The Great Betrayal: How South Sudan’s Elite Stole a Generation’s Future

In the dim glow of a Nairobi nightclub, the champagne flows like water. At famous club in Kilimani, a group of young South Sudanese elites—relatives of the very men who have brought their nation to its knees—snort lines of cocaine off the backs of hired escorts, each line costing more than a South Sudanese teacher earns in a year. The bill for tonight’s debauchery? $5,000, charged to a black Amex card linked to an offshore account. The cardholder? The 32-year-old wife of South Sudan Revenue Authority (SSRA) Commissioner General Simon Akuei Deng, a man who hasn’t paid his civil servants in eight months.

On a different night, champagne bottles pile up in the corner of Nairobi’s most exclusive nightclub Solomon Ajok, the personal assistant of a South Sudanese Finance minister lights a cigar with a 500-dollar bill. Around him, bottles of Ace of Spades champagne – each costing more than a South Sudanese doctor earns in six months – sit half-finished on ice. His girlfriends Instagram story shows the night’s haul: cocaine arranged in the shape of South Sudan’s flag, stacks of cash tossed in the air like confetti, and a Rolex Daytona watch dangling carelessly from his wrist as he pours vodka over the head of a laughing prostitute. This is Ajok Jr., a middle aged personal assistant to one of the most corrupt fortunes in Africa, burning through money that was meant to vaccinate children and pay teachers in what has become the world’s most shameless kleptocracy.

While Ajok snorts lines of premium Colombian cocaine off marble tables at the club in Kilimani, his godfather – Simon Akuei Deng, Commissioner General of the South Sudan Revenue Authority – presides over a financial heist so brazen it makes the looting of the Congo look tame. The numbers are staggering: 30 billion South Sudanese pounds (US200million) diverted to ghost committees; entire government departments going eight months without salaries while the thieves’ children study at the most expensive boarding schools in Kenya and cruise the Mediterranean on yachts.

The mechanics of the theft would be impressive if they weren’t so devastating. In February 2025, Finance Minister Marial Dongrin and Deng authorized the creation of illegal “retention accounts” at Kenya Commercial Bank, bypassing the national treasury entirely. Every month like clockwork, 2 billion SSP would vanish from government coffers – enough to pay 50,000 civil servants their meager salaries. The money traveled through a labyrinth of shell companies: one moment in Juba, the next in Dubai, then suddenly appearing as a penthouse in London’s Knightsbridge for Deng’s teenage bride. Bank records show transfers timed with surgical precision – on the same day Juba’s main hospital reported running out of malaria drugs, US$300,000 landed in the account of “South Sudan Logistics Solutions LLC,” a Dubai front company that exists only on paper.

The human cost unfolds in heartbreaking vignettes across the country. In Aweil, 14-year-old Nyibol Deng (no relation to the corrupt elite) stares at the empty blackboard where her teacher used to stand. The school hasn’t functioned in months – the teachers stopped coming when their pay dried up. Nyibol now spends her days hauling water for construction sites, her notebook gathering dust under her family’s bed. Meanwhile, in Nairobi, 15-year-old Marial Dongrin Jr. gets expelled from his US$50,000-per-term international school for showing up to class high on MDMA – again. His father simply writes another check and transfers him to an even more exclusive academy where his monthly allowance could fund a rural clinic for a year.

In South Sudan, Five-year-old Nyakim writhes in pain on a blood-stained mattress at Juba Teaching Hospital, her tiny body ravaged by malaria. The “out of stock” sign on the empty quinine shelf mocks her mother’s prayers. Just 10km away, SSRA Commissioner Deng’s wife hosts a “charity gala” at their mansion, where guests sip US$5,000 bottles of wine to “raise awareness” about healthcare – while the hospital’s last working ventilator gathers dust in storage, its maintenance budget stolen to fund private jets.

The excess knows no bounds. While South Sudan’s diplomats in Washington DC get evicted from their apartments for unpaid rent, the thieves’ wives take shopping trips to Paris so extravagant they require separate planes for their luggage. Security footage from December 2025 shows Rebecca Aquek, wife of SSRA Deputy Commissioner James Taban Abel Aquek, dropping US$30,000 in a single afternoon shoping at Paris’s Galeries Lafayette – the same week South Sudan’s embassy in Berlin had its electricity cut off for non-payment.

