Chris, Author at Humanitarian Aid & Relief

Chad becomes a haven for refugees in central Africa

Visiting refugee camps is never easy. No one wants to leave their home, their life, and everything they’ve ever known and run to another country where they have no status, few rights, and are forced to live in a tent. But refugees aren’t given a choice.

Over the past few weeks I visited three refugee camps in Chad, where families who have fled the terror of Boko Haram in Nigeria are taking shelter. As I journeyed from the southeast of Chad to the west, I heard very similar stories, over a thousand miles apart. Gunfire in the middle of the night. Running through the darkness, grabbing children—any children—on the way. Heading away from the guns, not knowing what lay ahead. Then the long walk… Days, weeks, months of traveling to a place where you hope the gunmen won’t find you, won’t steal your children, won’t kill you for not being radical enough. Stories of loss, missing spouses, missing children.

But I also heard stories of hope. Of families reunited. Of camps where strangers look out for each other like family. Of relatives sheltering cousins they’ve never met, sharing their meager corn harvest and a few fish.

Aisha and her family fled Boko Haram attacks in their home town. They are waiting to be reunited with their two boys.

I met Aisha and her husband Ali, who are staying with her uncle. When she fled Nigeria at 4 a.m. during a Boko Haram attack, she was only able to find her two little girls, leaving behind her two sons, 10 and 7, who were staying with friends. She spent weeks without sleep, worrying about them, regretting that she left them, wondering what if…

Aisha eventually heard from her mother-in-law the boys were safe, but they are still in Nigeria, and she has no way to be reunited with them. “I can’t go back there, it’s not safe. I hope we can bring my sons to Chad, but I don’t know how. We have no money, we are living on the charity of my relatives.”

Another man, the patriarch of his family, brought 28 of his relatives to Chad in his car. He sold the car to rent a small one-room house, with everything they own inside. His life work and savings are gone, but he has his grandchildren. One of his grandsons got married right before Boko Haram attacked.

Talking with families at a refugee camp, hearing their stories.

“They stole your honeymoon, too!” we joked.

“Yes, but we kept our lives,” he smiled. He asked that we not publish any photos of the family, as there are other family members still in Nigeria that could be in danger.

I also talked to Aya, a shy but precocious teenager. She was one of 18 children that all escaped with her parents, before militants attacked their town. When we asked her what she missed most, it was school. In Nigeria, she studied in a Muslim school. Boko Haram says they want to ban western education, especially for girls. But for Aya, they have shut her out of even religious education. In Chad, the local school is in French, which she can’t speak. She wants to go back to Nigeria as soon as possible, but when that will happen is unknown.

For now, Aya, and so many others like her in Chad need help to access food, jobs, schools, and to contribute with dignity in the homes that have welcomed them, and to get ready for whatever their future may hold.

Chad Refugee Crisis

Chad now has refugees from four countries sheltering within its borders. Every bordering country to Chad has experienced internal violence against its citizens in the last five years: Libya, Cameroon, Nigeria, Central African Republic, and Niger. World Concern started working in Chad with refugees from Sudan in 2008, and people have been seeking refuge here ever since.

World Concern disaster response expert doubles as Red Cross volunteer for Oso landslide

On March 22, 30 seconds altered the lives of residents of Oso forever. That night, I received an urgent email from the American Red Cross chapter of Snohomish County. They needed volunteers to staff the evacuation shelter which they were providing for families affected by the slide. While I couldn’t help during the day, I was able to volunteer for the night shift, providing support in the shelter from 8 pm to 8 am.

Chris Sheach uses his disaster experience with World Concern in places like Haiti, and closer to home as a Red Cross volunteer. He recently served at a Red Cross shelter for victims of the tragic Oso landslide.

Driving up to Arlington, passing very familiar landmarks, it was a bit discomforting to see the elementary school with Red Cross signs posted on it, and to see people who last week may have stood behind me in the grocery store checkout were now sleeping on a cot with only the clothes on their back, waiting anxiously to hear word of their missing loved ones. It’s a very different thing to respond so close to home, but wearing a Red Cross vest, I was instantly recognized as someone trustworthy, and there to help. During a time when many families were beset by national and international media, they were very grateful for the safe place we offered, the hot food, showers and listening ear.

