Khor Omer is a camp for internally displaced persons (IDPs) in the
El De'ain county of South Darfur, a state in the western region of
the Sudan. It is a hot dusty place comprising rudimentary shelters
for about 20,000 people who fled the violence of Sudan's
long-running civil war. It in no way resembles the neat layout of
tents that most people associate with a refugee camp. IDPs are the
responsibility of their own government and don't have access to the
international protection afforded to refugees. Nor does assistance
to IDPs attract the kind of funds that refugee programmes do.



The only tents in Khor Omer are those used by the few international
non-governmental organizations (NGOs) working there to support
their work with the IDPs in the harsh desert climate of Sudan. The
camp is inaccessible by road from the state capital, Nyala, and can
only be reached by helicopter. It is also difficult for journalists
to access and thus of little interest to NGOs driven by the need to
raise funds through high profi le operations. The World Food
Programme (WFP) is present as is IOM and a limited number of NGOs.




At the far end of the camp, Rachel (not her real name) squats and
pokes at the smoking fire outside her shelter in a desultory manner
as if trying to find answers to difficult questions in the tiny
flames. On top of the fire sits a blackened aluminium pot in which
bubbles a thin sorghum porridge.



The shelter is not much more than a metre high made in the local
style of bent sticks driven into the ground and covered in a
mixture of branches, grasses and discarded plastic bags. The
discarded plastic bags which have become an icon of 21st century
Africa are ripped and torn and fl ap in the breeze. Their red blue
and yellow stripes add a macabre air of carnival to the scene of
relentless poverty that is the Khor Omer IDP camp. The day is hot
and windy and the plastic bags rustle insistently in the breeze.




Rachel arrived at Khor Omer almost two months ago with her three
children from another camp at Beleil, about 18 km to the southeast
Nyala and north from where she is now. Her recent arrival means her
shelter is on the outside of the main IDP gathering and lacks the
security of the more established shelters nearer the centre. The
covering of the shelter provides some respite from the hot sun of
the early afternoon but there will be no protection from the heavy
rains between May and October.



Two of her three children take advantage of the shade having spent
the morning sifting the sand in the shelter in an attempt to
eradicate the local black beetles which have a mildly poisonous
bite and cause painful infected swellings. Her third child, a boy
of about a year, tugs at a distended breast in a listless and
disinterested manner while she continues poking the fire.



Rachel was born sometime in the mid-80s in a satellite village just
to the south of Mareil-Bai in Northern Bahr el Ghazal province and
before she could walk, was forced to flee with her parents to avoid
the inter-ethnic fighting of that time between an Islamic
government, their proxies and largely Christian tribes including
Rachel's own Dinka.



Rachel's father had been proud of his herd of around 30 cattle and
had been considered quite prosperous. But the cattle were looted by
pro-government forces that overran his village and the family was
left with nothing. Nevertheless, he took the decision to make the
nearly 500-km walk north to relative safety in South Darfur. Rachel
does not remember the walk nor the brother who died on the journey.
She does not know her age - she's in her

mid-twenties but looks much older. And she doesn't know her
birthday either. With no parents alive, there is no one to ask.




Many Dinka made some sort of a life in South Darfur after the first
flight of the mid-eighties. They had a traditional relationship
with the farmers and landowners of a comparatively rich South
Darfur for whom they provided agricultural labour. But when
violence broke out in Darfur in 2003, they had to flee again, once
more losing all they owned. Whilst not directly involved in the
violence, the African Christian Dinka became a target of ethnic
hatred

from all sides and fled from rural areas to towns such as Nyala,
which became the main concentration of Dinka in the state.



Some fled to Beleil, which lies next to the railway. In recent
months, the numbers in Beleil camp have fluctuated as more Dinka
seek refuge from inter-tribal fighting while others move on. The
fighting between government and rebel forces and between different
tribes and factions of the immature Sudan Liberation Army (SLA) and
the consequent violence against the civilian population is the
worst since the Darfur conflict first broke out in 2003.



Many like Rachel, once a resident of Beleil, have decided to return
home. Whilst they know that whatever infrastructure of their home
state of Bahr el Ghazal there was has been entirely shattered by
the conflict they

once escaped, many prefer the safety away from the increasing
violence in Darfur.



Rachel's story as a single mother and head of a household
comprising three children is not untypical. In the beginning, after
her husband died, life was possible. She was young, strong and able
to walk large distances to gather firewood to sell to charcoal
burners or other IDPs.

But a year and a half ago, while gathering firewood by herself
some kilometres away from Beleil, she came across three men dressed
in uniforms and carrying guns. They taunted her and said she become
their "wife". When she refused, they beat her. Two of the men raped
her and the third sexually assaulted her with his gun, causing her
to bleed extensively. Although badly hurt, Rachel managed to get
back to her shelter and children in Beleil. She had no idea who the
men were or who they were fighting for.

Apart from the horror of the encounter, Rachel's ability to earn
money was severely depleted. She was injured but terrified to seek
medical assistance as she would have to explain the encounter and
thus deal with the shame once the physical injuries had healed.
These included a livid scar running from her mouth across her
cheek. And then she discovered she was pregnant with her younger
son.



The other tragedy is Rachel's encounter wasn't unique. The women in
the camp have largely stopped seeking firewood and thus lost the
dollar that a day's firewood collecting could earn. The only ones
to profit are the militias and

other proxies who now sell firewood in the camp and employ the
women on minimal wages - even by Beleil standards - in
the backbreaking work of manufacturing bricks.



There have been periodic distributions of food in the camp and
Rachel once received some metal pots and a plastic sheet. She also
had blankets but life had become much harder. The plastic sheet had
long gone to raise cash for

medicines for one of her children. Rachel had seen people in white
cars driving into the camps and the sheikhs had been talking of
return to her homeland. Some said there was nothing there, but
others said there would be food and maybe a small plot of land to
grow things.



It was then that Rachel decided to return to a homeland that she
did not remember, did not really know where it was and with which
she had very few connections. She went to the railway station close
to the camp almost everyday and this was how she met a nazir
(chief) of the train to El De'ain, halfway to Bahr el Ghazal, but
still in South Darfur. The nazir had established a business by
providing accommodation in the freight cars of the train for Dinka
returning home. The "fare" is about 1,500 Sudanese dinars (US$7).
Rachel did not have it. But if she wanted to board the train, there
was only one thing left she had to offer to obtain a favour. There
was no thought as to how she was going to complete the rest of the
journey. It was enough to make a start.



Once Rachel reached El De'ain, she walked with her three children
to the Khor Omer camp some 10 km to the south of the small railway
town. Now she is planning the second leg of her journey, which
could be by truck but would cost 1,500 dinars. Or she could walk
which would take between 20 and 25 days. But instead, Rachel has
decided to wait after hearing that the Hawaja (white faces) might
provide transport for her and her family and the meagre belongings
scattered around the shelter, free of charge.



If Rachel does not leave Khor Omer by the beginning of May, the
opportunity to return to her homeland this year will be lost.
Seasonal rains make the route from South Darfur to Bahr el Ghazal
over the River Kiir that flows close to the border between the two
provinces impassable from mid-May to early February. It's another
hurdle to overcome on the long journey home, but what choice does
Rachel have?