Home»Projects»A Land Caught Between Wars, Borders and Survival

South Sudan is a land of shifting waters and shifting fates, where war and climate change collide, leaving entire communities stranded in a cycle of displacement. In Bentiu, continuous flooding has reshaped the landscape permanently, drowning homes, roads, and livelihoods under water that refuses to recede. Elsewhere, the war in Sudan has forced waves of returnees and refugees across the border, seeking safety in a country already struggling under the weight of its own crises.

But even here, on land that should offer refuge, another silent killer remains—landmines. Decades after South Sudan fought for its own independence, the remnants of war still lurk beneath the surface. Fields that should be cultivated for food are instead danger zones, roads once used for escape now paths of uncertainty, and returning families—some displaced for years—face not just the challenge of rebuilding, but of surviving the very ground they walk on.

Then, there is Abyei—a town caught between two nations, yet governed by neither. A disputed territory, claimed by both Sudan and South Sudan but ruled by neither, Abyei exists in a fragile limbo under UN peacekeeping forces, a buffer zone where tensions simmer just beneath the surface. For those who live there, identity itself is a battleground. Stateless and uncertain, they navigate the complexities of a place that is home, yet politically ownerless, their futures determined by forces beyond their control.
Abyei’s struggle is not just one of political limbo—it is also one of tribal conflict. The land is home to both the Ngok Dinka, who align with South Sudan, and the Misseriya, a nomadic Arab tribe from Sudan. As migration routes shift and resources dwindle, tensions over land, cattle, and identity erupt into violent clashes, deepening the wounds of a people already fractured by war. The absence of a clear governing authority has turned Abyei into a flashpoint for conflict, where revenge attacks and cycles of violence have become tragically routine.

I have met these families—sat with them, listened to their stories, held their babies. I have seen how they have endured months in so-called temporary displacement sites, where tattered tents and overcrowded camps offer little protection from the elements, let alone a sense of home.

This collection of images is a testament to both survival and loss—to the people whose lives have been uprooted, whether by conflict, climate, or the unseen remnants of wars long declared over. And yet, for them, the war never truly ended.