I’ve been a volunteer for a year and am now a certified Red Cross disaster instructor. In some ways it’s a natural fit, since my role at World Concern means I respond to disasters like the Haiti earthquake, and am familiar with these kinds of crises. I do this work because I have a heart for those whose lives have been devastated by disaster. Now, as a registered Disaster Team Specialist, as well as a member of my Community Emergency Response Team, I know that I will be able to fulfill my calling at home, and not just overseas.

Life without water in Somalia

In my travels, I experience all kinds of environments, from tropical jungles to barren deserts. Yet no other place has left such a deep impact on me as northern Somalia (also known as Somaliland).

We traversed an elevated plateau, ringed by mountains, known locally as the Ogo. Were it not for the intense heat, I would have believed we were on the moon. Wind whipped up the sand, filling my teeth with constant grit. The air sucked all moisture from my body. My throat was sore and my tongue was swollen.

There are no roads, and the landscape is littered with rocks and small shrubs. We drove for hours hardly passing anyone, only seeing a few people leading a herd of camels into the horizon. It’s a lonely place.

A nomadic Somali family herding their livestock.

Most people in Somaliland are nomads. Livestock (camels, goats and sheep) are the only way of life in a place with so little water. These animals walk hundreds of miles each week across the Ogo, traveling from one waterhole to the next, and whole families move with them, carrying their homes on their backs. The last few years have been especially hard, as rains have come less and less frequently, and wells dry up.

Years of drought and desertification, coupled with conflict, are making the nomadic way of life much more risky. Rains are fewer and far between. I’ve visited places that get rain two or three days per year. Ironically, so much rain falls in one day that it causes walls of water 15 feet high to roar down dry river beds, washing away whole families. Between the constant wind and these flash floods, soil is eroded away and the high central plains are mostly bare rock, with a few inedible shrubs.

In Huluul, we met a widowed mother. The scar on her face and the weariness in her eyes are deceiving. She is not even 25, her four children under 7. After her husband died, she couldn’t manage raising her young children and taking care of his herds. As the animals died off, one by one, all hope of a future for her children died with them.

A widowed mother and her sons in Huluul, Somalia

Like so many others, she moved to towns like Huluul to start over. Unfortunately, this has put a heavy burden on the meagre water supply in town, and threatens the health and lives of many more.

Since 2008, World Concern has been crisscrossing the Ogo plateau, working in small villages and towns to turn the tide on water shortages. Through introducing rainwater tanks in schools, clinics and public buildings, repairing and protecting wells, and teaching schoolchildren about public health, a crisis is being averted.

In Huluul, increased water supply has meant economic growth. The town social committee is providing food, shelter and water to this young mother and many others. Her children have access to food and water at school, and the health clinic has fresh water as well. For one woman—and many more with your support—water means life, and new hope.

“The road is long; don’t kill the dog”

Chris Sheach is World Concern’s Deputy Director of Disaster Response. He’s blogging from Haiti on the third anniversary of the earthquake.

Haiti earthquake damage — One of the 200,000 homes and 30,000 commercial buildings that were destroyed in the Jan. 12, 2010 earthquake in Haiti.

It was three years ago today that a 7.0 earthquake devastated the city of Port-au-Prince, Haiti. We in the humanitarian community were shocked at the severity of this disaster. Almost 3.5 million people were affected by the earthquake, close to a quarter of a million died, and 2.3 million people were left homeless. The estimated $7.8 billion loss is equivalent to 15 months of Haiti’s GDP. All this in a country where the average family’s annual income is $660, 58% of the population lacks access to clean water, and more than half of the children are under-nourished.

This was a disaster decades in the making, and it’s certainly not going to be an easy fix.

I’ve spent the last week in Haiti, looking at some of the work World Concern has done, and working with our staff here in Haiti to develop the way forward. Coming back every few months, as I have for the last three years, I have seen continued progress and constant change. World Concern built more than 2,000 temporary shelters in the first 18 months after the earthquake, and this week I was hard pressed to find one—not because they’ve deteriorated, but because people are going beyond their temporary situation, improving and rebuilding their homes, moving along the road to the future.

This does not mean that it has been easy. Recent news articles emphasize the long road to recovery, filled with potholes, roadblocks and detours. A road complicated by mismanagement and conflicting priorities.

When I mentioned the long road to my Haitian colleagues, they laughed and told me they know the road is long. In fact, they explained, there is a Haitian proverb, “Chemen lwen, pa touye chen,” which means, “The road is long; don’t kill the dog.”

The dog in Haiti is a symbol of resilience and perseverance. If you’ve been to Haiti you know why. Stray dogs are often stepped on, starved, and rejected, but they just keep surviving. As it was explained to me, “A dog just keeps walking and walking, and it always gets where it’s going.” Haitians don’t expect the road to recovery to be a sprint, but rather a marathon. They will keep moving forward, step by step, until they reach their destination. And we plan to walk this road with them.

T-shelter in Haiti — A mom washes clothes in her transitional shelter World Concern built after the earthquake in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Many families have turned these into permanent homes by making long-term improvements to the structures.

World Concern is shifting our focus from disaster response work in Haiti, as we continue to take steps along the road. Disasters are too common in a country with less than 2% forest cover, poor sanitation infrastructure, and unsafe building practices. Regular tropical storms cause flooding, soil erosion, landslides and collapsed buildings on a yearly basis.

With the help of our donors, World Concern engages communities in reducing their risk to these disasters. Earthquake, tsunami and hurricane preparedness is being taught in schools, and spread through community groups. Early warning systems, flood control, and improved sanitation systems are being established. Schools and churches designated as evacuation centers are being retrofitted to ensure their stability. Local disaster response committees continue to plan, prepare, and train their communities.

Building resilient communities enables Haitians to continue to persevere—and to move beyond their current vulnerability. The earthquake was a significant setback on the road to progress. some estimate that 10 years of development were lost. We want to ensure that, even if natural disasters happen, they are not as debilitating.

The road may be long, but we must continue to walk it, no matter how long it takes. I am grateful for donors that continue to support World Concern and the people of Haiti on the road to resiliency.

You can help protect vulnerable families from disasters and help them prepare: www.worldconcern.org/preventdisaster.

Dream of safe housing in Haiti is closer than before earthquake

In response to Deborah Sontag’s investigative report on the state of housing for earthquake survivors in Haiti, I wanted to expound on why building permanent homes is so challenging and revisit the idea of transitional shelters (T-shelters) and repairing damaged homes as ways to provide shelter for the homeless after a disaster.

Inside a T-shelter in Port-au-Prince, Haiti — Twelve extended family members live in this home, two T-shelters built side-by-side, in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. The home has a concrete foundation, wood walls on the upper half and a metal roof.

In countries like Haiti, between one-third and one-half of the urban population lives in informal slums, essentially trespassing on government or private property. Many of these shelters are well below the minimum humanitarian standards to which aid agencies adhere. While working in informal settlements in Port-au-Prince, World Concern found that many people preferred the cramped quarters of a one-room shelter for large, extended families over the option of moving out of the city, away from jobs, transit and markets. In other words, moving people to outlying areas where large pieces of land might be developed for housing is not the best solution.

T-shelters are intended to last three years, with the understanding that a permanent housing solution will not be available before that time. It is important to note that the alternative is replacement tents every six months, which would cost approximately the same amount over the same time.

World Concern was one of several agencies that focused our work on repairing more than 2,000 damaged “yellow”-coded houses. Where houses could not be repaired, World Concern developed T-shelters with a permanent foundation, providing homeowners with a solid beginning on which they could build earthquake resistant housing within their own means.

