A nation sits on an ocean of oil. Its people were promised prosperity. Instead, they got predators in tailored suits.
South Sudan’s wealth isn’t being stolen by warlords or foreign powers anymore. The new thieves wear Rolexes, hold British passports, and post their crimes on Instagram. While mothers watch their children go hungry and hospitals run out of medicine, a pack of young men born the same year—1991—are turning the country’s oil revenue into their personal piggy bank.
When the Old Guard Fell
Not long ago, the theft was simpler. President Salva Kiir’s inner circle controlled everything. Former Vice President Benjamin Bol Mel perfected the art: fake road contracts through his ABMC Construction, billions disappearing into offshore vaults, mansions rising while highways crumbled.
Then war choked the oil flow. Money dried up. Bol Mel got desperate, grabbing at anything—minerals, bank reserves, local businesses. Security forces finally caught on. November 12, 2025: house arrest. Empire over.
His fall opened the door.
Enter the Instagram Oligarchs
Four names. Four British-South Sudanese citizens. Same birth year. Same hunger.
Deng Daniel. Garang Mayom Malek. Dinnall Bateman Kurtis Nathaniel. Ariec Wol Mayar.
They registered companies in London throughout 2025—Capital Pay Ltd, Capital Pay Software Solutions Ltd, and others—giving their schemes a veneer of legitimacy. Back in Juba, they operate under names like ECitizen and Crawford Capital, presenting themselves as official revenue collectors.
The setup is ingenious. British registration means distance from South Sudanese oversight. Local government connections—Mayar works as Director of Media at the Foreign Affairs Ministry—provide access and intimidation power. Together, it’s a perfect machine for extortion.
Deng Daniel claims he runs the show in Juba. Garang Mayom Malek says Deng just manages his office. Meanwhile, they’re both getting rich off the same scam: forcing businesses to pay fake taxes, invented fees, and “patriotic contributions” that never reach the treasury.
Champagne While the Nation Starves
Their social media tells the story they don’t want you to see. Private jets to Monaco. Yachts in Dubai. Parties in Kampala with imported companions. European hairstylists flown in for special occasions. Luxury cars that cost more than a hospital wing.
One suit on their backs could pay a teacher’s salary for a year. One watch could buy textbooks for an entire school. Instead, it decorates their wrists while schools close and roads decay.
The distance between their Instagram feeds and South Sudan’s reality is obscene. This isn’t just inequality. It’s theft in real-time, broadcast with shameless pride.
The Playbook
Their method is straightforward brutality: claim government authority, demand payment, threaten consequences. Local businesses pay to avoid trouble. Foreign companies pay because the threats come wrapped in hints about presidential connections.
UK Companies House records confirm the directors. British law protects their assets. South Sudanese connections protect their operations. They exist in both worlds while being accountable to neither.
It’s organized crime with business cards.
History’s Echo
Bol Mel thought he was untouchable too. His mansions and secret accounts seemed permanent until they weren’t. One day he was vice president. The next, under house arrest, watching his empire dissolve.
The four young wolves circling Juba’s revenue streams today should pay attention. Corruption builds kingdoms on sand. Time and public memory have long reach.
What’s Really Being Stolen
Every dollar that ends up in a London bank account or on a luxury watch is a dollar not healing a child, not educating a student, not building a road connecting isolated communities.
South Sudan’s oil belongs to its people. Instead, it finances European vacations and designer wardrobes while the nation’s potential bleeds out.
The Reckoning Waits
The people of South Sudan aren’t blind. They see the posts, hear the stories, know the names. They watch stolen wealth parade through their capital while their own lives remain trapped in poverty manufactured by greed.
Benjamin Bol Mel learned that stolen empires fall. Deng Daniel, Garang Mayom Malek, Dinnall Bateman Kurtis Nathaniel, and Ariec Wol Mayar might want to remember that.
Because in South Sudan, as everywhere, the bill eventually comes due. And when it does, no amount of British registration or government connections will save them from what they’ve earned.
The people are watching. And they’re keeping score.
KenyanHour 