I am not used to hearing the word ‘no’ when it comes to storytelling. If I want to tell a story I fight for it, relentlessly, and find a way to do it.
It's not that easy here in Juba.
A reporter approaches me with a story idea, a courageous idea. There is a woman in a village about 100 km south of here who is petitioning the government to do something about honour marriage. It's rampant in that community - girls forced to marry at a very young age.
The reporter tells me the manager will never approve; it will require too many resources. I am adamant we will convince him.
The manager agrees it is a good idea, but raises a safety concern.
“There’s no telling what might happen when we leave Juba,” he says.
He says it could work if we can find a community leader who agrees to be our escort.
We do the work. Everything is arranged but the manager still refuses to allow us to travel. He now says he’s concerned about the camera equipment, worried he may be the one who has to pay if something happens to it.
When I ask if I can record the conversation, so I can quote him when I write about it later, he declines that too, vigorously shaking his head.
I’m writing about it anyway because I have the freedom to do so, the responsibility to do so. The voices of those young girls need to be heard, but telling human rights stories is difficult and often risky.
These are the challenges we face.