An independent report prepared for USAID concluded that, of the 894,588 people who fled to camps in the days after the earthquake, more than 85% had returned to their homes by May 2011. This report concluded that there are many in the camps who are “hoping to take advantage of the aid; not necessarily renters.” This same study showed that yellow and green houses had a return rate of more than 95%, including renters.

One of the key contributions of foreign aid was the removal of more than 5 million cubic meters of rubble from the streets, walkways and private properties of Port-au-Prince. More than 50% of homes would not have been accessible without this work, and the cleared roads have enabled construction crews to rebuild more quickly.

Inside a repaired home in Port-au-Prince, Haiti — An earthquake victim stands inside his home, which was yellow-coded after the earthquake. World Concern repaired the damage so he could move back in safely.

Demolition of condemned buildings is not only expensive, but it’s a time consuming process. Many of these buildings are multi-story rental units or larger homes of wealthy families. Some of the latter have left town or even left the country, leaving a condemned building with no hope for new opportunities. Other landowners want the demolition to occur, but are not willing to accept single family units on their plot of land, preferring rather to wait until they have enough funds to replace the multi-story complex they once had. Land rights are an important part of democratic rule of law. If a former landlord refuses to rebuild, or to accept the affordable housing solutions offered by aid agencies, that is their prerogative.

It also takes time to work with the government to implement aid. Before the earthquake, Haiti did not have an urban redevelopment plan, so agencies have worked with the government to ensure an enforceable strategy is in place, rather than willy-nilly construction which creates a new hazard for the future. This strategy, while slow, is seen as the only way to prevent the cycle of calamity repeating itself again.

After the 2004 earthquake in Banda Aceh, it took more than five years to replace 140,000 homes. After two years, Port-au-Prince is only just shy of the same average rate of construction, with most of the heavy lifting already done.

While there is much more to do, the dream of safe housing is much closer for most Haitians than it was before the tragic events of 2010.

Slow but steady progress through South Sudan’s first year

This year I celebrated my very first Independence Day as a resident of the U.S. In fact, I was able to celebrate my nation as well, by catching Canada Day celebrations a few days earlier!

South Sudanese women in flag outfits. — Wearing the flag of their new nation, South Sudanese women celebrate independence on July 9, 2011.

Last year, I missed the fireworks, as I witnessed the birth of the Republic of South Sudan and joined the Independence Day celebrations there. The South Sudanese understand the cost of freedom, having spent almost 60 years embroiled in civil wars. The streets of Juba, Wau and every other town in South Sudan were jubilant. The end of war and the power to decide their own fate were on the minds of every new citizen, and the words to the hastily released anthem were being tripped over with joy.

But the 10^th brought a return to reality: more than 700,000 refugees and displaced people, many homeless and unemployed, were crowding into a nation where more than 50% live on less than $1/day, only 27% of adults are literate, and 78% of the population depends on crop farming or animal husbandry as their primary sources of income.

As they look back at their first year of independence, the price is still being paid. In what has been called a “write-off” year, the country has been plagued with a litany of difficulties both internal and external. Within a month, attacks and bombing along the border with Sudan recommenced, and tribal conflicts within the country caused another wave of displacement. While the government tried to build an economy and fuel the growth of their nation, corrupt officials stole billions, and economic disputes over oil led to the decision to shut down the oil pipeline which provides over 90% of the national revenue. Flooding in some parts of the country and drought in others has caused food shortages, malnutrition and illness. This is a long way from the euphoria experienced one very long year ago.

The South Sudanese, however, are more optimistic about the future than outsiders looking in. Just as they stood behind their leaders during the long battles for independence, they are digging in and building a better future. Some have taken up voluntary collections to support government expenses during the economic crisis. Schools are growing on a daily basis, as new citizens move back. Schoolchildren paint the future on walls, describing the construction of schools and hospitals. Children can dream big, but they can’t eat dreams.

South Sudan boy with flag. — Excitement and hope dominated last year’s independence celebration in South Sudan. Despite ongoing struggles with conflict, food shortages, drought and poverty, citizens of South Sudan remain optimistic.