Back home in South Sudan, Little Deng, age 3, will never walk. Polio twisted his legs like pretzels because the vaccination program collapsed when US$2 million meant for refrigerated vaccine trucks became a down payment on Commissioner Aquek’s son’s armored Bentley. As Deng crawls through the dirt outside his family’s hut, Aquek’s son races that same Bentley through the streets of Nairobi, tossing cash at traffic cops who dare question his reckless speed.

Perhaps most galling is the education apartheid this corruption has created. In Juba’s slums, children squeeze 80 to a classroom with no textbooks, while the looters’ offspring enjoy:

Deng’s daughter at an exclusive school (US$40,000/year) where her “study materials” include a gold-plated iPad and designer ski gear

Dongrin’s son at a Lavington based international school(US$3,000/year) where he was recently suspended for arriving via helicopter

Aquek’s twin boys at Kenya’s most exclusive prep school, driven daily in a US$300,000 armored Bentley

The leaked documents tell a story of almost comical greed. One expense report shows US35,000 spent on office supplies. Another reveals USD120,000 billed to the Finance Ministry for “consultancy fees” that funded a birthday party at a Dubai nightclub where champagne was served in a pool shaped like South Sudan.

As the nation crumbles, the elite’s children treat poverty as a fashion statement. Deng personal Assistant Ajok, was recently posted a TikTok account of his teenage girlfriend from his Nairobi mansion’s rooftop pool, laughing as he poured expensive whiskey onto the streets below while captioning it “Trickle-down economics.” The video went viral for all the wrong reasons – the whiskey he wasted in that single stunt could have paid for 10,000 school meals. The video has since been deleted.

In Malakal, 10-year-old Adut stares at the cracked blackboard where her teacher once wrote lessons. Her government-funded school lunch – her only guaranteed meal each day – vanished eight months ago when the money was diverted to Finance Minister Dongrin’s wife’s Paris shopping spree. “Teacher said she can’t work without pay,” Adut whispers, her stomach growling as she walks home past posters of smiling politicians promising “Education for All.” Meanwhile, Dongrin’s newest wife snaps selfies with gold-leaf desserts at Maxim’s Paris, where the bill for one meal could feed Adut’s entire class for a month.

The tragedy extends beyond borders. South Sudanese scholarship students in Uganda and Kenya are dropping out in droves as their stipends disappear into the ether. At Makerere University, 23-year-old engineering student Chol Mawien stares at his dismissal notice – his government scholarship hasn’t been paid in six months. “I was supposed to help rebuild my country,” he says, packing up his dorm room. Meanwhile, at the University of Nairobi, Deng’s nephew drives to class in a US$200,000 Porsche 911 Turbo S, its custom “SSRA 1” license plate a mocking reminder of where South Sudan’s future went.

The most painful irony? Many of these thieves were educated on government scholarships themselves. Marial Dongrin, the architect of this looting, studied in Kenya on a South Sudanese taxpayer-funded grant. Now he denies that same opportunity to an entire generation.

As the IMF hesitates and the world looks away, the thieves grow bolder. Last month, Deng purchased a US$250,000 yacht and named it “The Revenue Collector” – a joke so cruel it would be funny if children weren’t starving because of it.

South Sudan doesn’t need aid. It needs justice. It needs the mansions sold, the yachts seized, the offshore accounts frozen. Most of all, it needs its stolen billions returned – every dollar, every pound, every life that could have been saved.

The champagne may still flow in Lavington tonight, but history’s judgment is coming. And when it arrives, no amount of stolen wealth will save these men from the wrath of a nation betrayed.

The Theft Machine
The mechanics of this generational robbery are meticulously cruel:

Every SSP 100,000 stolen from school budgets = 10 more girls like Adut forced into early marriage

Every “lost” hospital million = 100 more children dead from preventable diseases like Nyakim

Every diverted vaccine dollar = Another Deng condemned to a lifetime of suffering

Yet the looting continues unabated. Last week, as Nyakim took her final breath in that understaffed hospital, Finance Minister Dongrin approved US$25,000 for his daughter’s “security detail” – a Range Rovers and a team of ex-Israeli commandos to protect her while she parties in Kenya.