Torit, South Sudan – Solomon Oture, a respected rainmaker from the remote village of Lohobohobo, met a tragic end in October 2024. Tasked with bringing rain to his community through ritual and prayer, Oture was buried alive after successive droughts and mounting tensions with the village authorities.
Rainmakers in South Sudan hold a revered position, believed to control the rains essential for farming. But in regions hit hard by climate change, prolonged droughts and crop failures have created high-stakes pressure. Communities, desperate for survival, sometimes turn their anger toward rainmakers when the rains fail.
After consecutive dry spells, Oture’s relationship with the village deteriorated. Community leaders demanded answers, and young men known as the Monyomiji, who enforce local laws and customs, forced Oture to return from hiding.
In front of witnesses, Oture was taken from the village square to a freshly dug pit and buried alive. The killing was later confirmed by family members, government officials, and local residents.
Oture was not the only rainmaker to face such violence. Over the past four decades, at least five rainmakers in the Lopit mountains have been killed in similar circumstances, including burial, beating, or being burned alive. Many more have been driven into exile.
In South Sudan’s Eastern Equatoria state, rainmakers are vital for agricultural survival. They perform rituals at the start of planting seasons, using sacred objects, ceremonial spears, or symbolic offerings to invoke rain. Rainmakers inherit their position through lineage and oversee a “raindom,” a territory covering several villages.
Despite their spiritual importance, rainmakers are vulnerable during droughts. As crops fail and hunger spreads, communities scrutinize their performance, and any perceived failure can lead to violence.
One anonymous rainmaker explained:
“It is not me, but God who brings the rain. Still, when there is no rain, we can be questioned—and even punished.”
The Monyomiji, a group of fighting-aged men, hold immense power in remote villages. They enforce local rules, manage food crises, and oversee rainmakers. With state authorities often unable to reach these regions, the Monyomiji act as judge, jury, and executioner.
Leone Oriho, the paramount chief of Imehejek, said:
“The Monyomiji prevents the government from intervening in our culture. They have gone beyond our power.”
No one has been arrested for Oture’s killing. Community members fear reprisals, and discussing such deaths remains taboo.
South Sudan is highly vulnerable to climate change. Since the 2018 peace accord, erratic rainfall and severe floods have displaced communities, destroyed crops, and worsened hunger. Many residents, like Pietro*, were forced to leave their villages in search of food and work.
“There was no rain. My children were hungry,” Pietro said, describing his journey to Juba in search of work.
Droughts exacerbate social tensions, turning spiritual roles like rainmaking into dangerous occupations, where failure can lead to death.
Oture’s later years were marked by tension with villagers. Reports suggest he demanded livestock or compensation to correct failed rituals, angering the community further. While some accusations remain unverified, they highlight how drought, climate stress, and local politics collide with traditional beliefs.
His son, John, living abroad, described the news of his father’s death as causing “great pain” but hopes the story will serve as a lesson to future generations.
As climate change worsens, South Sudan’s rainmakers face growing danger. Delayed rains, crop failures, and persistent hunger may continue to turn spiritual leaders into scapegoats, exposing the fragile balance between traditional authority and survival.
Experts predict that by 2060, the hottest months could rise by more than 7°C, increasing the risk of extreme weather, famine, and social unrest in rural communities.
“People are discouraged and leaving. There is no hope for the rain,” said Matthew Oromo, a former official investigating Oture’s death.
