In Search Of The Goldsun The trials and tribulations of my life as a nomad as I attempt to work my way around the world on a mission to visit 50 countries before I turn 30.

Dawn breaks with a ghostlike cloud of smoke rising from the heated earth, taking with it the shattered dreams of children and the nightmares endured by their ancestors. I stand on a land that is crying out for a moments respite from the scorching Rumbek sun; cracked and baked to a powder denying even a morsel of greenery to root and grow. Surrounded by an endless valley of dust covering the bodies of the fallen and blanketing a history that can only be described as macabre and harrowing; I can feel the oppressing dark cloud of civil unrest looming. Life here feels temporary as if a slight breeze could carry you away blowing with it any hopes for prosperity.

The families existing in this harsh country are already busy at work making the most of the cooler temperatures. The men with their fierce tribal scars gathering the younger boys and preparing for a days herding in the torturous heat in search for a sip of water and a mouthful of grass for their cattle to feed on. Women with their wrinkled and warn out faces going about their chores, teaching their daughters how to be good wives. Imparting generations of knowledge and sharing with them their own tricks of the trade in the hopes that they may have a brighter future.

Eager to see more I find myself aimlessly wondering around their homes attracting the attention of the children as I go. Innocent voices asking me to share with them what treasures I may have brought from the West. A land once so alien to them even the colour of my skin and texture of my hair would have been a fascination. My presence now brings with it a prospect of a new beginning, the hope of stability and a promise of money. Millions of dollars are endlessly being poured in to this waste land. Some going to good use but most funding the crimes against humanity, buying the ammunition used in destroying the dreams of it’s people.

Am a really making a difference or am I too just here for my own stories of heroism and the perfect photo opportunity? How had I ended up amongst the remnants of a lifetime of heartbreak and war; buildings showered in bullet holes, babies asleep next to AK47s and cows decorated with bells sculptured from bomb shells? I felt as if I had nothing to give, with no money or power I was worthless to them, a security blanket providing false hopes of brighter futures free from shackles of war. A once beautiful abundant land now lies before me scarred and desolate, thirsty for even a shred of a prosperous future.