This has been a year of growth for World Concern in South Sudan as well. We are providing emergency food to more of the estimated 2.4 million food-insecure people and helping more than 20,000 new mothers with nutrition supplements for their children. In partnership with the Ministry of Education and UNICEF, we are building classrooms as fast as possible to shelter eager young learners, and sponsoring young adults to attend vocational training centers. Recognizing the importance of agriculture and fishing to both income and food security, World Concern is helping kick-start farming and fishing associations with tools and training, as well as engaging new government officials in protecting natural resources, such as rivers and woodlands. We are seeing progress, one community at a time.

One of the things celebrated on the 4^th of July is liberty, which is something very few of us truly understand. The people of South Sudan have not achieved the end of the road to freedom yet, but through the past year, despite many obstacles, they have persevered. As they stop to catch their breath, looking back at the year that was, and looking forward to the long road ahead, those of us who eat the fruits of independence need to lend our support to those still in the struggle to attain it.

Pondering home in Somaliland

Recently I’ve been thinking about home. This happens every time I travel, and I know I’ve been on the road too long when I hear Michael Bublé in my head, “Paris and Rome, but I wanna go home…”

But my recent trip to Somaliland made me think of home in a different way. As a self-proclaimed “global nomad,” I like to say that I can be at home anywhere, but honestly that’s not true. I can survive anywhere for a period of time, but changing beds every two nights for three weeks is not enjoyable, and coming home to an empty room is lonely. (Queue the Bublé…)

: A nomadic family on the move in Somaliland.

In Somaliland, I spent time with real nomads. Not only do they move with their herds of camels and goats from place to place in search of water, they often do this away from all other social contact for weeks, maybe months at a time. My wife and I may not see our family very often, but at least we have church, colleagues, and neighbors. True nomads just keep moving, but in Somaliland that is changing.

Years of drought and desertification, coupled with conflict, are making the nomadic way of life much more risky. Rains are fewer and far between. I’ve visited places that get rain two or three days per year. Ironically, so much rain falls that day that it causes walls of water 15 feet high to roar down dry river beds, washing away whole families. Between the constant wind and these flash floods, soil is eroded away and the high central plains are mostly bare rock, with a few inedible shrubs.

Driving across this expanse of desert, not passing a vehicle for days, it is easy to see the comfort of the nomadic life, as well as the struggle for existence. It’s very peaceful—just a few wild animals, the sky, vast stretches of land, quietly grazing herds. But the daily trek for water can be 30 or 40 miles, and there is no health care, no education, no places of worship. You live alone, and you will likely die alone. Why then does this way of life persist? Why is it so heartbreaking to see nomadic families lose everything, and be forced to live in villages, where they make less than 50 cents a day?

It’s about home. Home is not your living quarters, whether a hotel room, a grand palace, or a bundle of sticks and a tarpaulin. Home is not who you’re with, but who you miss. Home is about a sense of purpose, a feeling of well-being, regardless of services and amenities that are available. Home truly is “where the heart is.” But what does this have to do with me and Somaliland?

: Donkeys carry firewood and jerry cans in Somaliland.

In disaster recovery theory, we do not accept that we can enable a return to pre-event conditions. This is especially true in slow-onset disasters like droughts, where it is difficult to even set a time and place which is accepted as normal. Rather, there is a move towards building a new normal—a safer, more resilient, and more risk-adverse normal. In Somaliland, this means smaller herds, diverse income sources, and improved rangeland and water management. Technically sound, but for the old man who just wishes he could die the way he was born, on an open plain to the sound of camel bells and the blowing wind, it’s hooey. Recovery must be something you can believe in.

In my mind, recovering from a disaster is about accepting a new sense of the word normal, and embracing a future that is quite different from the past. It’s about acknowledging the inevitable march of progress, and anticipating the opportunity for previously unknown joys. It’s about coming home to a new home.

On the road to Somalia

Our team pulled out of Dadaab shortly after breakfast, on the road to Somalia. It’s a dry, dusty road, with thorny bush on either side. The road itself is badly rutted, so weave along the ditch, following two tire tracks in the sand. Occasionally, we jump up on the road and dip down the embankment to the other side, continuing the weaving through acacias, sand flying in little rooster tails behind us.

