Secondary school national exams in Juba: They, too, shall (hopefully) pass

unmiss juba south sudan secondary school national exams january 2019 protection of civilians unicef transport

Time for crucial national exams for secondary school students in Juba and across the country.

17 Jan 2019

Secondary school national exams in Juba: They, too, shall (hopefully) pass

Filip Andersson

The sun has just dragged itself above the Juba horizon for another day of relentless roasting.

Yet this is not your average, uneventful day. At least not for 466 students staying and studying at the protection site for the thousands of people who are still sheltered next to the base of the United Nations Mission in South Sudan.

Today is the second day of the national secondary school exams, and that’s a big deal. Fail the test for any of seven different disciplines over the next couple of weeks and you are sentenced to another year of high school studies. Pass, and the sky combined with your determination, financial resources and luck, are the limits of what may come.

“I believe I passed English yesterday, and today I’ll sit for the Geography exam. If I pass [all the tests] I will move on. I’ll go to university and hopefully study Journalism,” says Elizabeth Peter hailing from Akobo but residing at the Juba protection site since 2013.

Elizabeth has a 4-year-old daughter and shudders at the mere thought of a year of repetition. She is 32, and quietly confident.

“My success will make me encourage children, because children are supposed to go to school, because education is the future of the children and the country.”

She is sitting on a stone on her own, focusing on her upcoming task, reviewing a few sheets of hand-written notes, as the assembly point is filling up with hundreds of immaculately dressed up fellow students, casually milling about.

unmiss juba south sudan secondary school national exams january 2019 protection of civilians unicef transportNow, there is of course the small matter of transporting these aspiring academic titans to Buluk Basic School, some eight kilometres away. For that, buses chartered by the UN International Children’s Emergency Fund, coordination by UN police officers and force protection by the peacekeeping mission is required, as most students do not yet feel safe traversing the city.

Today, we are told, this undertaking will be relatively easy, involving just eight buses. Yesterday was another story, with sixteen vehicles loaded with more than 800 students, a large number of accompanying teachers and a few UN police.

“It still involves many logistical arrangements, and it’s still a lot of people to transport,” says Kim Haugen, the Norwegian UN police officer in charge of coordinating the whole operation, including liaising with security forces along the road, picking the most suitable route and having a contingency plan in case anything unforeseen happens.

Kim, who has been up and about since 5 in the morning, is not one to complain about his lot, however. Much to the contrary.

“What we are doing here today is one of the most important things I am involved in here. We are giving them [the students] a possibility to take their important exams, to earn their diplomas, move on to universities, get the best possible education and find jobs afterwards. I feel proud and happy to be a part of making this happen.”

And happen it does: on the imaginary stroke of 7.45, the scheduled departure time, the convoy stutters to a slow start, heading towards the part of the universe located beyond the main gate of UN House.

On “my” bus, 73 students and a few other passengers make for a cozy ride. I’m reliably informed, however, that only five females are on board. Countrywide, some 27 per cent of more than 23,000 registered test-takers are females.

“It is because of cultural reasons, unfortunately. Here many girls are expected to stay and work at home till they get married. It will change eventually, but it will take time,” says Gatluak Jock, a teacher of Commerce and Accounting from the Upper Nile region.

But the overall number of students sitting for the exams, at least in Juba, has increased significantly, for several reasons.

“Many of them have come back to Juba from Uganda, Kenya, Ethiopia or Sudan for the tests, mainly because they hear that things are improving here following last year’s signing of the revitalized peace agreement,” says Phar Di, who teaches Mathematics and Physics in one of the four secondary schools operating in the protection site. He adds that Juba is the preferred location for their exams as the protected transportation offered by the UN makes them feel safer.

Others have been motivated to return to South Sudan from refugee camps abroad because of financial incentives as well. Lam Yak is one of them.

“They were asking for money to study there [in the refugee camp] in Kenya. The school here at the protection site is not great, but at least we can study for free,” he says.

That’s when the convoy grinds to a halt, after just a couple of kilometres, and for no apparent reason. Within seconds, there are murmurs about one bus having a flat tyre – and that bus turns out to be ours. Not that anyone noticed an increased level of bumpiness and not that our driver cares – he is on a mission to bring these youngsters to crucial exams – but road safety concerns raised by UN Police means we have to give up.

With no time to change tyres, we are redistributed amongst the other buses. A mighty 90 passengers are on board the second means of transportation.

“Sir, are you strong enough for this?” I’m asked as I cling to some sort of ceiling handle.

Well, it frankly does not matter, as anyone who tries to fall will fail, and end up in the arms of fellow passengers.

In such intimate circumstances, a chat comes natural. It turns out that a guy swaying nearby will take not only a Geography exam but also a French test, after lunch. Chol says he’ll need a miracle to pass and laughs hard when I attempt some basic banter in this sophisticated language.

“Oh man, I studied French in primary school, in Uganda. I have forgotten everything! There are no French teachers here, so I can’t practice. Oh well…”

Unlikely or not, we make it to Buluk Basic School, and a sea of white, orange, dark blue and purple – the colours of the uniforms of the schools being represented – disperse and follow non-existent signs, intuition or previously given instructions to their designated classrooms to begin three potentially vital hours of their lives.

Catching up with a few students afterwards, their verdict was positive.

“It was not difficult but not easy either. The exam was fair,” says William Deng Damel and three of his friends. All of them claim they knew the answer to a question about the main exports of the Canadian province of British Colombia.

Like so many others, these four guys are older, between 24 and 28, than one may expect secondary school students to be, with violent conflict being one significant reason for their delayed studies. They are all, however, eager to make up for lost time, with their sights set firmly on being admitted to a university, in South Sudan or beyond.

Mining, rural development, international relations and accounting are professional fields which may soon see their talent pools expanded, with professionals from abroad set for competition by the likes of Lam, the future miner.

“We have minerals and oil, but it’s almost only foreigners working in these fields at present. I want to be part of South Sudanese people filling gaps there.”

On that foreign note, Chol, the French test-taker, seems to have gotten his wish for a miracle. The afternoon exams were cancelled, or at least postponed.