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‘NO ONE WANTS TO LIVE
SOMEWHERE WHERE
NOTHING CHANGES.’
—GAI JOHN NYANG
ROSE NATHIKE
LOKONYEN CARRIES
THE OLYMPIC FLAG
IN RIO IN 2016
the refugee camp, he says. “You get food and bed
and a room for free.”
Between the quadrennial Olympics, the
athletes participate in competitive races around
the world to give them the experience of
competing at a high level. But Lobalu and Nyang
each claimed in separate interviews that they did
not receive prize money for their achievements
at such events, even those with prize money.
An executive at On, the Swiss athletic-
footwear company that helps fi nance the Tegla
Loroupe Peace Foundation and that supplies
running shoes to the team, confi rms they were
made aware of money not reaching athletes—
including bonuses for participation in events
like the 2017 World Athletics Championships in
London, where two of the runners fl ed the team,
absconding from the Kenya training program
and staying in the U.K. “There were bonuses,
and those were paid out to the foundation, and
it was the foundation’s responsibility to hand
them to the athletes,” says Feliciano Robayna,
On’s head of sports marketing, who handles the
partnership with the refugee team and who has
twice visited the Kenya camp. “We went out of
our way [to ensure that was happening], after
hearing that some bonuses did not reach the
athletes’ hands,” he says.
In response to the athletes’ allegations,
Loroupe told TIME that athletes received prize
money for competing in races. “It is their money,”
she says. Told of her response, Lobalu laughed.
“O.K.,” he says skeptically. “Maybe after I left.”
For Nyang, it was less the absent prize money
that drove him away and more the sense of
missed opportunity. He described mounting
tensions in the camp, with managers who
appeared to favor some athletes over others, and
rising fears of retribution if anyone complained.
What Nyang most feared, he says, was being sent
back to the Kakuma refugee camp, “which is
horrible.” He says he also increasingly feared for
his personal safety in Kenya, as a South Sudanese
refugee. More than anything else, he says, he felt
like he was stuck. “Of course no one wants to
live somewhere where nothing changes,” Nyang
said, referring to the training camp. He says he
recalled thinking, “There is no other future, only
to say, ‘O.K., I have to go my own way.’ ”
He and another South Sudanese refugee,
Wiyual Puok Deng, did so in dramatic fashion—
refusing to board a fl ight back to Kenya from
Frankfurt after competing at the Asian Games
in Turkmenistan in 2017. Both Nyang and
Lobalu said they felt as if refugee athletes were
discouraged from moving on or off ered little help
to do so. One other person agreed. “They [the
refugee training camp] want to keep them forKenyan shillings (about $46 at current exchange
rates). After TIME asked the IOC to check, the
organization confi rmed that the payments were
indeed 5,000 Kenyan shillings.
An IOC spokesperson said the money was
meant as “pocket money” for the athletes in
Loroupe’s camp, whose living expenses were
covered; the athletes live in four-bed dormitory
rooms and cook communally. When TIME asked
Loroupe about the payments, her reply was:
“Our athletes are not there just to be paid.
They are there for a reason.”
Nyang says that before leaving the training
program in 2017, he regularly borrowed money
from locals to cover expenses. “What can you do
with $50?” he says. Complaining was fruitless,
according to Lobalu, the athlete who absconded
in Geneva. “They would say, ‘If you don’t like the
place, pack your bag and go back to Kakuma,’”