Michael Morrah's trip to South Sudan was made possible with support from World Vision. You can donate to the South Sudan crisis appeal here.
It's just before dawn in the South Sudanese capital, Juba. Large blue water tankers rumble along the dusty streets below our hotel. Motorbikes weave around pot holes. Hungry hawks circle on the crimson horizon.
From my balcony, I can see traders preparing their stalls of fruit and black-market gasoline. Noisy generators burst into life.
It's hard to imagine looking out across the city that there's been such prolonged pain and suffering in this country. But at a camp just 20 minutes' drive out of the city, along a bumpy, red dirt road, there are stories of murder, stories of families forced to flee their burning homes.
The camp is called "POC 3", or the Protection of Civilian site three. We're headed there for the day with a team from World Vision. It's a UN-controlled area accommodating 21,500 people who have been left homeless in their own country. It's squalid and crammed.
I've never seen anything quite like it. It's difficult to fathom that people in their own country would be so fearful of persecution that they would flee to an area controlled by international forces.
But then I met 16-year-old David Buom and I started to understand why there was so much fear. He saw people shot in front of him during an uprising in December 2013. This camp is the only place he feels safe. He doesn't want to be here, but says at the moment, it's his only option.
David Buom at the POC site in Juba
There was much excitement when South Sudan won independence in 2011. But two years later, political squabbling boiled over into brutal inter-tribal violence.
The trigger point was when President Salva Kiir, an ethnic Dinka -- the country's largest group -- sacked his deputy, Riek Machar, who is from the second biggest tribe, the Nuer people.
Civilians were dragged into the conflict. Women and children were shot dead for just belonging to a particular tribal group. Michael Chot, a Nuer, whom I met at POC 3 was forced from his home at gunpoint.
"It's a day I'll never forget," he tells me.
Three of his sons, aged 16, 19 and 20, were shot dead.
Michael Chot, L, and his family at the POC site in Juba
Michael says he used to have a big house. He now lives with 20 others under the shade of a dirty tarpaulin.
He shows me his TV -- the only thing he managed to salvage on the day the fighters arrived at his home. He can't turn it on; there's no electricity here.
Confined to the POC, Michael and his family are now completely reliant on agencies like World Vision. Its staff helps deliver food in monthly rations of grains, cereals, salt and oil to the many thousands who live here. It's selfless work, which requires patience and planning.
But even the delivery of rations is not without its challenges. Thousands are not registered by the UN, which means the food allocation for one family often ends up being shared by many.
World Vision project manager Gift Sibanda
World Vision project manager Gift Sibanda perseveres despite the challenges. He's also helped implement a voucher system where residents can buy items from local traders.
"Our main objective is to allow families to buy food of their choice. It dignifies the community and gives them some independence."
Everyone here wants the chance to leave and start their lives again. That's certainly what Michael Chot wants. But that will only happen when the fighting stops.
"We all need peace. If there is peace, we can go out."
If you would like to contribute to life-saving aid for the people of South Sudan, you can donate to World Vision’s crisis appeal today.