Renk County, situated in South Sudan’s northern region in Upper Nile State at the border with Sudan, has turned into a passage of crisis. Since the war erupted in 2023, thousands of returnees have crossed through this corridor, and local schools are now bearing the strain in ways largely unseen.
Inside the classroom at Sunday Primary School, 16-year-old Nyaman Chol sits in the front row, her hands resting on an exercise book she can barely afford. She watches her teacher intently as he explains the lesson in clear English, a change that only recently became possible, and one she does not take for granted.
“Before the training, the teacher would write on the board and go,” she says. “Sometimes he comes back after one week to explain. By then, we have forgotten everything.”
Nyaman is one of hundreds of students caught in South Sudan’s silent education emergency: teachers who cannot speak English trying to teach a curriculum written entirely in English.
This crisis, largely unseen outside border counties like Renk, is the result of years of conflict, displacement, and return movements that reshaped the teaching workforce. Many teachers fled to Sudan during the war and were trained only in Arabic. Now back home, they are expected to teach in a language they never mastered.
“It creates misunderstanding between us and the teacher,” Nyaman says. “Sometimes the student knows more English than the teacher. That brings confusion—even conflict.”
Lost in translation
Across the school, 15-year-old Agoth Akol describes the same struggle.
“Before training, the teacher could not explain,” he says. “He writes only. After one week, he comes to explain, but you cannot understand because time has passed.”
Agoth recalls the frustration that often turned into punishment.
“If a teacher doesn’t understand you, he beats you before asking the problem,” he says quietly. “They don’t give you time to explain.”
He says the recent English teaching courses have improved things—but not enough.
“Now teacher writes, and he explains immediately. But before? No.”
Still, he dreams of a school with more than chalk and hope. “For food, we don’t have good food. For sports, we don’t have a football. For books, only the ones Save the Children brought. But we want more.”
A teacher’s journey through war and return
Behind these students’ struggles are teachers like Suzanne Gabriel-Mayon, whose life traces the same conflict-driven path as thousands of returnees.
Born in Sudan, Suzanne taught in Arabic-language schools before the war forced her to flee again to Wad Medani, where she lost her family home and survived by selling tea in the market.
“That job was the hardest in my life,” she says.
“Men in the market ask for bad things. Too many, but I refused.”
When the conflict reached Sudan, she crossed into Renk and became a teacher again. But English was a barrier she could not hide.
“Most of us knew how to write, but speaking English was very difficult,” she says. “Students ask, ‘Teacher, why don’t you pronounce this?’ You feel ashamed.”
The English courses supported by Save the Children with funding from Education Cannot Wait gave her hope.
“Now we can speak better. Those who taught only in Arabic are improving. It helps the children.” But she says the gap is still vast. “We need more English training, not only once.”
A generation caught between two languages
For 14-year-old Anyieth Alier, this crisis has consequences beyond the classroom.
“If we learn English, we can help the country,” she says. “If you go outside to America, Kenya, Uganda, people speak English. If you don’t know, how will you speak?”
She worries about children returning from Sudan.
“They speak Arabic only. They cannot read or write in English. They become confused.”
Though books and bags provided by Save the Children help, she believes the system cannot improve without trained teachers.
“Some teachers teach from their heart. But they need training. We need more English so we can understand each other.”
South Sudan’s education policy requires English instruction from early grades. But in Renk, where returnee teachers learned in Arabic and where children arrive daily from Sudan, the policy collides with reality.
Teachers trained in Arabic struggle to transition.
Students trained in English struggle when teachers mix languages.
Returnee children from Sudan cannot read their textbooks at all.
The result is a hidden education crisis, one that undermines learning outcomes, widens inequalities, and weakens teacher-student relationships.
Education cannot wait
Suzanne says the motivation in classrooms is strong, but the system remains fragile.
“We come from different backgrounds, different wars, different languages,” she says. “But we all have one interest: to learn.”
She believes long-term training, not short workshops, will determine whether South Sudan’s children succeed.
“If we support them now, these children will build the country in the future.”
A crisis made of hope
In John Garang Primary, English lessons continue under the cold and dry winds in the area. Adult Students or Teachers repeat vocabulary lines. Teachers stumble, hesitate, but push through. And every day, the language gap narrows just a little.
“It is confusing,” Nyaman admits.
“But if teacher and student learn together, we can understand each other. We can still learn.”
For many here, English is not just a subject.
It is the bridge to a future they are trying to build together.
Half of our teachers are from Arabic backgrounds
At the Renk County Education Office, Anywar Peter Paul, Director for Training and Rehabilitation, does not mince words.
“Our people are full of an Arabic background,” he says. “Half of our 650 teachers are still Arabic-trained.”
He explains the core issue plainly:
“You cannot implement an English syllabus with a teacher who cannot speak English. If teachers deliver wrong content, the children receive it wrong.”
He credits Save the Children as the only partner intervening effectively.
“Their English course is very, very good. The trainers understand the content.”
But the demand far outweighs the support.
“We ask Save the Children and all partners to help us train more teachers. Because without English, our children cannot learn.”
A returnee teacher learning English from zero
One of the most determined trainees is Joseph Deng Riak, who grew up entirely under Sudan’s Arabic curriculum.
“I am not of English background,” he says. “That is why English was very difficult.”
He has attended every English course available.
“The course helped a lot,” he says. “Especially grammar. We were very weak. Now we improve.”
He explains why teachers mix languages in class: “They mix English and Arabic because the language they have is little. Students also get confused because many are returnees.”
Still, he believes the solution is simple: “Learning is a long process. If Save the Children continues these courses, it will change everything in the future.”
During one English session, a teacher asks, “What do you understand by the word adjective?”
A student, Joseph Akier, raises his hand and walks confidently to the board. He reads aloud: “Adjective tells us more about the noun. Qualifies noun.”He gives examples, explains possessive adjectives, and reads sentences with pride. For him and others, this is proof of progress. The lesson is small, but symbolic. Teachers once afraid of English now stand at the front, reading confidently.
“We Want to Teach Children Love and Honesty”
When the journalist attempted to interview 45-year-old Ibrahim Ali Zeng, a returnee teacher from Sudan, he surprised everyone. Without waiting for a question, he unfolded a handwritten speech from his pocket and began reading:
“We thank the Ministry of General Education and Instruction.
We thank Save the Children for supporting refugees and returnees with intensive English language training.
We started three months of training with 50 teachers from 10 schools.
We learned vocabulary, grammar, lesson plans, and presentation.
We want to teach children to be kind, to be honest, and to use time wisely.
Most importantly, we want to teach them love, because love makes life meaningful.”
He ends his speech smiling proudly, confident, transformed.
“When I came from Sudan, English was hard,” he says later. “But now I can teach without any challenge.”
Save the Children: “The gap is real, we are trying to close it”
Barnaba Bol Yak, Save the Children’s Education Officer in Renk, says the issue is structural, not individual.
“Most returnee teachers were educated in Sudan, where English wasn’t the language of instruction,” he explains. “When they return, the language gap becomes clear.”
Save the Children, through Education Cannot Wait, supports teachers with intensive English refresher courses, classroom-English sessions, practical teaching demonstrations, lesson planning guides, and materials for temporary learning spaces.
“We see better classroom participation because children understand instructions,” Barnaba says. “Teachers are more confident.”
But he warns: “Continuity is the key. If trainings stop, the progress stops.”
Across Renk, teachers are learning English one grammar rule at a time. Students are patient, hopeful. And in every classroom, the same quiet battle continues a fight not against failure, but for understanding.
Because here, language is not just a barrier. It is the future itself.