Three minutes to call the person you love
We live in the most connected of times. It has never been easier to communicate with a loved one; by text, email, Twitter, Facebook, WhatsApp, Skype or even by phoning them. Friends, colleagues, family members are all available to us, 24/7 no matter where they are in the globe. This is the era of communication.
So imagine if that was all taken away from us over night. What, if instead of mass communication, you could just phone one person, for two minutes, and nothing else. It’s almost impossible to imagine. Who would you call? What would you say?
In South Sudan, for many people, that is their reality. In 2013, just two years after it became an independent state, South Sudan was thrown into a brutal civil war; communities were split, families separated.
Akobo is a town in Jonglei State, on the border with Ethiopia, and about 280 miles from the South Sudanese capital, Juba. It has suffered through years of war, so in 2011, when South Sudan finally became an independent country, a wave of optimism swept through the town. Finally, after years of conflict, it seemed peace had come and many from Akobo moved to the capital, Juba, to find new opportunities to work or study.
In Akobo itself, many families were split, as men stayed to look after their homes and farmland, whilst their wives and children sought refugee from the fighting in neighbouring Ethiopia and Kenya. Most thought the war would be over in a few weeks, then the families would return.
Then the phone networks were shut down, and Akobo, like many towns and villages in South Sudan, found its self shut off from the outside world. The war raged on, and there was no way to contact family and friends. Many were unsure if their loved ones were even alive. In this connected world, Akobo had lost all communication.
In 2013 the ICRC’s Restoring Family Links Program came to Akobo. As part of the project, in July 2014 the ICRC gave people the chance to use a satellite phone. For many, this would be the first time they’d spoken to their missing relatives for two years.
Sheltering from the savage sun under a tree, on the outskirts of town, Akobo residents sit patiently for their turn on the phone. They register, as many as two hundred a day, then wait. When the loudspeaker calls their name, they walk into the field, clutching a piece of paper with the precious number that they hand to the ICRC staff member. He dials, passes the phone back…..
They are allowed just three minutes on the phone.
It’s hard to imagine, but for the residents of Akobo, that is their lifeline to the world. If you just had two minutes to speak to the person you loved. Who would you call? What would you say?
In October 2015, British photographer Giles Duley went to Akobo, Jonglei State, to document this project, led by the ICRC and a team of South Sudan Red Cross volunteers.
Liep Wan Loang, 35 years old, from Akobo
Liep was calling his wife, whom he hadn’t seen or spoken to since December 2013.
He wanted to know how she was and to ask about his children. Liep wanted to say: “I miss you miss and our children, but don’t worry, I’m doing well.”
Nyanding Kuang Puol, 31 years old, from Akobo.
Nyanding was calling her children who fled the fighting in December 2013. She has seven children and lost contact with them soon after they left.
She wanted to know they were ok. She wants the children home, so she can look after them, but for now she knows that’s not possible.
Kong Gatkek Chika, 34 years old, from Akobo.
Kong was calling his wife and three children, who fled to Uganda on 15th December 2013.
Kong just wanted to call to know they were ok and to let them know he was safe.
“I just want you all to come home,” he told them.
Wan Kiir Wan, 39 years old, from Akobo.
Wan was calling his wife. He hadn’t spoken to her since March 2014.
He wanted to know how she was and to encourage her to be patient. “In due time,” he told her, “we will be together again.”
Nyiakubo Wiyual, 16 years old, from Akobo.
Nyiakubo was calling her brother whom she thought had been killed in the fighting. She hadn’t heard from him since 2013.
During the call she started to cry. “I am crying because I thought that my brother had been killed, but now I hear his voice. I’m so happy,” she said.
Chiey Yak Puok, 33 years old, from Akobo.
Chiey was calling his sister, who he had last seen in 2013 when she escaped from the fighting in Akobo.
His message for her was simple: “Two days ago my wife gave birth to a baby girl. You are an aunt!”
Yen Gai Nai, 40 years old, from Akobo.
Yen was calling her brother, whom she hadn’t spoken to since December 2013.
“I just wanted to know he’s ok,” she said.
John Kuich Chol, 42 years old, from Akobo
John was calling his wife and three children, who fled to Kenya when the fighting began in 2013.
“I just want to know they are ok,” he said.
Nyanchan Maluol Mot, 19 years old, from Akobo
Nyanchan was calling her sister. She was in an internally displaced persons camp in Juba. They hadn’t been in contact since 2013.
She wanted to tell her sister they had found another relative in Juba and hoped to put them in contact with each other so that her sister would not be alone.
Nyabuai Gai Rial, 19 years old from Akobo.
Nyabuai was calling her uncle in Bor. He’s been there since 2013 with his son.
Nyabuai’s aunt wasn’t able to walk all the way to where the calls were being made from. So she’d asked Nyabuai to call for her, to tell her husband she was ok.
Chieu Lam Turuk, 18 years old, from Akobo.
Chieu was calling her husband who was studying in Addis Ababa; they hadn’t been able to speak since April 2015.
She had news for him: she was pregnant! But she wanted him to know she was ok and that “he must continue with his education.”
Chol Lul Walou, approximately 60 years old, from Akobo
Chol was calling her daughter and son-in-law, whom she lost contact with in December 2013. They were living in Khartoum, Sudan.
When the war started, Chol was left alone and she has nobody to help her.
She asked her family to send clothes and money. “Because of the war I have nobody,” she said.
In #PushedToTheLimits we see the hardships that drive people to flee their homes and continue to bedevil them along their migration routes.
