From the marketplace I made my way towards the Nile, which borders one side of Juba (maybe it cuts through it-I'm not really sure).  In the area along the bank where I made my way to, there were a few Kenyan bars and guesthouses.  Although I saw a bridge upriver where you can cross, most parts of the bank that I could find were all fenced in with

 chain-link.

From the other side of the fence I sat and drank a Stoney ginger beer from the Kenyan bar and watched two Chinese guys fishing for Tilapia.  The bar was playing a mix of African reggae and American songs from the 70's.  For a moment I felt pretty absurd sitting in the shade and watching the slow lazy river, sipping a soda, and listen

ing to Willie Nelson.  Hell, I've never even listened to Willie Nelson in the states.

From the Kenyan bar, immediately I found myself confronted by a serious juxtaposition.  I could still hear the pulsing reggae music behind me but in a field sitting outside the gate, some old Armored Personnel Carriers from the war were sitting abandoned and rusting in a nearby field.  I took a few quick photos despite knowing that such things could land me in a bit of trouble (no more, I promise).  

Walking further down the road, the side of the road was littered with more and more derelict APC's that seemed like they hadn't been touched for at least a decade.  In between their old metal corpses, rows of wooden houses and thatch roofed tukuls stretched from the road into the field next to it.  Families went about their business.  I found myself stopped for a moment when, wedged between two of the houses was a broken-down rusted tank with some kids sitting on the destroyed turret.  I could still hear some old 1970's country music coming from the river.

Juba's a funny city.  On the one hand it as changed radically in the past few years.  Its population has swelled, roads have been put in, the airport is bigger, and at night you can visit the city's new hotels and dance clubs.  Security in the city is pretty calm and there is no heavy military presence in many of the public areas.  Even compared to Nairobi, soldiers and armed police are scarce.  Yet sometimes you find relics of a time that was really not that long ago.  I find myself reminded that the CPA is only three years old.

Even when we try to forget, abandon, and move on from the memories of war, sometimes they just continue to sit, staring at you silently from the side of the road.