There was a hurry-up-and-wait feel to the day as refugees from the brutal civil war in Sudan continued to trickle through this crossing since fighting began in April 2023.

I was on the South Sudan side, near a river marking the border between the former enemy countries.

It is sometimes a pub quiz question: What is the youngest country in the world? Answer: South Sudan, just 14 years old.

The bustling capital city of Juba is marching ahead with modernisation, funded by oil money, mainly. 

Asphalt roads have been laid and multi-storey buildings tower over corrugated-iron, lean-to shacks.

The men’s basketball team won their first game at the Paris Olympics last year. 

Alek Wek, born in Wau, South Sudan, and once a refugee herself, is just one of the women from this region on global catwalks.

Here, on the border, meanwhile, a family was setting up on the river bank with yellow jerry cans to fill with water.

‘How clean is that water?’ I asked later, having visited a clinic that treats cholera patients. 

Not clean at all, pretty dangerous, in fact, was the frustrated response from a local administrator.

Many wells were destroyed, he said, during unusual flooding late last year. Flooding seemed impossible in this heat, but everyone is on edge, worrying about the rains to come.

I thought about Storm Éowyn, bullying its way across the West of Ireland, and how quickly nature can turn on us.

Goats certainly won the battle between sleep and the dawn chorus around the compound where staff working for Concern Worldwide — and visiting journalists — stay.

Beautiful birds fly around, but all I can hear in the mornings is the hoarse wheezing of goats and one particularly loud cockerel.

Their idea of dawn seemed to start around 4.30am. The goats eventually end up in a stew.

Chatting with some of the staff over dinner, I said that my family kept goats when I was a child in Cork, but only for milking. Silence.

Then: "Why didn’t you eat the goats?" That is a good question, but not one I could answer.

I cannot get the tent cholera clinic out of my head as we debate the merits of goat meat. ‘Cholera’: Even the word is heavy.

An outbreak raged across Ireland between 1832 and 1833, leaving a 76% death rate in some areas. In Limerick, more than 200 people died in just six weeks. 

The fear on the faces of two mothers I speak with in Malek Miir Health Centre — their children in beds, getting treatment — is a stark reminder.

Vaccine campaigns are rolling out in South Sudan and Sudan, even as the war continues.

While killings, rapes, or mass starvation involving children are what it takes for stories from this region to make the European news, small victories count.

Just making it to South Sudan is already a win for refugees who may have travelled weeks from burning homes or seen family members killed.

It must be especially so for the many pregnant refugee women we meet.

The main refugee camp is home to about 20,000 people, despite an arson attack in January.

Concrete huts are being built at the back, with aid agency signage everywhere.

I walked into one and spun around in the single room, trying to imagine this stifling, shadowy space filled with people, a crying baby, broken hearts, horrific traumatic memories.

It is not a simple war they are fleeing, with obvious good guys and bad guys.

Both sides have been accused of committing atrocities; both sides reportedly smuggle out gold for arms in defiance of sanctions.

Is that why the war lurks behind the headlines in Europe, even as the UN Security Council calls for a halt to the fighting?

Here, on the ground, the windows of the Concern Jeep boast stickers saying, ‘No arms on board’.

This is near the border. Many of the staff are also far from their families, with distances amplified by difficulties in travelling on the dirt roads.

Two midwives come close to tears as they describe visiting their children just once a month.

As we drove away from the camp, I asked the local staff why they do it, why helping the refugees, as well as their own community, is such a priority.

“They are our brothers and sisters; we have to help them,” Riak said, turning to look out the window as the driver carefully steered the jeep between pot-holes on the dirt-surface road.

While the sun went down and people began to doze, it seemed there was no need to say anything else.

• Niamh Griffin is health correspondent at the Irish Examiner. She was in South Sudan to observe the work of Concern Worldwide.