Aerial view of long horns cows in a Mundari tribe cattle camp, Central Equatoria, Terekeka, South Sudan. (Photo by Eric Lafforgue / Hans Lucas / Hans Lucas via AFP)
South Sudan is one of the toughest places to grow up as a girl. Parents have never bothered with the development of girls or women, rather giving them away to suitors in exchange for wealth at the earliest available opportunity.
Some of the suitors are three times the age of the girl, and while she will be very uncomfortable and traumatised, no one really cares as long as the cows come in.
By the time I was 14 and just in senior school, my dad had already been approached by several suitors seeking my hand in marriage. At that tender age, many South Sudanese girls already have at least a child or two, with a predetermined future as housewives. I was determined not to have a similar fate.
Three hundred head of cattle were up for grabs for Dad but my idea was different. The day had been set for marrying me away to a man who is twice my age. He had wealth and my parents wanted it. They also thought marrying me off would protect me from sexual violence during the war.
South Sudan’s conflict has been defined by the rape and defilement of girls and women, among other crimes. War was raging all around me as I made the difficult decision to escape to neighbouring Uganda, through difficult terrain.
Today I am in senior four at school but the suitors still lurk, waiting for the chance to take me away and destroy my future. Most South Sudanese girls have had their dreams cut off by such men who usually take them as the third or fourth wives.
The laws of South Sudan have also dealt the girl child a huge blow. Customary laws among most South Sudanese look at the girl child as a commodity for getting wealth — cattle wealth especially. The younger the girl, the more cattle she will fetch, with the notion that she is still untouched, a virgin. So, girls are married off on the consent of the family, mainly the father and brothers, irrespective of whether the girl accepts or not.
Article 16 of the Constitution of South Sudan is seldom respected. It accords women full and equal dignity with men and mandates all levels of government to, among other things, enact laws to combat harmful customs and traditions which undermine the dignity and status of women.
South Sudan broke away from Sudan in 2011 and now, post independence, customary law has been put on a national pedestal, and recognised as underpinning society. Sex-related crimes have not been defined in these customary laws, which gives impunity to those who infringe the rights of the girl child.
In neighbouring Uganda, I sought refuge with a family who had escaped the war. Girls are treated differently there and the laws governing their lives are well defined. Defilement is not tolerated at both customary and national levels. I could then pursue my education with relative peace of mind. I felt I could participate in the decisions that affected me directly. But I couldn’t stay there forever.
Back in Juba, and once again with my family, I am scared for my future. Although I haven’t yet been stopped from going to school, my father and brothers aren’t agreeing with the decision that I complete my education before marriage. They want the cows quickly before my value drops.
My fate is that of many girls in South Sudan who are caught between conflict and family demands on their lives. They have been battered left and right by the crisis, losing their dignity, facing rape, defilement and many other forms of sexual violence.
Now, as the war has destroyed livelihoods and made many families very poor, getting wealth relies on using the girl child as an economic commodity. Refusing to respect decisions of the family has proved fatal for many such girls. In Lakes state, in 2020 alone, three girls were beaten to death for defying orders to go to their marital homes, killed by their own families.
Although the national laws respond to such extremes with arrest, prosecutions in court have not been very effective. The suspects usually get away with fines as little as one cow, paid to the maternal uncles of the girl.
I am determined to fight until my rights are respected, but who do I turn to? They are all the same. The people, at every level of society, government and all else, put customary laws first, before any other.
As I sit and write this essay, it could be my last independent action. I feel every relative questioning the decision on my status, asking, “When will she be given away to a man?” It keeps scaring me, yet I just want to get empowered through education so that I can help other girls who are in a hopeless situation like mine.
If writing this will help to release me from this bondage, as well as other girls from the same, I know I will have left a positive mark on the future of many of us.
This essay, first published in The Continent, won the inaugural Christopher Allen Prize for Writing. Christopher Allen was a journalist who was killed in 2017 while reporting on the conflict in South Sudan. The prize was established in his honour by his parents and is open to all secondary school students of South Sudanese descent living in Africa. The author’s identity is known but has been withheld because of the sensitive nature of her story. The second iteration of the prize is open for applications on christopherallen.org.