(CNN) South Sudan is the world's youngest country, and it has witnessed immense change since gaining independence in 2011. The promise of peace has given way to civil war, and tribal rifts continue to run deep, permeating political affairs. Over two million people have been displaced according to the UN, and tens of thousands killed .

Amid the tumult is the Mundari, a people who would rather get on with doing what they do best: looking after their cattle.

Meat the family

It would be hard to find a more dedicated group of herdsmen than the tribe who live on the banks of the Nile, north of the capital Juba. Their entire lifestyle is geared around caring for their prized livestock, the Ankole-Watusi , a horned breed known as "the cattle of kings."

"The next time I met them, I brought my camera. They then told me, 'You're a part of this cult, but you can't take pictures.' It took me another couple of months in the cult before they let me take pictures."

"The next time I met them, I brought my camera. They then told me, 'You're a part of this cult, but you can't take pictures.' It took me another couple of months in the cult before they let me take pictures."

"This photograph is of the initiation. When I was initiated, they hit me a little bit with a stick -- hitting is an important part of the ceremony as it serves as a warning not to reveal the secrets of the Nyau. "They removed the fabric and started dancing and I danced with them. We danced the whole night, then they took me to their hidden place -- the cemetery. They told me, 'Now, you're Nyau.' They gave me my own mask and costume and started to teach me how to dance."

"This photograph is of the initiation. When I was initiated, they hit me a little bit with a stick -- hitting is an important part of the ceremony as it serves as a warning not to reveal the secrets of the Nyau. "They removed the fabric and started dancing and I danced with them. We danced the whole night, then they took me to their hidden place -- the cemetery. They told me, 'Now, you're Nyau.' They gave me my own mask and costume and started to teach me how to dance."

"Afterward, I had to kill a chicken with the other new members, so we could take the feathers and add them to our costumes later. Later, I was brought to a nearby village, where I was covered in a fabric and flowers, and the Nyau came out, already in costume."

"Afterward, I had to kill a chicken with the other new members, so we could take the feathers and add them to our costumes later. Later, I was brought to a nearby village, where I was covered in a fabric and flowers, and the Nyau came out, already in costume."

"First, I had to learn their password system, which involved secret hand signs. If you pass a Nyau on the road and use the hand sign, nothing bad will happen to you; they'll understand you're one of them."

"First, I had to learn their password system, which involved secret hand signs. If you pass a Nyau on the road and use the hand sign, nothing bad will happen to you; they'll understand you're one of them."

"Ofis talked to the chiefs, and they agreed I could be a spectator at first, but nothing more. I started to go every week and take pictures of the dances, but I wanted to see more. I wanted to go inside and see how they made their masks. "First, I had to be accepted as a member of the Nyau. One day, they said they were willing to accept me, but I would have to go through a ceremony."

"Ofis talked to the chiefs, and they agreed I could be a spectator at first, but nothing more. I started to go every week and take pictures of the dances, but I wanted to see more. I wanted to go inside and see how they made their masks. "First, I had to be accepted as a member of the Nyau. One day, they said they were willing to accept me, but I would have to go through a ceremony."

"One day I met a teacher from Zimbabwe named Ofis, who started to ask me why I was so interested in the Nyau. We ultimately became friends, and he confessed that he was a member. I started to learn about the cult from him, but he said if I wanted to know more, I'd have to join."

"One day I met a teacher from Zimbabwe named Ofis, who started to ask me why I was so interested in the Nyau. We ultimately became friends, and he confessed that he was a member. I started to learn about the cult from him, but he said if I wanted to know more, I'd have to join."

"Nyau keep both their rituals and their identity a closely-guarded secret. I later learned that during a ritual, the dancers will rotate so no one can tell their identity. "If you see a whole family watching a dance, maybe the husband will leave for a bit then go to a secret place to change and dance, then come back so his mother, sister or wife won't know he's a member. If one dancer falls down and injures himself and starts limping, all members of the Nyau will start limping so no one can identify the injured dancer. "

"Nyau keep both their rituals and their identity a closely-guarded secret. I later learned that during a ritual, the dancers will rotate so no one can tell their identity. "If you see a whole family watching a dance, maybe the husband will leave for a bit then go to a secret place to change and dance, then come back so his mother, sister or wife won't know he's a member. If one dancer falls down and injures himself and starts limping, all members of the Nyau will start limping so no one can identify the injured dancer. "

"After my first encounter with the Nyau, I spent a year in Mozambique looking for more dances, and trying to find members, so I could photograph them. This proved difficult, since everything about the Nyau is kept secret. If you're part of the Nyau cult, you're not supposed to tell anyone."

"After my first encounter with the Nyau, I spent a year in Mozambique looking for more dances, and trying to find members, so I could photograph them. This proved difficult, since everything about the Nyau is kept secret. If you're part of the Nyau cult, you're not supposed to tell anyone."

"The performance I witnessed was the Gule Wamkulu, a secret cult and ritual practiced by the Nyau brotherhood during the harvest, as well as important ceremonies, like weddings and funerals. Gule Wamkulu means 'The Great Dance' in the Chewa language. It is performed by the Nyau, who wear masks and costumes that represent the spirits of animals, called 'nyama,' and of their ancestors, called 'mizimu.' The ritual has had UNESCO protection since 2005, when it was included as one of 90 Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity."

"The performance I witnessed was the Gule Wamkulu, a secret cult and ritual practiced by the Nyau brotherhood during the harvest, as well as important ceremonies, like weddings and funerals. Gule Wamkulu means 'The Great Dance' in the Chewa language. It is performed by the Nyau, who wear masks and costumes that represent the spirits of animals, called 'nyama,' and of their ancestors, called 'mizimu.' The ritual has had UNESCO protection since 2005, when it was included as one of 90 Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity."

