The First Mission

He came to us at night, half-naked, covered in dust, and breathing heavily.

"Help me! Please! They want to kill me! Please!"

I had just fallen asleep, so I was awake again in a flash.

"Zandro! Get up!" I shouted as three men ran in after him.

The largest grabbed him by the arm, was pulling on him, trying to pull him away from us.

"Wait, wait!" I shouted. I felt the stick the large man carried whip past my face as he tried to strike the man I was trying to protect. "MY FRIEND. WAIT! You've nearly hit me now."

When the belt nearly hit me, I placed myself directly between the two. One man on the ground, trying to shield his face from the blows, the other in a murderous rage.

What I didn't realize was the man doing the beating had several inches and at least 45 pounds on me. If it had been daylight, I don't know if I'd have been as quick to intervene.

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It was supposed to be an easy assessment mission. We'd be providing protection support for the International Organization for Migration (IOM) in their distribution of non-food items (NFIs). IOM delivered the mosquito nets and blankets. We made sure the little old ladies didn't have to stand out in the sun too long in one of the biggest swamps in the world.

At least it's green.

Early on in our stay, however, we were approached by the local ICRC representative, who brought us a Kenyan man and a Ugandan husband and wife. They were looking to be repatriated to their home countries after months of fleeing the conflict around Malakal.

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There are things that must remain confidential. Things we know cannot be said. Things we see cannot be reported, if for no other reason then that they might put others at risk.

The Ugandan had been a merchant. He had money. Through a very circuitous path, the Ugandan found himself beaten, a gun in his mouth, forcibly marched out to the bush.

I've read far too many stories of human rights abuses in Africa to know that his story ended in anything other than murder. In Côte d'Ivoire, outside Man, I heard firsthand that both government and rebel forces had executed men outside town. Nigeria is notorious for police and military abuses that end with a "thief" shot while "trying to escape" even if his hands were bound and the bullet went through the back of his skull.

It was suicide for our Ugandan to push and try to run. It was suicide to stay and die in the bush. His potential executioners tried to wrestle him to the ground. He ran. They caught him near the river. He slipped his shirt and jumped our fence, where he'd found the people who'd promised his safety.

Four days later, we helped extract him, his wife, and the Kenyan. We got them safely aboard a helicopter to Rumbek and a plane to Juba.

At the airport, the Ugandan and the wife thanked us with shy smiles. The Kenyan, however, hugged each of us tight. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'll never forget you. You saved my life. I'll never forget you."

He was a driver. A young guy who'd been caught up in the violence and had been running from it since. He was finally on his way back home.

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They're safe now. The three of them. There are others who aren't so lucky, who are still trapped in a sea of violence, trying to get home.

Imagine having no access to the outside world. The network is down. You haven't spoken to your family in months. They have no way of knowing whether you're alive or dead.

That's the fate of thousands throughout South Sudan at the moment, both foreign and domestic.

With this mission, we helped three find their way home.

For me, it was my first mission, a baptism by fire, as my partner Zandro put it.

I wouldn't have it any other way.