Rachel Nyadak Paul

12/13/25

Introduction

This story is dedicated to the incredible, host country nationals in developing countries who dedicate their lives to the health, education, environment and safety of their nations. At a time when individuals born in developing nations are labeled as “garbage” or coming from “sxxx-hole” countries, it is imperative that we recognize the intelligence, compassion and bravery of those citizens who remain in conflict zones around the world to serve their countries. This is a true story – not a word is fiction. I was truly blessed to work with Rachel. I think of her every time I hear disparaging descriptions of those who are much braver, kinder and true to the term democracy and compassion than I…and, sadly, than many Americans today.

Rachel Nyadak Paul

I dreamed I lived in a land of giants. Their footsteps shook the earth.

And then I awoke, feeling the lingering sound of heavy steps and realized I had actually met a giant. I had sat beside her as she described powers unimaginable and felt a presence I can only call magical. Her footsteps shook my earth.

She is Rachel Nyadak Paul. Born in the south of Sudan, she spent her early years coping with her country’s civil war that raged from 1983 to 1995, a conflict between the Muslim north and Christian/animist south. Her life ran with the dissonant rhythm of war– fleeing from battles, settling into unstable peace, and then fleeing again. Despite those vagaries, she learned to read and write in a Presbyterian mission school led by local priests. She married a soldier who rose in the ranks of the Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA) supporting the south. He was killed in a horrific skirmish leaving Rachel with three young children. When the 1995 Five-year Peace Agreement with northern Sudan was secured, she was already organizing war widows into activist groups and presenting their concerns to the fledging, provisional government of what would soon become the newest country in the world, South Sudan. She continued her mission after the agreement and its government began to unravel…and continues to unravel today.

I met Rachel in Nairobi, Kenya in 2005 when she was advocating for international support of the Southern Sudan Widowed Women’s Association. She had certainly found her voice…and I listened to it, mesmerized, at a friend’s dinner table one night.

“You know, Margaret, I have walked many a kilometer to reach military widows throughout southern Sudan,” she shared. For over two hours, she described her work’s mission, its goals, needs, and hopes for global allies among international women. I was riveted by her passion, commitment and insight into the world of conflict transformation, peace and reconciliation, and, particularly, personal resilience. One incident she described that night has haunted me to this day in my dreams, quiet times of self-reflection and activism with women.

“I and my colleagues had flown to the town of Wau in central, south Sudan to conduct a meeting with women in the small village of Kajok, north of Wau,” she began. “Unfortunately, there wasn’t any transport available between the two sites. Rumors of continuing attacks from the north abounded making bus and truck drivers fearful of the sandy routes across barren desert filled with prickly bush, scattered huts and roving assassins. So, believing we were protected by God, we decided anyway to walk the 20 kilometers to Kajok instead. Upon arriving there, we noticed that very few women had arrived for the meeting. They, too, had heard the rumors and were fearful of imminent attacks.

“Just as we started the meeting, their fears were confirmed. We heard the roar of two planes overhead and the rat-tat-tat of bullets being dispersed from machine guns in the back of the planes and from a ridge of barren mounds in the field behind the village. We immediately started running – all of the women and their children - heading south. Husbands and fathers stayed back to fight the soldiers emerging from the bush. Later, we learned that all of those village men were killed, and their homes totally razed by fire.

“As we ran south, we slowed down to conserve our energy and let the older children keep up. We passed many a settlement of burned-out huts with carnage I can’t begin to describe.” Rachel stared straight at me. “Oh, Rachel, I am so sorry,” I said. She looked at me for a minute or two more, some of the longest minutes I have ever known. She sighed saying, “Thank you, Margaret. But you know who was the sorriest of all?” “No,” I said. “God. And God is always there when sorrow weeps so loudly.” Rachel could see my brow furrow with doubt. “Let me explain,” she said.

“With only five kilometers left to reach Wau, we passed another village that had been attacked. There was a group of smoldering huts, bodies strewn in front of doorways, figures contorted in shapes of defense and others in defiance. Beside one hut, we saw a mother and two children, around ages 3 and 5, clinging to her. Sadly, she was dead, but they were definitely alive and crying for her. My colleague, who was used to this horror and already carrying a child in her arms, warned me about the pursuing troops and the recognition that these babies would themselves soon be dead. ‘Hurry, hurry, Rachel. You must move on, or you will be killed, too.’ I heeded her warning and kept walking south. My mind and heart were walking, too, but backwards - backwards toward the hut. I couldn’t stop seeing those children and asking myself ‘What would God want me to do?’

After a kilometer, I knew. I turned around, walked back by myself, and carried them safely with me to Wau.” There was a silence between us that redefined the meaning of compassion and, likewise, the presence of God. She looked at me; I at her, and our hands and hearts met. “Do you know where those children are now?” I asked. “They are my sons living with me here in Kenya,” she replied.

Over the past twenty years, I see Rachel right in front of me, sharing her story, her bravery, her commitment to those suffering from the plight of civil wars. Since 2005, she has continued to share this and other stories – not just hers but those of the women she has served. She has been elected as a State MP (Provincial Minister) in the first years of the newly formed –though now floundering – local provincial assembly of the government of South Sudan and has served as the Advisor to the President on Gender Affairs. Her work goes on, despite receiving threats from political adversaries. And now her five children are all adults, walking in the footsteps of a giant who shook their earth.

While I’m still an agnostic, I try to follow many spiritual beliefs grounded in the power of faith: faith in compassion, faith in commitment, faith in resilience, and faith in the power of peace-building. These all walk the path taken by Rachel Nyadak Paul, a giant whose footsteps shook my earth.