“We need water and food, why don’t you give it to us?”, an angry and visibly shocked young man asks me as he and maybe a hundred other people hunker down behind stone walls outside an office complex at UN House in Juba. His query is echoed by many, and I can’t help wondering what would constitute a sensible answer.

Sensibility, alas, is in short supply on this eerie Friday night, as it will turn out to be for days to come. What is happening? Who is responsible for the heavy shooting, including some ear-splitting artillery fire, going on uncomfortably close to us? And why? That “why” is the real million dollar question. We humans need context and meaning, yet the only true, but sad and maddeningly frustrating answer is: nobody really knows.

Why’s nagging brother “how” as in “How can I help?” is almost as insistent, and only marginally easier to answer. What on earth does one have to offer in trying moments like these? I rack my brain, with pathetically unsatisfying result. Yet I make a mental list of the limited possibilities at hand.

Be there. Be a fellow human being. Listen to the rants, sobs and pleas of the people from nearby villages who have made their often dramatic way to the UNMISS base in Jebel, Juba. Share their fear and despair. Offer a cigarette or a chewing gum. Make an attempt at diffusing tense fear of flying bullets by discussing football, perhaps the most unifying human phenomenon of the 21^st century.

Oddly enough, pondering Liverpool FC’s chances in the upcoming Premier League season with fellow Reds fans Ian and Kenny brings some sort of temporary relief. Smiles flashing on their exhausted faces brighten an unforgettable and strangely beautiful moment. Ian believes “we” (Liverpool) need to sign a world class striker. It may be the most coherent thought I hear all night.

UN Police, military and colleagues overseeing the situation in the UNMISS Protection of Civilian (PoC) sites are on site as well. They are doing their best to coordinate ongoing support operations, comfort our desperate guests and keep them informed about what is going on, and what will happen next.

“No! You can’t take us to that site, it is not safe for us!” shouts another young man at a UN police officer explaining that the Mission can’t keep Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) inside the UNMISS office and accommodation area.

An animated but, given the stressful circumstances, amicable discussion between UNMISS staff and a group of newly arrived IDPs about the immediate options ensues. Who can safely be taken where? How and by whom? Pros and cons of different alternatives are weighed against each other, and a semi-improvised logistical plan takes shape.

At the UN House clinic, activities are equally frantic. Wounded IDPs are being treated, some of whom have to make do with lying on the floor in the crowded facilities. Non-medical staff turn up to show their solidarity and assist with administrative tasks and comforting patients. On Saturday morning, South Sudan’s Independence Day, a baby girl is born. Over the next few days, another two babies are welcomed to the world.

Over the course of five days, at least 13 IDPs have died on UNMISS premises. Approximately 150 South Sudanese people are treated at the clinic. The overwhelming workload takes its toll not only on treatment possibilities, human resources and senses, but also on supplies.

“Most critical are the bullets. 90 per cent of the bullets are still inside [the bodies of the patients]. These patients need surgery, if they don’t get it they may pass away. Like now, we have four patients who have already died and are in the mortuary”, says Tut Riam, an International Medical Corps (IMC) nurse and supervisor helping out at the UN House clinic, adding that the facility is already lacking dressing for wounds and some medications.

The Mission leadership and Joint Operations Centre (JOC) are aware of the many logistical challenges created by numerous check points and road blocks in Juba town. Transporting injured persons to more advanced health facilities has proved difficult, but negotiations with local authorities have at least made it possible to transfer a number of critically wounded UNMISS troops to the better equipped UN clinic at a second UNMISS clinic located in Tomping, some 10 kilometers away.

The Special Representative of the Secretary-General of the UN, Ellen Margrethe Loej, has been working around the clock, liaising with South Sudanese political leaders and urging them to put an immediate stop to the violence. Guaranteeing unhindered access of UNMISS troops and police to protect civilians and enable other vital vehicle, like those of UN ambulances, is another top priority of the Mission.

Figuring out, amidst a flurry of rumours, speculations and hypotheses, what is actually happening on the ground, why it may be happening and how the Mission can respond to a constantly changing situation are vital tasks of the JOC. One crucial issue is obviously to get a grip on how many IDPs that are seeking shelter at UNMISS facilities.

A total of 36,000 people in Juba are estimated to have been displaced by the outburst of violence, at least a couple of thousands of whom fled to UNMISS bases in Tomping and Jebel in Juba. Others, terrified by the surrounding shooting, forced their way from PoC sites into UNMISS office and accommodation areas.

The strain on already scarce water and food resources means that tap water in offices and staff accommodations has to be rationed. The water issue adds to the already considerable stress faced by UNMISS staff, whom have become increasingly and unexpectedly familiar with the floor tiles of their bathrooms.

Yes, it is there that staff members not tasked with physically protecting civilians and UNMISS staff and premises spent hours on end during days of heavy fighting in the immediate vicinity. There is no heroism in lying flat against a floor, yet it is the best one can do under the circumstances.

Fighting the sense of inutility and hopelessness becomes a task as challenging as finding ways to preserve your sanity and pass the time. Convincing yourself that you, as UN staff, are not a target only goes so far in offering comfort. It is a rationale that does not, unfortunately, take stray bullets into account.

Calculating the improbability of ammunition hitting your accommodation is reassuring only till one of your windows shatters, or till a bullet enters through the roof of your porch. The dubious privilege of finding such crisis memorabilia in your accommodation I share with countless of floor-pressing colleagues.

Perhaps most unnerving is the utter sense of disorientation and uncertainty, to be literally in the dark. Who is shooting at whom, and where exactly is it happening? Birds singing or not provides a clue of the proximity of firing, but there is no denying that live commentary would have been welcome. What one has instead is random noises from outside your walls, your imagination running wild, and heartfelt reminders of colleagues in danger, communicating with security officers over the radio, pleading for assistance.

Yet, while knowing near to nothing, there is a constant barrage of “information” available on news sites, Facebook, Twitter and other social media. The availability of such instant means of communication is no doubt fantastic, but it also poses other conundrums. How many rumours and tidbits of more or less reliable information are you able to handle without compromising your sanity? To what extent do you inform family and loved ones about what is going on? There is, it seems, no single right answer to those questions.

Harrowing as the civilian staff members’ bathroom blues is, it cannot be compared to the immense pressure and immediate danger facing the Mission’s uniformed and armed troops. Protecting civilians and bases while being exposed to direct or cross fires comes with a price. Two Chinese peacekeepers have lost their lives in the line of duty, several others have sustained injuries, in some cases critical.

Firmly at the top of the list of people suffering pure horror, however, come the overwhelming majority of civilians residing outside the relative safety of UNMISS compounds. The impact of the fear, injuries, losses of property and lives that has stricken the hardened but war-weary local population is unfathomable and bound to leave scars for years to come once the guns have been silenced and peace restored.

At the time of writing, the sickening sounds of gunfire have been largely absent for almost two days. Some sort of semi normalcy is slowly returning to UNMISS bases and Juba streets alike. May it stay that way, and may the road to sustainable peace resume.