What the War Couldn’t Take: Stories of Courage and Survival from Sudan’s Displaced

Sudan – When the skies over Sudan darkened with war in April 2023, life changed overnight for millions. Streets that once echoed with laughter and the bustle of daily life were suddenly silenced by gunfire and fear. Today, almost 15 million people have been forced from their homes, and Sudan stands at the heart of the world’s largest internal displacement crisis. But even in the face of such profound devastation, the voices of the Sudanese people rise – not in despair, but in strength.

The Mother Who Carried Tomorrow 

Zainab Aamer was a mother and a caregiver in Khartoum, working in preoperative care in Kalakla. When war erupted, she became a protector, a survivor, a displaced widow leading her six children into the unknown. “I had to protect my daughters,” she says, remembering the fear etched into every checkpoint, every barricade on their way to Port Sudan. Before reaching safety, her family faced the unimaginable – the loss of her eldest son in South Kordofan. Yet Zainab kept moving forward, driven by a mother’s will to shield her children from a world falling apart.

For Hosna Khamis, motherhood was already a fragile balance when she gave birth just 17 days before the conflict broke out. Her body still healing, she was forced to flee Khartoum with her five children. “I was deeply concerned for my children,” she shares. “Despite my recent delivery and weakened state, I had to take them and flee.” Wad Madani offered only temporary refuge. As the violence spread, so did her flight – each step farther from home, but closer to safety.

From Umbadda, Laila Nasir remembers fleeing with hope. Like many, she believed displacement would last only days. But days turned to weeks, and weeks into months. “We left with just the clothes on our backs,” she says. Her family scattered across Sudan, and she found herself in overcrowded gathering sites in Port Sudan. “As the conflict spread, the sites became increasingly crowded and difficult to live in,” she says. Yet she stayed, adapting, enduring, surviving.

At 20, Abdallah Abdulaziz should be focused on university exams and football matches. Instead, he’s navigating displacement alone. Separated from his family during their flight from East Nile in Khartoum, he hasn’t heard from them in over a week due to network disruptions. Still, he dreams: “I love playing football, and my ultimate dream is to play for a big team.” In a world of broken routines and lost connections, his dreams remain untouched.

For Abdulmonem Hamed, father of five, the road from Khartoum to Port Sudan was one of desperate urgency. His wife was pregnant when the war began. “There’s never complete peace when you’re away from home,” he reflects. “Even if you can’t find food, home brings relief.” That sense of home is now a memory – but it is also a goal, one he works toward each day.

Amna Ahmed fled Khartoum with five of her children. Her husband, unwell and unable to travel, was left behind. “We spent months without any news from him,” she says. “We have no idea how he is doing now.” In her voice is the aching void of separation – a common thread in Sudan’s tapestry of loss.

Faisal Ali, from Al-Dweim, remembers how the war stole sleep from his daughters. “When the war began encroaching on our village, my daughters couldn't sleep for days. I had to ensure their safety.” Like so many Sudanese fathers, he left behind everything he knew for the safety of his children. “As a father of daughters, I would do anything to protect them.”

Jacob Alebaid, once from Almohandseen, thought his initial move within Khartoum to Umbadda would be enough. But the war followed. So he moved again – first to Al Gezira, then Sennar, and finally Port Sudan. “We thought it would end soon, but it never did.” Each time he moved, it was with his daughter and family in tow, searching for a sliver of safety amid the chaos.

Before the war, Bakhita was an anesthesiologist in Khartoum. Today, she lives in an internally displaced persons (IDP) site, far from her patients, her tools, and her calling. Still, she clings to hope. Her hands, once steady in operating rooms, now cradle dreams of return.

Rawda Adam fled Maamoura, Khartoum, clutching her daughter as gunfire surrounded them. “We jumped over dead bodies as we fled the war,” she recounts. “I had to embrace my daughter so she wouldn’t see the horrors of the fighting.” Now in a school-turned-shelter with 200 other families, she faces unbearable heat and shortages of water and food – but she’s alive, and so is her daughter.

From Nyala to Khartoum to Gedaref, Hiba’s journey has been marked by pain – both physical and emotional. Shrapnel tore into her spine, and though some of it was removed, she still lives in agony. “I still need treatment and painkillers, but due to the lack of support, I am unable to obtain them.” An orphan who lost contact with her only brother, she now lives in a tent, surrounded by uncertainty but refusing to give up.

Sarah Abdullah lost her husband to the conflict. Now, in Gedaref State, she works in homes to feed her seven children. “My husband did not need us for anything, and I did not have to work like this,” she says. “Now I play the role of both mother and father.” Her burden is heavy, but her resolve is heavier.

A People Waiting for Peace

The conflict in Sudan has not only fractured homes but strained every thread of survival. IDP camps and gathering sites are bursting at the seams. Hunger tightens its grip on more than 25 million people. Yet humanitarian funding remains critically low – just 7 per cent of what’s needed.

And still, Sudan’s people rise. They grieve, but they hope. They flee, but they dream. They mourn, but they fight – quietly, bravely – for dignity, for peace, and for home.

Millions have been impacted by the conflict, but they are not just numbers. They are Zainab, Hosna, Laila, Abdallah, Amna, Faisal, Hiba, Sarah – mothers, fathers, daughters, sons – resilient and enduring in the face of impossible odds. They need the world to see them, hear them, and stand with them. Because without urgent and collective action, this suffering will deepen. And with every passing day, more voices risk being silenced.

But if there’s one thing the people of Sudan have shown, it is this: even in the darkest of nights, they will not stop searching for the light.

This story is written by Kennedy Okoth, Communications Officer (Africa and Middle East)