Following closely is our security escort, a good natured sergeant in the Administration Police, and three kids so green they barely shave. They get sent to the border fresh out of school, to work them in for a few years. Now, they chase behind us through the thorny wasteland.

The only sign of life are the dik-diks, meercats, and the birds. The birds are also a sign of death. The road is littered with cattle carcasses, at least one every kilometer, and the Marabou storks gather around them. I have never seen so many Marabou storks before. They are the undertakers of the animal kingdom, overdressed in their black coats, strutting awkwardly around, and omnipresent at a funeral. As we pull into Liboi, I notice the storks are bigger than the goats, or even a small child. And they are everywhere.

While we take some tea in Liboi, it starts to rain. Irony. Rain in a drought. But this isn’t really rain. I only notice it on my specs. It’s such a fine drizzle, my clothes don’t get wet, and the ground is no less dusty.

We head on, through a few checkpoints, and we are there. It comes as a bit of surprise, really. Our escort actually had to pull us over, so we didn’t cross the line. The Somalia border is signified by a stone. “That tree is Somali,” said our guide, “and this tree is a Kenyan.” As we waited for our vehicle from Somalia, we walked past the stone and looked around.

This was it. I was in Somalia. There were bullets in some of the trees, a battle had been fought here. One of the soldiers handed me a shell. “Your souvenir,” he said.

I returned to Liboi for a few hours, while I waited for the team in Somalia. At the borehole, warthogs jostled with goats for water. They told me even giraffes and gazelles came into town to get water now. “What about the lions?” I asked. There are about 20 out there, was the response, but they haven’t come into town. Later I met a refugee, who had seen a man killed by a lion attack in his travels.

I visited the school. It was Saturday, but the boarding students were still there, sleeping through the heat in their dorms with insufficient mattresses, hanging their laundry to dry from the broken panes of glass in the windows. Three hundred boys aged 12 and up, their parents nomadic, trying to finish primary school. They have 2 toilets, neither has a door. During the week the school swells to 800, and with their pipes broken, they can’t afford the water required for the kids to wash their hands before meals.

A young boy travels with his family across the Somalia-Kenya border.

In a small hotel, I found 100 refugees sleeping in the carport. They were waiting for evening to continue their journey. My guide told me to take their picture – that they said it was okay. The women covered their faces and looked away. They asked if I had any food. I didn’t – not for 100 people – and I felt like an idiot. The children all have watery diarrhea. I urge them, when they get to the camp, to take all their children to the clinic. “They will help you in Dadaab,” I said. I hope I’m right. I take the pictures, get in the car, and drive off. This is the part I hate.

When I met the team, they seemed a bit stunned. “It’s different over there. The ratio of soldiers to civilians is 4:1. Everyone has a gun.” And yet, the situation is really the same. Not enough food, not enough water, and not enough health care. They visited a hospital with most of the equipment intact, but holes in the wall from mortars and bullets. The roof had been destroyed in parts, and other walls were cracked and falling. An NGO is subsidizing water costs there, so at least the water is not too expensive.

We headed back to Dadaab as the sun began to set. Along the way we met a refugee family and their goats. “We left Kismayu 30 days ago,” they tell us. “People are starving to death there.”

The family of nine sleeps where night finds them, all their belongings on a donkey cart. They lost all their cows, and decided to leave before their goats died too. The woman is pregnant, and the oldest child is about 12. “Many of our people are going to Dadaab. Being in the camp is better than the drought.”

I found two packs of biscuits and a carton of juice in the boot. Our guide, a better man than I, gave them fare for the bus he knew was coming, so the mother and children could ride for 50 kilometers. The red sun slipped below the horizon into night.

World Concern is one of the first NGOs to be able to help in southern Somalia since Al-Shabaab, the militant group that controls the area, lifted a ban on humanitarian aid groups coming in. Learn more about our response and donate at www.worldconcern.org/crisis.

