The Road North Toward the Border

By: John Jefferson

The Road North Toward the Border  

Crowded in the front cab of a Land Cruiser pickup and bouncing along a deeply rutted dirt road in 105 degree heat isn’t exactly most people’s idea of a good time unless of course you have planned, prayed and plotted for a few months in hopes of being in just that situation.  It also beats being in the back of said vehicle with a couple of drums of fuel, a ton of luggage and supplies, and a host of well-armed soldiers with live rounds of ammunition. 

After having faced a high level of scrutiny from the local authorities, unscrupulous merchants who raised prices hourly, the threat of a deluge of rain, reluctant truck owners that inflated their rates once they heard where we wanted to go, and a host of other obstacles, it was actually a great relief to be finally on the road and heading toward the destination the End Nuba Genocide team had so often been told was impossible to reach.  A sense of destiny took hold over the doubt, dissonance, and fear so prevalent during the planning stages back in the States.  

Though rough, the road proved to be in relatively good shape and we made excellent time as we drove north looking for the last city before we headed toward the border.  The weather was hot and the air was dry, but soon the sun would be going down and the trip would resume under the cover of darkness.  We bumped along into the night without incident, though I thought to myself how easy it would be to get ambushed driving along a road of deeply rutted dried mud encased by walls of dense brush and tall spiny trees on either side?  Our driver, Ahmad, seemed to know just when the bumpy road would turn into a launch pad and slow down enough to make it seem like we hit an obnoxious speed bump as opposed to launching the guys riding in the bed like projectiles into the black night, or sending the heads of us in the cab careening into the roof of the truck.  

At one point we came to a sudden halt, and the soldiers jumped out quickly to the sound of rustling in the bush.  After a few tense moments with the occasional shout, I saw a donkey come into focus surrounded by three soldiers who were going through the contents it was carrying.  There was no owner in sight.  My first instinct was to feel sorry for the mystery owner.  His milk, small amount of food, and probably most precious possession (or valuable at least) was now in the hands of these men; the same ones I was trusting my life to in a way.  How were they handling this situation?  Were they being soldiers of fortune or guardians of the realm?  As I pondered this and the incident faded behind us in the cloud of dust made by our Land Cruiser, Ahmad explained through the interpreter that the man with the donkey was probably an “Arab” herder, or more accurately a Baggara. 

The backstory is that in South Kordofan, as in other parts of Sudan, the Northern government has used these semi-nomadic herders to disrupt or end the lives of the indigenous Africans or Nubans.  They are armed and dangerous in many cases, and used by the government for raiding villages, capturing children for the slave trade, destroying crops, and displacing Christian, Animist, and nominal Muslim farmers and herders with loyal, Islamized Sudanese without a strong tie to the land or its resources.   At the inception of the war in 2012, these Baggara, along with the militias and Antonovs (bombers) ran wild over this part of the Nubas chasing the people off their land and killing many civilians.  Women were also assaulted and rule of law was nonexistent. (Though they were citizens of Sudan, the fact that the rebels came from the area disqualified native Nubans from even the most basic human rights apparently)  It was out of this state of anarchy that the rebellion and the reoccupation of the land by the SPLA-North was birthed.  In this context, it became a little clearer to me why the soldiers handled the situation the way they did.  Likewise, my naïve first response to the situation and misguided sympathies for the owner of the donkey are emblematic of how Westerners can be manipulated by the media and partial information when it comes to places with rich and complex histories like South Kordofan and Sudan in general.  It taught me a good lesson in prejudging situations, one which I hoped I would not have to learn over and over again as the journey continued.

The Next Team is Leaving Soon! (Pray with Us)

The rainy season is fast approaching, which will limit the ability to deliver food to the Sudanese people.
The next team is going out soon. Leaving Sunday afternoon. Returning in approximately 2 weeks.

A Long Journey by Operation Broken Silence



Nice To Meet You by Operation Broken Silence

Special Delivery by Operation Broken Silence



We're Here To Help by Operation Broken Silence




Close Examination by Operation Broken Silence

People have given.

