It will, almost certainly, never happen again, that I arrive in a country, work for three years in the same city, but leave from a different nation.
I arrived in Juba, in the southern half of a united Sudan, but now leave from the capital of the newest nation in the world.
The first arrival in Juba: five years ago, was a little scary to be honest.
We drove down the main highway to Uganda on the back of an army truck, heading out into steamy, thick and green jungles to meet the Ugandan rebels, the Lords Resistance Army or LRA.
Things have changed so much.
No longer does the grass brush vehicle windows on either side of the road: that track is now a highway, soon to be tarmaced.
The LRA still cause problems on the western border, but no longer terrorise vast areas of the south.
People are farming, building lives, returning home, in areas that were still too dangerous just a few years ago.
But there are many problems here still: the legacy of long years of war cannot be simply solved overnight.
In travels across the south I have witnessed heartbreaking places of people struggling to survive: crushed down by a range of problems, from hunger, rebel violence, cattle raids, lack of hospitals and schools, grinding poverty, corruption, sickness.
Violence against women, of rape or other abuse, remains a major problem.
But South Sudan has achieved what many said back then was simply the impossible: to hold a peaceful, credible referendum for independence, and to have that decision recognized by the government in Khartoum.
Seeing the sea of people jumping for joy and waving flags on independence day this Saturday past, it was something that many thought would never come.
When the flag rose, there was a wave of sound, a roar of a people cheering their new nation.
Seeing people cry in joy, overcome with emotion, people who had waited over fifty years for that moment, was a deeply humbling and moving experience.
This was not something that in any way was inevitable: independence was something fought hard for. 
There are more than enough international experts and advisors in South Sudan telling the country what to do and how develop: it is does not need a reporter to add their voice.
But I do have a dream: and that is to come back to visit South Sudan in years to come and see the change for the better: to watch the growth of nation, a generation of children living in peace and going to school, under a government and security that serves the people and is accountable to them.
But the road ahead for South Sudan will not be easy: forging a nation takes more than unfurling a flag. There will be tough times ahead my friends.
The words of the world’s newest president Salva Kiir, speaking after raising the flag, is a message that must be remembered.
“Let all the citizens of this new nation be equal before the law and have equal opportunities,” President Kiir said, adding that corruption cannot be tolerated in the new nation.
“We are all South Sudanese: we may be a Zande, Kakwa, Nuer, Toposa, Dinka, Lotuko, Anyuak, Bari and Shilluk, but remember you are a South Sudanese first,” he said.
Independence alone won’t solve the many problems, but it is a start, a real start, and the people of this long troubled land have at last a fighting chance for a better life.
I am deeply sad to be leaving at this extraordinary, inspiring time, knowing too the many challenges ahead for the people here.
For three years I have ended radio broadcasts with signoff: this is Peter Martell in Juba, South Sudan. 
Now, it is a new country at last.

So though I will miss the people of this land greatly, it is with enormous happiness and pride that I can say a simple farewell that means so much, by being able to say for the first and sadly final time, for BBC Network Africa, this is Peter Martell, in Juba, in the Republic of South Sudan.

South Sudanese celebrate their divorce
By Peter Martell
BBC News, Juba


With a thrilling roar of joy, at the stroke of midnight, South Sudan became the newest nation in the world.
"It is a shout of freedom," said Alfred Tut, lifting his head back and screaming.
A digital countdown clock in central Juba was a focal point, as vehicles packed with people waving flags, toured the streets, honking horns in celebration.
"Congratulations, free at last, South Sudan," the sign read.
The people did not need to read the message: They were already dancing and leaping into the air with happiness.
Officials had planned for people to hold a quiet celebration at home, with the formal declaration of independence later on Saturday morning.
"At midnight, bells will be rung across the new country, and drums will be sounded, to mark the historic transition from southern Sudan to the Republic of South Sudan," an earlier statement from the southern government had said.
But that clearly was not enough for the people, who simply could not wait to celebrate.
Two hours before midnight and lines of cars zoomed around town, each blasting out a different tune.
Roundabouts became frenzied dance venues when trucks carrying giant speakers slowly passed by.
Some lit candles and said prayers for the new country
"We have waited too long for this special day, so we cannot sit indoors," said Atem Garang.
"I have come out because I cannot believe we have arrived at this point of a new nation after such a long, hard road of fighting."
Women ululated with high voices, men chanted.
"We are going, we are going to freedom," they sang.
"We are going to the promised land," said Bage William, who wore the flag of his new nation as a cloak, draped around his shoulder.
By the time the final countdown arrived, the atmosphere was wild.
Church bells rang the midnight hour but, in central Juba at least, the deafening sound of horns drowned them out.
"This is the day I have been waiting for since I cannot remember," said Mary Puok.
Groups of people ran down roads, dancing to drum beats.
Soldiers and policemen joined in too, waving paper flags and laughing - many were former fighters with the rebel Sudan People's Liberation Army (SPLA).
"I fought with the SPLA, and now we have won," said Gony Thon, a policeman, joining in the impromptu dance on the street.
Those who could not fit inside the cars hung out the windows, or sat on the roof.
One car had the sign plastered on the back window: "Just divorced."
Parties continued long into the night, as families and friends feasted on roasted goats specially killed for the occasion.
But there was also a quieter celebration too.
On back streets, outside homes, others had placed candles in simple celebration, as well as in memory for all those who died in the decades of conflict to reach this historic point.
The soft glow of flickering candles lit the way far down sandy tracks.
"I light candles in church when I say a prayer," said Alice Ajak, a mother, who lost two children during the long years of war.
"My candle here therefore is my prayer that my new country is one of peace, and where we can live without problems for now and in the future always to come."

