Musings from Juba and elsewhere in South Sudan and Bulawayo, Zimbabwe
The Climate Crisis and the Things We Cannot Replace
Early this month, the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) warned, with certainty, that El Niño will persist until February 2027.
More strikingly, the descriptions of this phenomenon are less than usual, at least in the scientific communication that I often encounter - which is usually toned down and less alarming. Reading the comprehensive report and the accompanying press release, the organisation says El Niño has "firmly" established, with "intensifying positive sea surface temperature anomalies".
The WMO is categorical about the certainty (nearly 100% probability) that it will persist from September to November 2026 and December 2026 to February 2027.
"It may be stronger than anything since our monitoring began, so that is for the past four decades," Celeste Saulo, Secretary General of the WMO said in Geneva. "We are already seeing the disruption from droughts and floods and extreme weather. We expect these impacts to multiply and cascade."
This is disturbing for me for two reasons.
Firstly, I'm in South Sudan, where I work in communities that, over the past five years, have suffered the worst climate impacts in this region: flooding has displaced thousands and uprooted opportunities for sustainable livelihoods.
In Bentiu, Unity State, on our tour of the state in December 2025, the Relief and Rehabilitation Coordinator, Moses Ruai Lat, described it in a stark way that stuck with me. He was describing how 109,000 people have suffered disorientation and trauma, stuck in the Bentiu Internally Displaced Persons camp.
"The people of Unity State were farmers; they were pastoralists, they used to farm. They had enough livestock," he said on our current affairs programme, Nationwide (video below). "They did not know about humanitarian assistance. That is is the situation that has changed. Whole communities have become vulnerable. Families no longer have livestock, they have no farms, even the children are crowded, there are no enough schools for them. When you used to cultivate and you used to have enough livestock, and then you lose that, other people will say this is the end of life."
This year, dry spells across South Sudan's regions have ruined crops. There will be no harvest, including in some parts of Western Equatoria, a state that always has surplus produce. In Eastern Equatoria, the arid region, particularly in Lafon County, hundreds of families have left the area in search of food. Some have crossed into neighbouring Uganda and Kenya, while others are in neighbouring counties within the state. The cultivation season is lost.
Secondly, in Zimbabwe, farmers lost over 24,000 livestock in 2024 due to the drought. In Matebeleland South, one of the drier regions with robust ranching and widespread small-scale household cattle rearing, the losses were severe.
I know this personally; cattle feed at the time cost about US$16 per 50kg bag. Now try feeding a herd of 70 for a prolonged period. Nearly impossible. Most of the cow breeds in the region have bigger frames, making them vulnerable to malnutrition and ultimately decimation. It actually leaves trauma, as some families had "close kraals" - literally nothing left. To draw parallels, for us in Matebeleland, just like the Dinka, Nuer and Mundari in South Sudan, cattle are more than a store of value, wealth in its literal sense. Prestige, heritage and a sense of identity are tied to the ownership of a herd.
Not too long ago, The Herald newspaper carried an article by a Chief Director of the Directorate of Research, Education and Specialist Services advising farmers to stock two years’ livestock feed. I said, well - good advice, but tell that to a villager; how feasible is that proposition?
He made further recommendations of breeds to stock as they are easily adapted to heat and moisture stress. On that, noted.