming days.
We had little idea that it was about to become so very serious.

Saturday 9^th July:  South Sudan’s 5^th Independence Day

Independence Day dawned. It was quiet. Too quiet.

I had had a fitful night. My body was so tense, I had felt like pins were spiking me all over throughout the night and I could not relax. My ears were on hyper-alert in case of any further shooting. This current lack of gunfire could be reassuring- or this strange calm could be tension building up before another storm. One of the hardest things about incidents we have lived through in Juba is the Not Knowing.

I rose early and began packing our Go Bag: just in case fighting resumed and we needed to get out. This was the second time I have packed a Go-Bag in Juba. Thankfully, in August, all had remained calm- but today felt less certain.
 In between packing, I ensured the children were dressed and breakfasted. They then skipped merrily outdoors to find their friends. It seemed so calm that they were reassured that their life in Juba would resume as normal.

Andrew had a stressful, pressured morning as he joined staff meetings to decide whether or not the current situation warranted evacuation for children and families. It was extremely difficult for the staff team to work out what would be best. Great wisdom was required - and prayer for the right decision.

Meanwhile, the wives and families waited on their decision, as we continued preparations for possible departure.

 For myself there followed a frantic morning of working out what to take and how to close up our home. Although we have a list of what to pack in the Go-Bag, I was reluctant to leave certain items and I still had to decide which clothes were essential to take with us. Being under pressure- both stress and limited time- made decision making harder.

In addition, I had a crazed search for our important documents, our computers, cameras, phone chargers. I then counted out cash to leave for our lovely house-lady Grace, so that she could come by on a safer day to pick up her July wages: I was not sure if we would be there to pay her at the end of the month.
Next I went to speak to neighbours who would be staying, to ask them to pass on Grace's wages and give them our perishable food and also our keys, assuring them that they were welcome to eat any other food in our larder, fridge or freezer. This insecure situation meant nobody could leave the compound to shop for food- and shops would not be open anyway.

I went down to the schoolroom. I ignored the lump in my throat as I hesitated over what I could fit in our luggage. No space for books. Just enough time to grab a few maths and English papers. My eyes fell on next week's lessons plans. All that time I spent drafting those plans and preparing resources. A work wasted. We only had a week and a half until the end of term and we had made some fun plans.Now it all seemed so pointless- if we left, we had to leave all our hard work, all the successful work completed over the past 2 years, all of the children's current History and Science projects, beautiful art work, toys, books and games.

I returned home to shove  a few sheets of schoolwork and a small pencil case into the Go-Bag. It occurred to me that I had better unplug all our electrics, so I spent a while combing the house to do so. I started to feel bereft. This was our home- these were 2 years of family memories- and I was possibly about to walk away without knowing when or if we could return.

Finally, I washed up Friday night's dishes. As I stood by the kitchen sink, by the open window, I was again struck by how quiet everything was. No usual Juba noises of generators, building work, children's voices, motorbike engines, cooking on charcoal stoves, vocal chickens and barking dogs from the next-door compound, All was eerily quiet.

Our Go-Bag was finally packed:

It turned out that we were allowed 3 bags between the 5 of us, as long as we did not exceed a weight limit of 15 kg per person. I hurriedly threw more clothes and the children's trainers into the extra bags, without really reflecting on what we could need. At this point, we still did not know whether we would -or could- evacuate....

Finally, around 2pm, we heard that families were definitely being evacuated. 

This was it. 

No more time to think about what to take and what we would have to leave. We rushed to do the final locking up- and walked out of our house without time to even give a backward glance. 

It suddenly seemed urgent. We must go. I felt a very real sense of impending danger.

It was a horrible, stressful time. With the children and adults squashed between bags and cases and sweating in the Juba heat, we set off in vehicles for the airport. With sweaty palms and a thumping chest, my adrenaline increased as we crossed a check-point, but thankfully everything went smoothly. On the tarmac all was unnaturally still. Andrew and a brave friend worked hard to prepare the plane that Andrew would be piloting for our evacuation. There were some heart-stopping minutes of wondering about a minor technical issue...but finally it was sorted out and all was ready. 

It really was time to leave. It was a surreal sensation, to be rushing away without really having time to ponder what was happening in the place we have called home for 2 years- and without really understanding the implications of our rushed exit. Andrew took firm control and our plane sped up, then zipped into the air, ferrying us from danger to safety:

By early evening, we landed in northern Kenya. I felt a strange mixture of relief, of safety and of confusion about what just happened in our lives. Still, everything felt unreal. At the same time, there was the lightness of knowing that a heavy blanket of worry had just been lifted.
It was calm. We felt safe.
What a relief.


Andrew and Ben near our MAF plane in Kenya: