‘Kuyubuza’ – More than just a name, it reflects the hopes of the Murle women
Kuyubuza – meaning “I am resting” is the name that the women of Bichibich have given to the newly established centre. For them, it is more than a name; it is a profound expression of what the centre represents to their lives, families, and futures.
Bichibich, located on the border of Jonglei and the Greater Pibor Administrative Area (GPAA), is frequently at the frontline of conflict. The area often bears the brunt of attacks associated with Jonglei youth mobilisation against the Murle community.
For most women here, life is deeply unsettled – temporary and transient. Constantly on the move, they must flee their homes to escape violence or relocate during the dry season in search of water, as even the most basic services and presence of government remain unavailable.
With the establishment of Kuyubuza and the drilling of a borehole, a new sense of stability is emerging. Communities have begun to settle nearby, and new homes have been constructed. Kuyubuza has also become a gathering point for age set youth, who previously spent much of their time wandering in the bush. Now, they are increasingly drawn to the life taking shape around the centre.
The women speak of Kuyubuza with hope, as the beginning of a new chapter where their community can grow stronger and explore sustainable livelihoods.
One young woman I spoke with – let’s call her Yayo – is 25 years old, a mother of four, a widow, and currently pregnant. She described how she has on several occasions, fled her village with her children to escape attacks. Sometimes the journey lasts for days, with tree branches serving as their only shelter.
Yayo spoke with visible pain and frustration about the repeated attacks by the Nuer and Dinka communities. I gently shared with her that women from those communities’ recount similar heartbreaking experiences when Murle youth attack their villages. At first, it was hard for her to grasp. But as we talked, the realisation that their suffering is mutual began to shift something in her. That shared pain and mutual loss became a moment of awakening.
When I asked whether she farms or has an interest in farming, she told me she used to. But now, she’s hesitant. “Why farm,” she said, “when everything can be destroyed the next time we are attacked?” Farms, like homes, are often wiped out during the raids and youth attacks.
Despite the fear and uncertainty, the women remain hopeful. Several of them have taken a step to start farming, mainly Sorghum. They are ready to risk everything in the belief that Kuyubuza can become their long-awaited place of rest.
Water, however, remains a critical challenge. Only one borehole currently serves several villages. When we asked the women what role they would like to play in sustaining Kuyubuza, they proposed digging haffirs, traditional water catchment pits to collect rainwater during the wet season. If they were provided with the right tools, both men and women in the community would begin the work immediately. This was a call that POF (Peace and Opportunity Foundation) was pleased to support without hesitation.
The naming of the centre was itself a deep, emotional process. The women took time to reflect on what the centre meant to them. Several names were suggested, including Kuruger – “I am alive”, Katalo – “I am happy”, and Kuyubuza – “I am resting”.
In the end, they chose Kuyubuza. The elder women explained that they are tired of running. They no longer have the strength to flee. Kuyubuza is not just a name. It is a statement of longing, of resilience, and of hope, a vision for peace and permanence in a life too often shaped by conflict.
Hear more on the Bichibich development from our POFcast episode.