"One policeman told me they are never prosecuted. 'How can you put an elephant or snake in jail? The same is with Nyau,' he said. In spite of the rumors, I never heard of any accident involving a Nyau while I was there."

"One policeman told me they are never prosecuted. 'How can you put an elephant or snake in jail? The same is with Nyau,' he said. In spite of the rumors, I never heard of any accident involving a Nyau while I was there."

"I had no idea what Nyau was, so I started to do some research," said Sokhin. "I learned it was a secret society within the Chewa culture. Chewa people live in Malawi, Zambia and Mozambique. I found out that many locals, and even policemen, were afraid of the Nyau and considered them dangerous. One type of Nyau, known as Nyau 'kampini,' or 'dangerous Nyau,' (pictured) walk around with machetes and have a reputation for attacking people."

"I had no idea what Nyau was, so I started to do some research," said Sokhin. "I learned it was a secret society within the Chewa culture. Chewa people live in Malawi, Zambia and Mozambique. I found out that many locals, and even policemen, were afraid of the Nyau and considered them dangerous. One type of Nyau, known as Nyau 'kampini,' or 'dangerous Nyau,' (pictured) walk around with machetes and have a reputation for attacking people."

Vlad Sokhin: "From 2010-2011, I lived in Mozambique's Tete province, where I was doing different jobs. One of them was for a coal exploration company. One day they asked me to photograph the opening ceremony for a new camp. While I was waiting for the ceremony to start, I saw someone pop out of the bush wearing feathers and a mask. Locals started screaming, 'Nyau,' and started to run."

Vlad Sokhin: "From 2010-2011, I lived in Mozambique's Tete province, where I was doing different jobs. One of them was for a coal exploration company. One day they asked me to photograph the opening ceremony for a new camp. While I was waiting for the ceremony to start, I saw someone pop out of the bush wearing feathers and a mask. Locals started screaming, 'Nyau,' and started to run."

In 2010, photographer Vlad Sokhin gained rare access to the rituals and practices of the Nyau brotherhood, a secret society of the Chewa people that exists in communities in Mozambique, Malawi and Zambia. He reveals how he managed to infiltrate, and ultimately join, this secret group. Photographs by Vlad Sokhin.

In 2010, photographer Vlad Sokhin gained rare access to the rituals and practices of the Nyau brotherhood, a secret society of the Chewa people that exists in communities in Mozambique, Malawi and Zambia. He reveals how he managed to infiltrate, and ultimately join, this secret group. Photographs by Vlad Sokhin.

These cows grow up to eight feet tall, and are worth as much as $500 each. It's no wonder the Mundari view these animals as their most valuable assets (or that they guard them with with machine guns).

Photographer Tariq Zaidi spent a fortnight earlier this year documenting their lives and the devotion they show towards these animals. Zaidi has captured tribes and indigenous people from over 30 African nations, though he was nonetheless taken aback by the relationship between man and beast.

"It's hard to overstate the importance of cattle to the Mundari people," says Zaidi, "these animals are everything to them."

The photographer describes how "almost every man I met wanted me to take a picture of them with their favorite cow." Their wives and children, on the other hand, were given short shrift.

Perhaps this is in part due to the function and symbolism of the Ankole-Watusi. Each bovine is so highly prized that it is rarely killed for its meat. Instead, it is a walking larder, a pharmacy, a dowry, even a friend. It is clear that cow is a resource maintaining not just a people, but a way of life.

The Mundari, tall and muscular, may "look like bodybuilders," says Zaidi, "but their diet is pretty much milk and yogurt. That's it." Other bodily fluids have more unlikely uses. Mundari men will squat under streams of cow urine, both an antiseptic, Zaidi suggests, and as an aesthetic choice -- the ammonia in the urine color the Mundari's hair orange.

Meanwhile dung is piled high into heaps for burning, the fine peach-colored ash used as another form of antiseptic and sunscreen by the herdsmen, shielding them from the 115-degree heat.

The cows, adds Zaidi, are among the world's most pampered. He says he witnessed Mundari massaging their animals twice a day. The ash from dung fires, as fine as talcum powder, is rubbed into the cattle's skin and used as bedding, while ornamental tassels swat flies from the eyes of the herd's most prestigious beasts.

Outflanking war

The Mundari sleep among their cattle, "literally two feet away from their favorites" says Zaidi, and guard them at the point of a gun. It's not unreasonable for the tribe to go to these lengths.

"Rustlers are a huge issue for them," the photographer explains. "Their cattle are a form of currency and status symbol, and form a key part of a family's pension or dowry. Since the end of the civil war, thousands of men have returned to South Sudan looking for wives, which has pushed up the 'bride price', making these animals even more precious and increasing lethal cattle raids."

Such raids have been deadly for the Mundari, but the effects of war are manifold. Landmines make finding fresh pasture a dangerous lottery. When he visited, Zaidi says the tribe were using a small island in the Nile as a safe haven. The conflict, he adds, has the paradoxical effect of preserving their way of life.

"The ongoing war in South Sudan has cut off the Mundari tribe from the rest of the world," he says. "They don't venture into the town, they stay in the bush, and it's why their unique way of life endures."

Zaidi says the Mundari have no taste for war and "their guns are not to kill anyone but to protect their herd." All the Mundari want to do is take care of their livestock, he argues, "and they will protect them at all costs."