08/07/2025
The sun rises again over South Sudan, painting the sky with colors that mock the shadows in our hearts. Another July approaches, bringing with it the echo of celebration, the songs of independence. But how can we sing when our voices are choked with sorrow? How can we dance when our feet are heavy with the weight of our brothers' and sisters' suffering?
We are told we are free, that we are independent. Yet, freedom feels like a cruel joke when our people still flee their homes, when the innocent are caught in endless cycles of violence. Independence? What independence is there when children go to bed hungry, when mothers bury their young, when the promise of peace remains a distant, fading mirage?
My heart aches for the laughter that has been silenced, for the dreams that have been shattered, for the potential that lies buried beneath the rubble of conflict and neglect. I see the resilience, yes, the unbreakable spirit that shines in the eyes of our people, but it is a spirit born of profound endurance, not of joy.
This July, as flags wave and anthems play, I will remember the tears that fall silently, the hunger that gnaws, the fear that grips. I will remember the faces of those who have lost everything, yet still cling to a flicker of hope. And I will mourn the celebration that seems to forget the very people it claims to honor.
May this day, instead of just a memory of a past independence, become a solemn vow to work tirelessly for a TRUE INDEPENDENCE – one where every South Sudanese child knows peace, every family finds security, and every voice can truly sing a song of freedom.
