Cellphones, roads, and girls in school. Is this south Sudan?

Following a mine-clearing crew, Muhammad dumps loads of dirt into potholes or muddy ruts that could swallow small cars whole. A grader follows him, shaping the road into a gentle arch, so rainwater will drain off.

When this road is finished, it'll cut travel time from Rumbek to the neighboring country of Uganda - a 300-mile trip - to two days. Now it can take several weeks.

Already, the work is paying dividends.

The UN plans to bring a record 174,000 metric tons of food this year to feed southern Sudan's hungry masses. Because of bad roads, it used to have to airlift in 80 percent of the food - at a cost of about $1,100 per ton. Now it trucks in 42 percent of the food - at only about $275 per ton.

Local markets are improving, too. Most used to be so anemic that they were barter-only: Want a chicken? Better have some salt to trade.

Now traders demand cash. Prices have fallen by about 30 percent in Rumbek. When Muhammad goes to the market, he sees imported items like pink Joe Boxer underwear, Casio watches, and fresh fruit.

Soon, unheard-of products like refrigerators will arrive. Until now, the roads have been too risky for such high-value items.

But Muhammad is proudest that he now earns $375 a month - enough to put all four of his kids in school for the first time. "The children," he says, "they must be in school."

For 15-year-old Deborah Acot, peace in southern Sudan hasn't yet changed her ambition to be a bomber pilot.

Standing in the dusty courtyard of her school, the steely-eyed waif explains why.

When she was seven, a bomber from Sudan's Arab north attacked her village. She hasn't seen her family since. And soon afterward, she joined the south's rebel army as a cook and porter. Often she went days without food. She rarely had clothes. And her thirst for revenge grew. "I want to be a pilot," she says, "so I can kill Arabs."

Today, five years after her commander ordered her to go to school, that raw desire drives her to study hard, despite her school's limitations. Its 830 students share eight classrooms, which leak badly when it rains. Teachers use tattered pamphlets as curriculum guides. There are few textbooks.

In all, Deborah's story illustrates the challenge of building the south's education system: Kids who are embittered after growing up in a war zone, and too few schools with too few supplies.

The region had just 1,700 schools for its 1.4 million school-age kids in 2003, the UN says. So less than a quarter went to school. And just 6 percent of teachers were formally trained. At Deborah's Deng Nhial school, all the teachers are volunteers. It can't afford to pay them.

But the building effort has already begun.

The UN, for instance, set up 174 all-girl schools last year. They aim to address the fact that many parents expect daughters to do chores, not learn. At these schools, 5,000 girls attend classes in the morning, then go home to do housework.

Deborah does her part by studying hard. She's ranked fifth in her class of 45, most of whom are boys. In fact, she's one of just three girls in the entire school. If she makes it to high school, she'll be one of only a handful of southern girls who do. And since there's no college in southern Sudan, she'd have to go elsewhere for advanced studies.

But Deborah is warming to peace. "The life of education is better than the life of war," she admits. And she's starting to imagine a future without conflict. Rather than bombing Arabs, she allows that she could see herself airlifting in medicines, food, or other supplies. "I could fly," she adds, "to help my country."

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