Waikato Times

South Sudan

Keeping the peace

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New Zealand has been sending peacekeepe­rs to United Nations missions for 70 years. They are volatile and risky deployment­s – but in South Sudan, Kiwi troops are helping navigate the difficult path from war to peace, while protecting vulnerable citizens. Andrea Vance and visual journalist Iain McGregor investigat­e.

It rained solidly for nearly six months in Pibor, a dirtpoor South Sudan town built on a flood plain. As the waters rose and rose, thousands of people gathered their things, abandoned their homes and set up camp on the highest grounds.

As the river peaked, hundreds of families crammed into a tiny area the size of a football field.

The rain finally stopped in mid-November, but Pibor’s black cotton soil is slow to absorb water, so the camp was thick with glutinous mud when Stuff visited.

For months residents continued to live in makeshift shelters, cobbled together from tarpaulins and children’s tents, donated from abroad.

Man-made mud walls kept back the floodwater­s, but were left surrounded by puddles of stinking, stagnant green water.

The main health clinic and market were under water, pushing food prices sky-high. Families survived on one meal a day, often river fish caught by neighbours and displayed for sale in the baking sun, crawling with flies.

Two-thirds of water sources were contaminat­ed and only two boreholes were usable, with long queues of women at the handmade pumps. Latrines were flooded, human excrement visible everywhere.

The only way to move around was by canoe. Children splashed and washed in the flooded brown river, but conditions were making them sick.

A US Aid report in December said the prevalence of child mortality in the town was high, and 38 per cent of under-5s fell sick with suspected malaria, coughs or diarrhoea.

It was hell on earth, in a place well used to misery, sorrow and starvation.

‘‘It’s some of the worst conditions I think you’d find in South Sudan,’’ said New Zealand Defence Force’s Lieutenant Colonel Brent Quinn. ‘‘It’s certainly some of the worst conditions that I’ve seen.

The camp is on the edges of the compound of David Yau Yau, Boma state governor and a former militia leader. Yau Yau said the situation was ‘‘helpless’’.

‘‘Most of the things in Boma state have been destroyed . . . over 78 people died. Some of the livestock, the cows in the cattle camp [were] destroyed. The belongings have been destroyed.’’

Quinn’s boss, top UN official David Shearer, was inside the compound, meeting Yau Yau. He would later tour the camp and, as Shearer’s military assistant, Quinn was making a quick assessment.

There was no real danger – people were too weak and hungry to be a risk – but in the middle of a camp a wellmainta­ined anti-aircraft gun was packed into the earth. Two infants in their underwear played next to it.

Another gun was positioned on a ute next to the dirt airfield, poorly concealed under plastic sheeting.

‘‘There’s always challenges with keeping the SRSG [special representa­tive of the UN’s secretary-general] safe,’’ Quinn said. ‘‘But there is always allocated force protection for him and he has a close protection party.

‘‘David travels quite a lot – it’s really about getting out to those grassroots parts of the country and really understand­ing what’s making a difference for the people of South Sudan, because that’s what really counts.

‘‘And generally, everywhere we go, people receive David really well. So, we don’t feel like there is really any definitive threat to his security.’’

Quinn is one of four Kiwi soldiers deployed to the UN Mission in South Sudan. ‘‘When you walk around, what you’ll see is everyone wearing the blue beret. Everyone is a UN peacekeepe­r, first and foremost. And so everything we’re doing is in line with the principles and standards of the UN. That’s what the blue beret really represents and why we all wear it.’’

A soldier for 20 years, Quinn has served across the Middle

East and South Pacific. ‘‘This is my first time, though, to Africa. It’s a fairly austere environmen­t. And so it certainly is an opportunit­y to really challenge yourself.’’

He’s been based at the UN’s main compound in Juba for almost a year, and the job involves strategic planning, organising Shearer’s multiple field trips around the country and also ‘‘making sure that what force – the uniformed component of the mission – is doing is aligned with the mission’s objectives’’.

One of those main objectives is protecting South Sudanese civilians. The signing of a peace agreement in 2018 saw 600,000 displaced people return to their homes within a year, including 20,000 from six UN Mission in Sudan (UNMISS) protection of civilian (POC) sites.

But close to 200,000 remain sheltered by the peacekeepe­rs, terrified by frequent inter-tribal clashes, or unsure of how to support their families.

Life in the POCs is grim. ‘‘Homes’’ are makeshift and temporary – strict rules prevent residents collecting furniture other than beds and cooking equipment.

One such camp, POC3, borders the compound where Quinn lives and works. The peacekeepe­rs are a familiar sight – troops from all over the world man its guard towers and enforce strict curfews. Quinn has an endearing rapport with its hundreds of children. Dozens surround him, eager to stroke the hair on his arms, a Caucasian feature they are enthralled with.

‘‘There’s obviously a lot of poverty around South Sudan,’’ he said. ‘‘But what never fails to capture me, though, is just the resilience of the people here.

‘‘The reason we’re here and the reason I think that people serve, certainly that I serve in the military, and come to places like this is because, in your own little way, you’re trying to make

a difference. And any little difference that you can make gives you a real sense of selfworth and a contributi­on to something greater, which is the United Nations.’’

The POC is divided into 10 blocks, with a main market thoroughfa­re. There are just shy of 30,000 residents, with 55 per cent aged under 18, and the average household holds between three and four people.

When Stuff visited, holloweyed men sat listlessly in plastic chairs, some playing dominoes. There were no jobs.

The camp was cramped and filthy, but life and colour burst out of every alleyway. Music blared from speakers. The pungent stench of sewage was masked by wafts of sweet ginger coffee and turmeric from inside tin huts. Pop-up cafes advertised upcoming soccer matches, a man passed by smiling, holding two turtles under his arms, and children played everywhere.

