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JUBA — South Sudan's healthcare system has been so crippled by years of corruption that when a state governor experienced high blood pressure recently, he had to fly to Kenya for treatment.
Riek Gai Kok is the governor of Jonglei state, where conflict has once again exploded between government and opposition parties.
His trip to Nairobi was recounted by humanitarians as yet another example of how South Sudan's elite, ranked the most corrupt in the world by Transparency International, have allowed services in the country to collapse.
As the country tips back into civil war between rival parties, what little healthcare exists is almost entirely through foreign donors, with more than 80 percent provided by NGOs like the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) and Doctors Without Borders (MSF).
In a hospital in the capital Juba, a soldier told AFP he was amazed to have been airlifted to hospital since most wounded are left to die.
"[When] I was shot, I thought I was dead," said Ajuong Deng, 33, wounded in the leg.
But it was the ICRC that rescued him -- not the army or the government -- treating him at their facility within the Juba Military Hospital where the NGO gives staff what it euphemistically calls "incentives" because it is not officially allowed to pay them.
"If we don't pay them then no one stays here," said one worker, speaking anonymously.

A rehabilitation nurse guides Gabriel Tut (L), 38, and Ajuong Deng (R), 33, through exercises after they sustained gunshot wounds to their legs at the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC)-supported rehabilitation ward in Juba Military Hospital in Juba on February 19, 2026. What little healthcare exists in South Sudan is almost entirely through foreign donors, with more than 80 percent covered by NGOs.
Government pay, normally just $10-50 monthly, has not arrived for months.
"This is not what we're supposed to be doing," said one senior humanitarian.
Cycle of violence
In the Juba hospital, wounded lay on the floor in blood-stained bandages. A man shot in the neck struggled to breathe.
The clinicians fear these men will soon be sucked back into the country's multiple cycles of violence: the war between the government and opposition, currently raging to the north, or between various ethnic militias and cattle raiders that plague rural areas.
"I have actually had one patient who came back four times," said Angeth Jervas Majok, the ICRC's head physiotherapist. "On the fifth time, unfortunately, we lost him."
With only 300 kilometres of paved roads, many impassable during rainy seasons, wounds often grow infected before they reach a doctor, so amputations are common.
Yet they are stigmatised: "There is a belief that (amputees) are not a human being anymore," said Majok. "A lot of patients cannot go back home."