The team is going.

We are telling.

You can pray. 

 Contact Jessica to be a part of our 24 hour around the clock prayer team. Email her at: jessjohnson624@sbcglobal.net to sign up! 

And from the bottom of our hearts we thank you for all of your continued support. 

A Christmas Eve of Expectation & Anticipation

Written By: John Jefferson

Christmas Eve is a time of expectation, hope and fulfillment, not only for the millions of children that are looking for presents under the tree, but also for millions of people who await the return of Christ. 

This is how the Nuba people celebrate Christmas, and those among them that have survived years of persecution, war, and the threat of widespread famine, their only real hope. As we are here to represent Christ on earth and do His work, it is only fitting that the End Nuba Genocide project's second phase is moving steadily toward these desperate people with a message of hope in the form of several tons of nutritive foods. 

We hope they will arrive by Christmas Day, but whenever the shipment arrives, it will mark the unfailing hand of God and the triumph of His people over many obstacles, snares and trials, to get it there. 

Two of the team left in mid-December to time their arrival with that of the food shipment near the border. From there, with temperatures of well over 100 degrees, they will take the now dry and dusty roads into the war zone. Bombs are still dropping every day on civilian targets throughout South Kordofan, and the world has found other things to be concerned about. Tens of thousands are at risk of starvation and many find a much quicker route to eternity through raids on villages and indiscriminate bombing raids. Christian villages are especially targeted, but none are escaping the wrath of the Fundamentalist Northern government. 

In the midst of this, as we celebrate the Soon and Coming King together with our brothers and sisters in Sudan, let's pray all the more earnestly that this Christmas will see the fulfillment of the hope and the reward for the perseverance of those that need it most. I look forward to updating you once the team has fulfilled its mission and is safely back, but know the work is still continuing.

Merry Christmas!

Stories from the Ground: In the Mountains

Written By: John Jefferson

The next morning we rose early and had a meeting with the leaders of the command post which we used as our forward base for the distribution of the food.  Working with community leaders, the most needy families were identified and we set out early to visit the people.  

Walking past open fields where it would have made sense to see crops growing and farmers tending to them, we moved along narrow paths leading into the hills.  Everywhere small houses or tukals appeared nestled in between the rocks and crags and amongst them stalks of sorghum rose valiantly, if not defiantly as if to make a vain challenge to Bashir’s program of annihilation.  

We first visited a large extended family that had taken shelter amidst these rocks and built lodgings to protect themselves from the bombardment of the Government of Sudan’s Antonovs.  Their physical appearance and surroundings testified to the desperateness of their situation.  The children had the characteristic red hair caused by protein malnutrition and everyone was thing and gaunt.  

Though the Nubans are a strong people, the weariness of war and hunger, and a certain sense of resignation and hopelessness, showed on the faces of the adults.

One story typified the predicament of the Nuba people and their intimate ties to the land and the seasons. 

We came upon a woman with four young children living among the rocks in the hills around the compound we were visiting.  She had a look of profound weariness on her face, and seemed drained of life as we talked to her with the children scattered around her. (They were thin and ill-clothed as well)  Also present was an older women, her mother-in-law, and another woman with two children who was her husband’s sister)  She told us how she had come from a village further north that was first raided by government soldiers than payloads from the bombers.  Unable to plant crops, she and her family fled and wound up in this, one of the southernmost villages of the Nuba mountains.  Here they occupied a compound that was abandoned by a family fleeing the bombing there. (Yes, the Government of Sudan bombs indiscriminately, and very near as well as on the Republic of Sudan side of the border – and has even bombed the refugee camps in Southern Sudan!)  In essence, she had gone out of the frying pan and into the fire, and now, with no food or energy to go further, was forced to scrape out an existence for herself and her four children in the rocks, hiding in the caves when the bombers strike. (The fields in the valley below the hills are fertile, but this woman and her husband could not go to them to cultivate for security reasons and out of fear the children would follow them and not be able to get to safety fast enough should something happen.  This was a common theme)  What can people do in the face of such evil?  Well, fight.  Fight to stay alive another day, and fight the good fight of faith, that in the end they will receive the crown of glory.  We gave the family some rice and sorghum to help them in their battle against hunger and disease and prayed more aid would come before the end...

Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him. James 1:12 NIV

Stories from the Ground: We Make Our Plans

Written By: John Jefferson

“We make our plans, but the Lord orders our steps”. Prov. 16:9

Did you ever try to plan out what you were going to do when you got to the amusement park as a kid excitedly the night before family vacation?  How you were going to go on this ride first, then that one, go and grab this kind of snack, then run off to such and such a place while you eat it, etc.  Of course the calculations didn’t include hitting the ceiling on your parent’s budget prematurely, ride closures, extra-long lines, little brother having to go to the bathroom, getting lost, or a myriad of other things that caused disruption.  In the end, the bigger plan of you getting to the park and having a good time, the one your parent’s probably had all along, was the only one that got fulfilled, and them keeping you away from consuming all the junk food you could and going on rides that would cause you to prematurely divest of that food or keep you up all night in terror was the only thing that ensured you would indeed enjoy it.

“Planning” this trip was a little like that.  We had to first dream about getting food to an isolated part of the world under conditions that were less than optimal in terms of security (i.e. entering a war zone).  

This was complicated by fact that seasonal rains were set to begin soon, and funds needed to be raised to even talk about taking action to help those at risk of starvation.  Despite these obstacles, a practical, implementable and executable plan had to be developed quickly in order to raise funds, then begin to take the steps necessary to fulfill the mission.  On our first conference call we established that we needed a clear plan and purpose to our mission, including a target population to serve.  There was some vacillation due to the constantly changing conditions on the ground and information about what was and wasn’t possible.  Through all the iterations involving different modes of transportation and scenarios, it was determined we would do whatever it took to get as much food as possible to the people in need, by whatever means available.

The stages of the plan became clear: 

• Procure transportation to the destination, or at least the promise of it.  
• Identify food types (we settled on nutritive supplements and foodstuffs), quantity, and sources. 
• Raise necessary funds to buy and transport food.  
• Assemble a team to take the food to the destination, and one with local contacts that could help distribute it to those in the greatest need.  
• Finally, set the date for the mission, purchase the food and transportation, and prepare for takeoff.  

Along the way a million discouragements and changes of plan took place before even setting out, and the timing of the team departure and corresponding delivery of the food to our jumping off point was in jeopardy upon leaving the States.  Nevertheless, we had a plan, and even a backup plan, and knew that our steps were being ordered in spite of those plans.  

This became more and more evident as we proceeded. (Interesting things like we left in the midst of the rainy season and heavy rains that had fallen even two weeks before our departure dried up almost completely the week before we got there…we certainly encountered mud, but mostly walked on dry ground and never saw significant rainfall)

When we finally arrived at our destination in the Nuba Mountains, we had procured ½ a ton of grain despite our original shipment not making it in time, traveled tens of miles through rough terrain with various modes of transportation despite having trucks get bogged down, vehicles run out of gas, and being unable to acquire a single mode that could take passengers and cargo uninterrupted from start to finish, and arrived safely in a place that was purportedly inaccessible despite the threat of aerial bombardment, government militias, and hostile environmental forces.  

Having done so, we divided the food we had, and closely followed the direction of local leaders, who brought us to families in need.  Families holed up in dens and caves in the earth.  Families eating unripened grain, harvested early to keep from starving.  Families with members too weak to flee the threat of war, but too afraid to stay where they were.  Desperate families with children whose hair has turned red from malnutrition, and whose clothes and patience were wearing thin waiting on the world community to do something.  Our plan was to get to these people to give them food, give them hope, and let them know their waiting wasn’t in vain.  

