Things to Do in South Sudan in September

The White Nile cuts through the center of Juba, and in September, when the river is swollen and running fast with brown water carrying sediment from the Ethiopian highlands, the banks become the closest thing the city has to a public park. Walking along the stretch near the Juba Bridge in the early morning, before the heat sets in around 10 AM, you will hear the slap of wooden boats against the current and smell charcoal smoke drifting from the fishing camps where Nile perch are being grilled on open fires. The river crossing by motorized canoe from Juba to the communities on the western bank takes only minutes but feels like stepping between different centuries. September's high water makes the crossing smoother than in dry months, when sandbars force longer routes. The light at 6:30 AM, when the mist sits on the water and the egrets are still working the shallows, is the most photogenic moment Juba offers.

Nimule National Park sits on the Uganda border about 200 km (124 miles) south of Juba, and it holds what remains of South Sudan's most accessible wildlife population, including hippos in the White Nile, Uganda kob, and olive baboons. September is a double-edged month here. The park is green and lush, the hippo pools are full, and the birdlife is extraordinary, with migrant species arriving from the north. But the access road from Juba, which is unpaved for long stretches, turns treacherous after heavy rains, and you might spend six or seven hours covering what would be a three-hour drive in January. The humidity inside the park sits heavy enough that your binocular lenses fog the moment you step out of the vehicle. That said, the few travelers who make it find the park essentially empty. The rangers are welcoming but under-resourced, so bring your own water, food, and fuel.

Konyo Konyo Market in central Juba is the largest open-air market in South Sudan, and in September, the stalls overflow with seasonal produce pulled from the rain-fed farms around the capital. The smell hits you twenty meters before you reach the entrance: woodsmoke, ground peanuts roasting on sheet-metal trays, the sharp tang of fermenting sorghum from the local beer brewers, and the unmistakable sweetness of ripe mangoes stacked in pyramids. This is where you eat kisra, the fermented sorghum flatbread that is the staple of South Sudanese cooking, torn by hand and dipped into mulah, a slow-cooked stew of okra and dried fish or goat meat that coats your fingers and tastes earthy and slightly sour from the fermentation. The market is loudest in the morning, with vendors calling prices over the generator hum of the butchers' refrigeration units. September's humidity makes the midday hours oppressive inside the market's corrugated-iron corridors, so go early, before 9 AM, when the ground is still damp from overnight rain and the temperature has not yet climbed past 28°C (82°F).

South Sudan sits beneath one of the major Palearctic-Afrotropical flyways, and September marks the beginning of the southward migration that brings European and Central Asian species through the country's wetlands. The margins of the Sudd, the vast swamp system that spreads across central South Sudan and is one of the largest freshwater wetlands on Earth, hold species counts that serious birders travel continents to see: shoebill storks standing motionless in papyrus channels, saddle-billed storks picking through flooded grassland, and clouds of red-billed queleas moving like smoke over the sorghum fields. You do not need to reach the deep Sudd to find extraordinary birding. The wetland edges accessible from Juba's outskirts, along the river south of the city toward the Rajaf area, offer sightings of malachite kingfishers, African fish eagles, and pied kingfishers diving from overhanging branches into the brown current. The humidity and cloud cover in September work in your favor: the softer light means birds stay active later into the morning rather than retreating to shade by 9 AM as they do in the dry season.

The cattle camps of the Mundari people along the Nile north of Juba, roughly 75 km (47 miles) from the capital near Terekeka, are one of the most visually extraordinary cultural experiences in East Africa. In September, the camps are in a transitional state: herds are moving between wet-season highland grazing and the riverbanks where they will spend the dry months, and the camps have a temporary, restless energy. The ash from burned dung, which the Mundari use to protect cattle from insects, hangs in the humid air and gives the camps a pale, smoky quality in the morning light. The animals themselves are Ankole-Watusi crosses with massive curved horns, and the Mundari bond with individual cattle is intimate enough that men will sleep beside their animals, rubbing the ash into their own skin and hair. The sensory experience is overwhelming: the lowing of hundreds of cattle, the acrid smell of burning dung, the warmth of the animals' bodies in the cool dawn, and the orange light filtering through the smoke. September access depends entirely on road conditions, which change day to day with rainfall.