Jane Noa, 35, fled violence during the outbreak of war in 2013, running in terror across the city to the UN’s Tomping base with her eldest child, now 13.

‘‘The soldiers they are come, they come to the home, they are getting the boys, they are killed, with the gun,’’ she said.

Her husband was a civil servant, working in informatio­n technology, and she had dreams of being a lawyer. Now she lives in a mud hut with 12 other relatives. Four more children have been born to her in the camp – six and three-year-old sons and year-old twins.

A lack of food means she struggles to produce enough milk to feed the babies. ‘‘What can you do? We Africa. We like more children. If you have children you smile.’’

She worried about frequent bouts of violence and the effects on her children.

‘‘In the camp, they have bad behaviours here. Because the children, they like fighting because of the war.

‘‘Even the father don’t have any work, then they don’t have good food. Even the schools here, they’re not good, necessaril­y, for children.

‘‘You don’t have enough water. You don’t have enough food.’’

Conditions at the POC – and the UN base – in Malakal were much worse. A former colonial town, on the banks of the White Nile in the north, endless cycles of ethnic warfare saw it change hands a dozen times.

It was largely razed. Twisted and burnt-out cars lined the roads, houses were empty, mosques looted and crop fields overgrown.

About 30,000 people sheltered in the POC camp. Tensions ran high after the death of a child in an accident involving a peacekeepi­ng truck, and it was too dangerous for Stuff to enter.

We skirted the edge of the camp, driven by Major David McAteer, a NZDF military liaison officer stationed there.

As we passed the main POC gates, close to sunset curfew time, stones were lobbed at the vehicle. The compound’s perimeter fences were heavily guarded, with patrolmen living for long stretches in stuffy guard towers made from shipping containers.

‘‘It’s very tense at the moment just because we had a little girl die maybe three months ago, and then a kid got run over the other day, broke her arm,’’ McAteer said. ‘‘So, there were some big protests outside the Indian battalion the other day because they were the ones that were driving.

‘‘We’ve had a few instances where there have been issues in the camp . . . But I’ve never felt in danger since I’ve been here.’’

McAteer plans patrols and operations, including ‘‘Lifeline’’, which ships four weeks’ of food up the river from Juba, South Sudan’s capital.

He is also a military observer. ‘‘We go out, we meet the local government forces, the local opposition forces as well as local community leaders. We talk to them about any issues they’re facing, we report back to the UN. And we pass on that informatio­n so that we can get aid to the people of South Sudan.’’

He has mixed feelings about the progress towards peace. ‘‘Sometimes it’s confusing. Sometimes, I think, that what I see in my short time here doesn’t fill me with confidence. Some places we are very well received, some places are really happy for the UN to be coming in.

‘‘They’re very, very hospitable people. Other places, not quite as friendly. But, in my time here, it’s been, it’s been fairly peaceful.’’

Base living is very basic. McAteer lives in a tiny container – neighbouri­ng units are pocked with bullet holes from previous battles.

He gets water from a neighbouri­ng British army camp – which is collected from the river and driven back to base. There is one canteen, which serves only chicken sandwiches, occasional­ly pizza and always beer.

McAteer, from Whanga¯ rei, gets most of his groceries shipped from Countdown, via NZDF headquarte­rs, and makes sure he always has a few weeks’ surplus supplies.

‘‘In the wet season, it rains every day. For hours a day. There’s very little in the way of irrigation, of drainage. Both in the camp and outside. So driving is a very interestin­g experience.’’

The weather, and incessant mud, frustrates him.

‘‘In the wet season we couldn’t get out. Helicopter­s were cancelled because of the weather. The boats could only go sometimes because the water was too high. And we couldn’t drive anywhere.

‘‘It made it impossible to go and actually help the people. It’s remarkably upsetting to live here sometimes.

‘‘Some of the locations we go, they have nothing. They are living off the land. It’s completely subsistenc­e living, but they don’t have much.

‘‘The reason we’re here is to help the people of South Sudan as a New Zealand Defence Force member. That’s what we’re doing in South Sudan.’’

 ??  ??
 ??  ?? The sun sets over the UN camp in Malakal, home to up to 30,000 people. Conditions there were even worse than in Pibor, and tensions between residents and peacekeepe­rs were high.
The sun sets over the UN camp in Malakal, home to up to 30,000 people. Conditions there were even worse than in Pibor, and tensions between residents and peacekeepe­rs were high.
 ??  ?? An anti-aircraft gun sits among families’ tents in flood-hit Pibor. Children played everywhere, despite the thick, glutinous mud and overflowin­g latrines.
An anti-aircraft gun sits among families’ tents in flood-hit Pibor. Children played everywhere, despite the thick, glutinous mud and overflowin­g latrines.
 ??  ?? Major David McAteer, an NZDF military liaison officer, lives on the UN’s Malakal base.
Major David McAteer, an NZDF military liaison officer, lives on the UN’s Malakal base.
 ??  ?? Malakal is South Sudan’s second biggest city, but was largely destroyed by endless cycles of ethnic warfare. Burnt-out cars lined the roads, and fields were overgrown.
Malakal is South Sudan’s second biggest city, but was largely destroyed by endless cycles of ethnic warfare. Burnt-out cars lined the roads, and fields were overgrown.
 ??  ?? David Shearer, head of the UN mission in South Sudan, meets displaced families in the Pibor camp. ‘‘Generally, everywhere we go, people receive David really well,’’ says Lt Col Brent Quinn.
David Shearer, head of the UN mission in South Sudan, meets displaced families in the Pibor camp. ‘‘Generally, everywhere we go, people receive David really well,’’ says Lt Col Brent Quinn.

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