As I sat at the foot of the mountains that first evening we arrived and marveled at how we arrived in that forsaken place, contrasted with its utter beauty and deceiving serenity, I realized that it wasn’t any plan of our making alone that got us to that point.  It had too many holes and inconsistencies to accomplish so great a task and include so many helpful people we had no idea existed.  Indeed, it was as if every step we took was ordered so that we would not falter.

“For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them”.  Eph. 2:10

Stories from the Ground: Stuck Part 2 - UNSTUCK

Written By: John Jefferson

Continued from yesterday...

It took several hours to dislodge the truck from the muddy, water-filled "crevasse" it slid into on the road from the refugee camp to the border.  That was time we didn't have to waste, so we unloaded the food, and our gear, and started walking with our gear, using the ATV to shuttle the cargo.

We bedded down at the last bore hole on the border before continuing our journey northward.  We were not able to get an accurate reading on how far it would be to get to the foothills of the Nuba Mountains, whether there would be water along the way, or exactly what the road conditions were.  We did know we would have to rely on the ATV and a couple of intrepid bicyclists to carry the food.  We’d also be challenged by muddy, sandy, tire-grooved, winding trails through thick brush and tall grasses combined with high heat and still higher humidity.

After about an hour of walking, we became keenly aware of just how uninformed we were about the length of road before us.  Most Nubans don’t carry watches or time pieces, and they have walked all their lives.  So the correlation between walking, time and distance is not the same for them as it is for us. 

(They are also in incredible shape and probably wouldn’t ask the question the same way…we ask in desperation: “Please, how far is it?  I’m dying here and need to know precisely how far to xyz and how long will it take!?!”)

We were told different time frames up to 4 or 5 hours and calculated about 8, which turned out to be about right unfortunately.  The other unfortunate thing was that water was scarce beyond the border checkpoint where we spent the night, so we essentially ran out of water just shy of the next source.  Our 60lb packs loaded with food, rain gear we ended up not needing, and supplies for the trek and stay, were taking their toll.  Fleet footed soldiers helped us keep pace for a time, then passed us with ease as they walked in their flip-flops with their boots and light gear strung across their shoulders.  

We passed 10s of families going the opposite way carrying what little they had and hoping for food and security in Yida some 30 miles south.  Young childrens walked or those too young to walk were carried.  It was rare to see a person older than say mid-50s for obvious reason. 

(We even passed a young family of brothers and sisters that left their parents in the mountains, something unheard of in that culture under normal circumstances)

The heat of the day no doubt surpassed 100 degrees as we moved through the swampy, steamy back country.  At one point we stopped and rung out our “dry fit” shirts yielding enough “Gatorade” for a nice warm drink!

Soaked with sweat, our boots caked with mud making a nice clay oven effect, blisters, sun burn, dehydration and eventually signs of fatigue were taking their toll by the time the sun started to take a downward trajectory on the horizon.  

The ATV that had shuttled the food back and forth between different stopping points had completed moving the food after 6 ½ hours, and the bicyclists that were carrying about 150 lbs of rice were coming close to completing their arduous journey. (They had offered to help for 150 Sudanese pounds a piece, so we agreed given it was only $30 and would give them much needed funds)  

As we approached the last five miles or so the ATV returned to pick up some of our gear and give a ride to one particularly exhausted team member, which was indeed a blessing for him and alleviated concerns about him succumbing to heat exhaustion.  Eventually, we all made it to the final checkpoint before getting to the mountains, at one point even passing a vehicle that was sent to pick us up and got stuck in the mud!  

The elation of standing at the foot of the mountains and looking at our precious cargo which took so much time and effort to bring was indescribable.  Even more powerful was the feeling of anticipation as I thought about finally getting the opportunity to actually give it to the Nuban people .  As the sun set over the mountains, the painful walk and all the pressure of entering aa war zone without knowing exactly how our plan would be executed faded with the light of day.  We knew the day was ending, and the cool of the evening would soon be replacing it, just as the light of a new day would come….very soon.