Education is vital for South Sudan’s survival

The birthday party is officially over, and now the Republic of South Sudan has a lot of growing up to do. After three days of celebration and festivities, today the people of the new nation have to face the reality of a very difficult uphill climb. The Comprehensive Peace Agreement, which culminated in secession this weekend, was a six-year “peace” that involved almost daily fighting. This followed a 20-year war with more than 2 million casualties.

An Arabic class of 100. — There are 100 students in this 8th grade Arabic class, held in a tent in South Sudan.

Unfortunately, human lives were not the only casualty of war. Currently, 75% of South Sudanese do not have access to basic healthcare. There are only 20 secondary schools in the entire country of 10 million people. The past few years have seen an influx of more than 2 million refugees from the North, further burdening the underdeveloped system.

Dropout rates in South Sudan are the highest in the world, with less than 25% of children in school. Of the students who do make it school, more than 80% are in temporary shelters, and less than 15% have desks and chairs for the students. Finding a teacher is also difficult, as the adult literacy rate is less than 25%. Girls suffer the most. In 2004, as few as 500 girls finished primary school.

“We need basic education for our children,” said one mother. “The government promises free education, but there are not enough schools. Then we need to provide a uniform and a registration fee [costing about $67]. We don’t have money for schools.”

This awareness is the first step toward change. Adult literacy, especially for women, has shown the value of education, and enrollment is up every year. The government does, however need support. In Kwajok, more than a thousand students still attend class under a tree – and bring their own chair. Teachers have class sizes as high as 100.

Holding class under a tree. — Students often bring their own chair and meet under a tree for class.

World Concern is working with the Ministry of Education in Warrap State to build more classrooms in Kwajok, and together with UNICEF, established a new school.

In addition, we are expanding enrollment in our vocational school, to allow more men and women the opportunity for literacy and job skills. In a rapidly growing economy, demand for skilled trades is high, and these graduates are being employed by the government and NGOs, or starting their own businesses.

The road ahead is long, but for the South Sudanese, it is a worthwhile journey. Education is vital to the survival of a nation. Without it, people will continue to suffer, even with their political independence. World Concern is excited to walk the road of opportunity with the people of the Republic of South Sudan.

Chris Sheach is World Concern’s Deputy Director of Disaster Response.

For more information on our work in South Sudan, visit www.worldconcern.org/feedsudan.

Winds of change blow through South Sudan

Holding the flag of South Sudan — Citizens of South Sudan hold their new flag on the eve of the newest nation's birth.

The winds of change are blowing in Wau. After the biggest rain storm of the season washed the streets clean this morning, the skies cleared, and Southern Sudanese got down to very serious business. In a few hours, the 193rd nation in the world will celebrate its independence.

For weeks now, everyone, young and old, has been preparing for this. Students have practiced their dancing and singing, military bands march up and down as they practice their formations, and everyone is cleaning, decorating and putting on their best show. The optimism and energy are electric. The sound of the brand new national anthem, played through loudspeakers all over town so everyone can learn it, is a background to the frenzied last minute preparations.

But the excitement is not the whole story. Today I sat with people displaced from Abyei, homeless and hungry during the greatest day in their nation’s history. An elderly man named John, blind and frail, ran from Abyei town as soldiers burned houses to the ground. His tales of the journey are horrific, including rescuing an orphaned baby on the way.

The people of South Sudan have welcomed his family and offered them free accommodations. But aid agencies are having a difficult time registering the fluid flow of migrants, and basic needs are not being met. Although John hopes for a new future, he is wise enough to know things won’t change at the stroke of midnight.

Dancing in South Sudan. — People were dancing and celebrating in the hours leading up to South Sudan's independence.

“The new government can make a difference, but what will happen to the people of Abyei until then?” he wonders. “If the area is secure we will go back, but until then we don’t want to be forgotten.”

World Concern will be celebrating along with the people of the new Republic of South Sudan, and we will walk alongside the hungry, homeless and in need until their lives are stable. To help, visit www.worldconcern.org/feedsudan.