A farewell piece ahead of South Sudan's independence, on the BBC From Our Own Correspondent programme.

The eighty year old ex-rebel’s eyes twinkled.
Then General Joseph Lagu punched the air in victory, danced a little jig and burst out into song.
“To freedom, to freedom,” he sang, his voice proud and clear.
“To freedom happily marching, we go!”
The general was on the podium during a diplomatic reception in the US Consulate for their Fourth of July independence party, just days before his own land becomes officially a new nation.
The diplomats and officials, gathered beneath Stars and Stripes balloons and clutching sparklers, watched as the man who helped launch Africa’s longest war waved at them from the stage.
 “My fellow Southern Sudanese have been marching to their freedom for over fifty years,” he told the crowd, gathered in the steamy heat of the soon to be world’s newest capital Juba.
“Our promised land is South Sudan!”
This is a land where hope often overcomes all apparent practical logic.
General Lagu began his battle for southern independence in 1963: the year The Beatles launched their debut album and US President John F Kennedy was assassinated.
He can still list the entire weapons arsenal with which he started a rebellion.
There was an ancient muzzle loader, a faulty hunting gun which frequently jammed, and an antique colonial British army rifle. Which one did you choose? I asked. “None,” he replied. “I carried a machete.”
Had he believed he would ever see this day, the battle against the oppressive government in the north and its modern powerful army won, and South Sudan about to become an independent country?
 “No,” he said, which, all things considered, was an answer not too surprising from a man who started a war with a cleaver.
Then his hands left his walking stick and clutched mine with a firm grip.“It was God Almighty who got me here,” he said.
The on-off conflict waged by General Lagu and the fighters over several generations left some two million people dead. It was a war of intense  brutality, of massacres, bombing and infighting that ripped a land apart.
It forced millions into exile and left many of those remaining destitute. The aid agencies say one in every seven children here dies before the age of five.
This is a land smashed by war, from its crumbling cities on the slow waters of the White Nile river, to its vast grasslands, steamy swamps, border badlands, lush jungles and lonely villages.
So it was hardly surprising when almost 99 percent of its people voted in a referendum in January for a separate nation, with independence now due this coming Saturday. And yet there’s still every reason to be gloomy. There are fears of north-south border wars.
There are real fears the already-poisonous relationship between the former civil war enemies could worsen. Frantic preparations are being made in case the half a million southerners, left living in the north after independence, flee to the south. 
The ex-rebel turned regular southern army is accused by human rights groups of massacres and rape.
There are questions too about whether the new state can grow into a viable nation for the future. The shift from guerrilla movement to government has not been an easy one. There are reports of rampant corruption: diplomats say they have details of grossly bulging international bank accounts of senior officials.
There is still abject poverty and not enough schools, hospitals and roads.
Once the pomp and celebrations of independence day are over, and the world’s heads of state have returned home, an enormous challenge will remain. Forging a nation requires far more than simply raising a flag. But then there is that magic sense of hope here.
My good friend Mabior Philip is a radio reporter in Juba. When he was a young boy, he used to carry pumpkins on his head, supplying food for the rebel fighters on the frontline. He grew up in a basic camp in rebel held areas of the south. He is fully aware of the size of the challenges ahead.
“There is a saying here that a bad beginning makes a good ending,” says Mabior. “So from us starting from nowhere, I know we shall go to somewhere.”
He, like the man who started a war with a machete, has faith and a belief that things will eventually improve, sometime, somewhere in the future
He and others here cannot wait to hear the church bells ring, as Friday night turns to Saturday, and South Sudan rings in freedom at the stroke of midnight.
 “Even when you count to a million, you have to start from zero,” says Mabior.
“We are at zero now, maybe getting close to one.”