Apuk Padoc Media

The Land That Chose Silence

By Chol Machok Augustine Magak

Once, in a vast and fertile land between two rivers, there lived two communities, neighbors by geography, but strangers in spirit. The land was called Aduel, meaning “gift,” for it had fed generations with its rich soil, green pastures, and flowing streams. For years, the people of Aduel lived in quiet understanding. Children crossed paths without fear, cattle grazed freely, and the elders settled disputes with words, not weapons. But as time passed, something changed.

It began with whispers. “This land belongs to us,” one side claimed.
“No, it was our ancestors who first settled here,” the other argued.
What started as murmurs grew into meetings. Meetings turned into arguments. Arguments turned into anger. The elders tried to intervene, reminding both sides that "The land does not belong to us, we belong to the land." But their voices were drowned by pride.

Soon, boundaries were drawn where none had existed before. Trees were marked, rivers divided, and grazing paths blocked. Young men, once friends, began to see each other as enemies. They sharpened not only their spears, but their hatred.

One dry season, when water was scarce and cattle were weak, a fight broke out at the riverbank. No one remembers who threw the first stone. But everyone remembers what followed. Homes were burned. Cries filled the night. Blood soaked the same soil that once grew their food. Revenge followed revenge, and grief followed grief. Fathers buried sons. Mothers wailed for children. And still, no one stepped back.

The land of Aduel, once full of life, became a battlefield. Years passed.
The fighting did not bring victory. It only brought emptiness. The cattle died. The farms lay abandoned. The rivers ran quietly, no longer disturbed by laughter or life. The survivors, broken and tired, fled in different directions, seeking peace far from the land they had destroyed.

And so, Aduel remained.
1. Silent.
2. Unclaimed.
3. Unloved.

Grass grew over forgotten homes. Wind passed through empty compounds. The land, once fought over with such passion, now belonged to no one.

One day, a traveler passed through the area. Seeing the vast, untouched land, he asked an old man nearby:
“Who owns this place?” The old man sighed deeply and replied: “Once, many claimed it. Now, it claims no one.”

He paused, then added:
“They fought to own it… until it owned their graves.”

Conclusion
A Message to Apuk Padoc and Lou Paher communities

People of Apuk Padoc and Lou Paher, this story of Aduel is not far from us, it is a mirror. Let it teach us before it becomes our reality. The issue of the Meshra must not be allowed to grow into conflict. If it is not abandoned for the sake of peaceful coexistence, the same path of Aduel awaits, where land remains, but people disappear.

Learn this truth

1. No land is more valuable than life.
2. No boundary is worth the blood of brothers.
3. Choose dialogue over division.
4. Choose wisdom over pride.
5. Choose peace, while there is still something left to save.

Because once the land falls silent…
it may never speak life again.

South Sudan Will Rise Again

By Chol Machok Augustine Magak -PublicHealth Advocate a.k.a Chol-Mangou Machok

In the heart of South Sudan, where the River Nile stretches like a ribbon of life across our land, there lives a story that refuses to die. It is not a story written in books alone. It is written in the dust of our villages, in the tears of our mothers, in the silence of graves, and in the courage of our youth.
It is the story of a people who have suffered, but have never surrendered.

We have seen war.
We have buried dreams.
We have watched brothers turn against brothers.
We have walked on roads that were once full of hope but later filled with fear.

Yet somehow, every morning, the sun still rises over Juba, over Wau, over Malakal, over Bentiu, over our villages in Warrap and Greater Tonj.
The sun rises as if to say: “This is not the end.”

The Tree That Refused to Die

There was once a farmer in a small village. During the years of conflict, his crops were burned, his cattle were raided, and his house was reduced to ashes. In the middle of his compound stood a mango tree. It had been cut, damaged, and scorched by fire. Everyone believed it was finished.
But when the rainy season came, something remarkable happened. Tiny green leaves began to appear from the blackened branches.
The farmer smiled and said,
“If this tree still believes in the rain, who am I to give up?”

South Sudan is that tree.
We have been cut.
We have been burned.
We have been shaken by storms.
But deep inside our roots is something stronger than conflict. It is faith. It is resilience. It is the belief that God did not bring us this far to abandon us.

Why We Must Still Believe?

We must believe because:
Our elders survived decades of struggle before independence.
Our mothers carried this nation in their wombs even when bombs were falling.
Our youth are still going to school under trees, still dreaming of becoming doctors, teachers, engineers, and leaders.
Our communities still gather to pray, even after losing everything.
Faith is not pretending that pain does not exist.
Faith is standing in the middle of the pain and declaring: “This will not define our future.”
The story of South Sudan did not begin in peace, but it will not end in chaos.

Change Is Slow, But It Is Possible

History teaches us something powerful: no nation remains broken forever.
Countries that once knew civil war now stand strong. Countries that once knew famine now feed the world. Countries that once knew dictatorship now celebrate democracy.

If change was possible for others, why not for South Sudan?
Change does not start in the State House.
Change starts in the heart.
It starts when:
A young man refuses to pick up a gun.
A leader chooses dialogue over revenge.
A teacher continues teaching despite unpaid salaries.
A civil servant works honestly even when corruption tempts him.
A community forgives instead of retaliating.
Real transformation begins quietly, like rain before a harvest.

The Courage Within Us

Courage is not the absence of fear.
Courage is staying hopeful when everything looks hopeless.
In Warrap State, in Lakes, in Upper Nile, in Equatoria, our people continue to trade, to farm, to build tukuls, to sing in churches, to celebrate weddings. That is resilience.
Resilience is rebuilding your house for the fifth time.
Resilience is sending your child to school after losing everything.
Resilience is praying for peace while surrounded by conflict.
We are not weak people.
We are a tested people.
And tested people become strong nations.

Faith: Our Greatest Weapon

The Bible says, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”
South Sudan has experienced a long night.
But morning does not fail to come.
When we pray for peace, we are not naïve. We are powerful.
When we believe in unity, we are not foolish. We are visionary.
When we forgive, we are not weak. We are building the foundation of a future nation.
For God sees the tears of South Sudan.
And no tear is wasted.

The Generation That Must Rise

There is a generation rising now; educated, exposed, connected, aware. A generation that understands data, governance, health systems, agriculture, and technology. A generation that wants development more than division.
This generation must refuse tribal hatred.
It must reject corruption.
It must value education over violence.
It must build institutions instead of destroying communities.
South Sudan will change not by accident, but by intentional citizens.

One Day

One day, our roads will be safe.
One day, our hospitals will function fully.
One day, our schools will produce innovators.
One day, investors will come not to exploit, but to partner.
One day, our children will read about conflict in history books, not in headlines.
And when that day comes, we will say:
“We did not give up.”

Final Message

To believe in South Sudan is not blindness.
It is bravery.
To hope for change is not weakness.
It is strength.
We are the tree that refused to die.
We are the nation that refuses to surrender.
We are the people who still pray, still build, still dream.
South Sudan will change.
Not because it is easy.
But because its people are stronger than its storms.
And storms never last forever. 🌅

Apuk Padoc community Conference commences in Akop Payam. This signal a need for peace and community engagement on others insecurity related and development across Apuk land.

📷 Mayom Akoon Mayom