Story type: Story

Daraya is a small village in the Mount Lebanon region, about an hour drive from the Lebanese capital Beirut. This is where Ayham lives. His house is in the middle of a little forest.

The oldest of seven children, fifteen-year old Nyabel* is the de-facto leader of her family. Less than one year ago, she was in Form 4 (year 10) at her school in Bongki, and doing well in her studies, particularly in English and Arabic.

In the shower in the Malakal UN Protection of Civilians (PoC) site, as I dodged a swarm of mosquitoes, I realize how deeply angry I am at the situation in South Sudan.

I had only minutes to leave my home in Syria. I took my house keys with me – just like my grandfather did back in 1948 when he had to flee from his home in Palestine. I remember asking myself: “Will I be like you grandpa? Will I never go back home like you never went back? Will I have to flee a second time? How hard will that be?”

“What did you think?”, I’m asked by Isaac Ibrahim, a CARE-employed nurse, as our truck pulls away from his workplace of Pariang Hospital.

In partnership with CARE, PMRS is providing medical assistance through mobile health teams. They set up mobile clinics in schools and other places where people are finding shelter when forced to flee their homes. In a day, the health teams see an average of 300 patients.

Nicholas Kweri folds the large banner together, grabs an empty bucket and his gumboots. A quick discussion with his team, and then he leaves the CARE compound in Yuai,

Nyanyin Jek is tired and exhausted. She just walked for two days through the swamp of Uror county in South Sudan. She is seven months pregnant and hopes to receive medical support at CARE’s

“Unfortunately, we were still in our house when the building next to us was hit by a missile in the first days of the war. Windows were blown out, everything fell down around us, children were screaming, but luckily nobody was injured.