The local staff tell me “the river is running”. That means that the water level is finally going down. Lake Victoria, the source of water flowing into the White Nile, has falling levels for the first time in 20 months. Even when the rainy season ended last year, the river kept rising—and flooding Old Fangak. No one quite knew why.
In 2020, crops drowned in the floodwaters before they could be harvested. This year, fields still lay underwater when it was time to plant. So no harvest, two years in a row.
Water dominates our lives. Water flooding into houses, on airstrips, drowning cows, washing away any seeds people try to plant. Patients who live close by may walk through the water to access medical care. Others paddle in by dugout canoe, or build rafts of grass, or float on plastic mats. South Sudanese women have always carried heavy loads on their heads. Now, instead of wrapping babies close to their chests, they balance them in baskets or buckets atop their heads. Babies stay dry while moms push their way through chest-high water.
For months now, you found islands of dry ground only where people are both hardworking and lucky. Villagers build dikes by hand, and bail all the water out. You wade from one home to another, waist-deep in water. Then, at the home of the diligent water-bailer, you step over a dike onto almost-dry land.
Sorghum can’t grow underwater. Cows have nowhere to graze. People and animals need food to carry them through until the land is arable again.
The World Food Program supports our TB, kala azar, and HIV patients with a monthly distribution, which allows them to stay in Old Fangak long enough to complete treatment. COVID and widespread flooding have stretched WFP resources. They now give each patient food for 21 days a month, rather than 30. We can’t stand to see our patients leave treatment to search for non-existent food, so we supplement their supply. That gets expensive—but what can you do?
Since our whole population is hungry. WFP occasionally distributes food to the wider community. But this fall they announced that they could not do that any longer. Now the tension from chronic hunger is palpable. People collect water lilies and catch fish to soothe empty stomachs. But, unlike in previous hard times, there are no cows or milk to sustain them when crops fail.
LATE BREAKING NEWS:
WFP just contacted us, seeking our input. They confirmed that our food shortage is officially at crisis level.
This is awesome. WFP even said that “Moving food is WFP’s job, not Jill’s”! We hope that means they will supply community food BEFORE we reach widespread severe malnutrition. With water levels going down slowly, and the prospect of WFP food for the wider community, people may survive long enough to plant, and harvest, next year. Imagine the difference that would make.
South Sudan Medical Relief is fortunate to have a hospital and home built on stilts. A gasoline-powered pump frees us to see patients instead of spending all our time bailing water.
And we are a refuge to so many who’ve lost everything. Our inpatient hospital is always full. Morning clinic flows into afternoon clinic. Falling water levels create stagnant ponds, ideal for mosquito larvae. Last year there were months when we might have treated only 5 malaria patients. Now we see hundreds each month.
Two international photographers visited Old Fangak over the past year. Their photos are way better than what we produce, so please check out these links.
NPR’s first picture was shot in a village just downriver from us. A couple months after this picture was taken, I heard more noise than usual one night. I awoke to find the whole village of Chotbura migrating to Old Fangak. When water flowed in from an unexpected direction, residents grabbed anything they could carry and waded through the darkness. I watched the last Chotburans straggle in, stepping over the dike that Old Fangak was building in case that same water source threatened our community.
Many of the people of Chotbura have now been able to return home. South Sudan Medical Relief sent medication for malaria, diarrhea, and pneumonia with their community health worker. It is just too far to carry your febrile kid, over rivers and dikes, in the middle of the night.
We are sorry that our year-end letter is arriving so late. We have been touched by the number of contributions that arrived before we even asked. You are part of our team, and part of our village.
Thank you.
Jill Seaman