In the sticky heat of a June day in South Sudan's capital Juba, groups of young men and women sang as they walked along the main road of Sherikat, on the eastern bank of the White Nile. As they weaved through slow-moving traffic, the boys carried long sticks, while the girls wore colorful beads, skirts and skirts. law a long piece of cloth tied at the shoulder.
With thousands of other Dinka, one of the largest ethnic groups in South Sudan, they danced late into the night in the agam ('acceptance' in Dinka) ceremony celebrating the conclusion of a 'marriage match', the traditional practice in which several men compete for the hand of a marriageable girl.
For months, Marial Garang Jil and Chol Marol Deng, two South Sudanese men in their forties who come from two different Dinka clans in Jonglei State but now live abroad, had been fighting to marry Athiak Dau Riak, a girl which, according to her mother, is fourteen.
Athiak's father, Dau Riak Magany, says she is 19 and has agreed to the marriage, despite the fact that she was of the primary school age of 8 (where children normally start at 13) when marriage negotiations began in March this year.
She had no choice, she had to choose one...I don't think there was an option for her not to choose any of these men
Aluel Atem, activist
Her mother, Deborah Kuir Yach, who is now in hiding for her safety because she is against the marriage, says she has proof that her daughter is 14.
The case could have remained a dispute between family members if photos and videos of gatherings had not been posted online and quickly shared.
The story of Athiak and her suitors went viral; Athiak was praised for her height and beauty, and as "the girl at the heart of a historic wedding competition" in publications across Africa.
After the ceremonial part of the wedding in June, when she was given as a wife to Chol Marol Deng, in exchange for 123 head of cattle, 120 million South Sudanese pounds (about $44,000 or £33,000) in cash and a plot of land, she was been called 'South Sudan's most expensive bride' in TikTok videos and received thousands of likes.
"There is nothing wrong with this marriage," her father said at the time. Garang Mayen Riak, a cousin of Athiak who traveled from Canada for the ceremony, agreed. "We are an educated family - we cannot force a girl to get married," he said, expressing his attachment to Dinka traditions. "This marriage is unique because such competitions rarely occur in our modern society. We are proud of it because it reminds us of who we are."
South Sudan's 2008 Children's Act bans early and forced marriage, but according to UNICEF, child marriage is "still a common practice" and "recent figures indicate that 52% of girls [in South Sudan] marry before they turn 18, with some girls being married off as early as the age of 12."
A University of Edinburgh-led report on the "bride price" system in South Sudan says that "mainstream courts often accept menstruation as a criterion for eligibility to marry" and that early marriage is "a common practice... probably motivated by the ambitions of families to obtain bride prices for their marriage". daughters as soon as possible".
According to another report by Unicef, 122 million girls worldwide are married as children every year. In sub-Saharan Africa, more than a third of young women married before the age of 18.
Despite the fact that child marriages are commonplace, Athiak's case has the country in its grip. In the social media frenzy, people "campaigned" for their favorite suitor. Others promoted the wedding as an affirmation of "Dinka culture and identity," dismissing critics who had condemned the process as "auctioning off a girl."
But the online activity also caught the attention of a lawyer, Josephine Adhet Deng, who in June opened a case against Dau Riak Magany, alleging he allowed the wedding of a minor and calling for Athiak to be brought back from Kenya , where she was taken shortly after the agam ceremony.
Questions about Athiak's age were sparked by a Facebook post from her maternal uncle, Daniel Yach, a Canadian citizen, who said "she is a minor" and condemned the proposed marriage as "a classic example of pedophilia."
"I was very shocked because I had not seen Athiak since I left for Canada in 2015," he said in a telephone conversation. "She was six years old at the time. Then I saw the posts about the wedding and discovered how big she had become.
'But she's just a child. This little girl is being brainwashed. It's the craziest things ever."
The South Sudanese are proud of their culture and identity... but there are cultural norms that do more harm than good
Sarah Diew Biel, conservation manager
When Chol Marol Deng was announced as the winning suitor by a committee of Athiak's uncles and father on June 13, they said it was "her choice".
But that could not sway Aluel Atem, a South Sudanese feminist activist. "She had to choose one. I don't think there was an option for her not to choose one of these two men," she says.
Atem describes the arrangement as "something akin to a forced marriage," even though Athiak is probably "proud of the fact that the promises were so high for her bride price."
"It's now a thing for these young girls in Sherikat," she says. "The mentality is like this: the more a man pays, the more valuable you are. There is a status attached to it."
Sarah Diew Biel, conservation manager for the South Sudanese development organization Nile Hope, says: "If you go against a thousand people who say 'this marriage is okay', you become a traitor in the eyes of the community, with A khawaja [foreigner] mentality. It is mentally and emotionally exhausting."
Biel works with other local organizations and social workers - as well as the police and the Ministry of Gender, Child and Social Welfare - to provide protection for survivors of gender-based violence in South Sudan, including the use of safe houses for girls subjected to forced marriages escape .
"The South Sudanese are very proud of their culture and identity, and so am I, but there are cultural norms that do more harm than good," she says.
Athiak's mother tried to stop the wedding. "I tried to tell the family that Athiak should not get married," she says. "But they all insisted.
"They were looking for the cows. They saw that Athiak would bring them that great wealth. When I refused, they separated me from my daughter."
The day the decision was made for Athiak to marry Chol Marol Deng, "I tried to commit suicide," she says. "And the next day I decided to run away."
Yach claims Athiak's birth certificate and ID were destroyed by other family members. "They sneaked in with Athiak to create a new age assessment certificate in my absence, based on a false date of birth," she said.
A new passport states that Athiak was born in 2005, but Yach has an emergency travel document processed by South Sudan's Ministry of Home Affairs in August 2015, which states that Athiak was born in Juba on December 28, 2009.
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Today, Yach is confined to the few square meters of the house where she is in hiding, separated from her seven children and with her life on hold. "I don't know who she's staying with," she says of Athiak.
The lawyer, Adhet Deng, believes Athiak is now likely in Nairobi with the family of Chol Marol Deng, who has returned to Canada where he works.
Adhet Deng is waiting for the judiciary to consider whether the case she filed can move forward, as this is not clear in an already "sealed" traditional marriage.
But she says there is another way: "I told the father and the other family members to pause this wedding, let Athiak go back to school for at least five years and then decide what she wants."
Athiak has never spoken publicly about the controversy surrounding her marriage. But on the eve of the agam celebration in June, she told the Guardian that if the wedding process had not started, she would "rather have wanted to study."
