Field Notes from South Sudan
In the heart of South Sudan, where access to medical care is scarce, the journey to restored sight begins on the waters of the White Nile. Patients, many blind for years, are carefully ferried across the crocodile-infested river in a hollowed-out wooden boat, clinging to hope as they make their way toward a life-changing surgery.
Chris Hildreth of Rooster Media is a master storyteller. He uses his camera to connect people and places by creating emotional snapshots to bring one into the moment. He recently traveled with the Cure Blindness Project team to South Sudan.
The plane touched down on a pitted, packed dirt runway in Malakal. Remnants of better days litter the landscape. Shells of discarded and abandoned planes line either side of the runway. The road from the airport to the outreach shares space with rusted tanks left to decay; a daily reminder of the armed conflict that dominated much of the area’s recent history.
It’s this welcome that greets photographer Chris Hildreth from Rooster Media. A gifted photojournalist, Hildreth travels with Cure Blindness Project occasionally to share our work through his lens.
“This trip to South Sudan felt different from the last: More desolate. More desperate,” Chris says. “When patches are removed (in other countries) there’s often celebration. Here, it’s degrees of happiness. Life and living has worn them (the patients) down.”
Cure Blindness Project began working in South Sudan in 2011. Since then, together with partners Cure Blindness Project has hosted 20 outreaches providing sight-restoring surgeries to treat cataracts and trachomatous trichiasis (TT).
For many, these outreaches are the only opportunity to receive much needed care. After years of conflict and only a handful of eye care professionals to serve a population of nearly 11 million, most South Sudanese lack adequate access to eye care. Some data estimates the eastern African country has one ophthalmologist per 2.5 million people.
Working alongside the Catholic Diocese of Wau, Chris joined outreach staff as they gathered patients living along the banks of the White Nile. An overladen cargo boat slowly drifted along the shores, stopping to collect the blind. For three days, the St. Bakhita collected patients. Many arrived without food or water. All hoping for a chance to see again.
Chris worried the weight of the boat, sinking nearly level with the water with the added weight of more patients, would tip into the crocodile infested White Nile. But leaving patients behind without the chance of restored sight seemed a worst fate. The boat continued its journey to the outreach.
No docks line the White Nile. Entry (and deboarding) boats involves a precarious balancing act of stepping and hopping. Caregivers exit first to instruct their charges with shouts of “Be careful” and “Step down now”. The boat rocks as weight disperse with each exit.
Back on solid ground, patients walk towards the tented make-shift surgical camp. Volunteers register patients. Nurses prep patients for surgery before others lead them to waiting doctors.
The choreography of an outreach, the series of steps from arrival to departure, allow for the smooth flow of patients from blind to sighted. It allows for miracles to happen.
For those keeping count, in this northeastern enclave with a protected encampment of 50,000 living under the umbrella of UN support, miracles number nearly 800.
