November 15, 2023 marked seven months since the start of the war in Sudan. The war that destroyed the beloved city I grew up in and forced my family to leave the only homes they had ever known. The war that killed thousands, displaced millions, and left tens of millions of children out of school. The war that everyone seems to forget is ongoing and seemingly receives no coverage at all.
According to Martin Griffiths, the United Nations Under-Secretary-General for Humanitarian Affairs, the recent civil war pitting the Sudanese Armed Forces against the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces has caused “one of the worst humanitarian nightmares in recent history,” leaving 25 million people in need of humanitarian aid.
How did we get here? What explains the unfolding catastrophe in Sudan?
On December 19, 2018, a series of peaceful demonstrations erupted in several cities in Sudan, due to rising costs of living and worsening economic conditions. These peaceful protestors were met with tear gas and bullets. The violent response from the government quickly turned the protests from demands for urgent economic reforms into demands for President Omar al-Bashir, Sudan’s 30-year dictator, to step down.
On April 6, 2019, over one million civilians marched down the streets of Khartoum, the capital city of Sudan, protesting in front of the military headquarters to demand the resignation of the dictator. This historic scene — which turned into a two-month long sit-in outside Sudan’s military headquarters — was truly inspiring. People from different cities came together, distributing facemasks to shield their brothers and sisters from tear gas, cooking with their neighbors to give out food to protestors, and collectively chanting “حرية، سلام، وعدالة” — freedom, justice, and peace.
Five days later, al-Bashir was removed from power. My family and I marched to the military headquarters again, joining millions of civilians, celebrating and chanting, singing and dancing; we were proud of our community’s resilience and of our collective efforts that turned what was once a dream into a reality.
But this dream was short-lived. Our demands for a civilian-led transitional government were not met.
A Transitional Military Council, led by Abdel Fattah al-Burhan and de facto leader Lieutenant General Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo (“Hemedti”), assumed power instead. This was a huge disappointment for us, as both al-Burhan and Hemedti were part of al-Bashir’s regime and were involved in the 2003 Darfur genocide that resulted in over 200,000 deaths. Nevertheless, it did not stop our resilient community from continuing to peacefully protest for a civilian-led government. Negotiations between the TMC and civilians continued in April and May, with protestors sleeping on the littered streets, fasting under the blazing sun, and peacefully chanting for freedom, justice, and peace.
Any hope that the transitional government would mark a meaningful change from al-Bashir’s repressive autocracy was crushed when the Hemedti-led RSF and other TMC security forces broke into the military headquarters sit-in on June 3, 2019, two days before Eid. This attack resulted in the murder of 128 people, rape of 70 women, and injury of many more. Gunshots fired non-stop for the next two weeks, forcing us to grieve in times of religious celebration. The government not only closed the airport so that no one could flee the country, but it also cut off all internet connections in an attempt to suppress people’s voices and prevent them from congregating in protests.
In the face of tragedy, the Sudanese diaspora came together. At a time when we could not speak for ourselves, our Sudanese brothers and sisters around the world became our voice. They spoke up against the corruption, the brutality our people were facing, and the attempts to suppress people’s voices and demands. They stood up for us when we no longer had the power to.
The efforts of the diaspora, combined with international pressure from the African Union, forced the TMC to share power in a joint civilian-military government called the Transitional Sovereignty Council. Although the people had initially desired total civilian rule, many were content with this joint government because it signaled a step in the right direction. Led by a civilian Prime Minister, Abdalla Hamdok, elections were slated to take place in 2023.
In October 2021, however, the people’s dreams were crushed once again. The military, led by the original TMC leaders, al-Burhan and Hemedti, seized power in a coup and declared total military rule once, halting Sudan’s transition to democracy.
Then, on April 15, 2023, after a series of power-sharing disputes between al-Burhan and Hemedti further exacerbated economic instability and political division, a war broke out in Khartoum, leaving my city unrecognizable. The two powers that had teamed up to kill innocent civilians in the 2019 massacre, al-Burhan and Hemedti, had now turned against each other, with the Hemedti-led RSF attacking government sites with airstrikes, artillery, and gunfire, in an effort to seize total power from al-Burhan and the SAF. The fight continues to this day.
Like 2019, the 2023 violence started in the last week of Ramadan, when families were putting up decor and baking “kaak” in anticipation of a joyful celebration of Eid. This time, however, civilians were not actively involved in protests — they were brutally murdered inside their homes. This time, I was grieving outside of Sudan, over 6,000 miles away. This time, I felt the pain my father and brother felt during the 2019 massacre, when the internet was cut off and they couldn’t reach out to me and the rest of my family in Khartoum.
This time, it was my aunts, uncles, cousins, and childhood friends in Khartoum, feeling hopeless, asking us to pray for them, and preparing for death in case an airstrike hit their home. Overnight, they were forced to pack their belongings and leave their homes. They were not prepared. They were scattered across the city, waiting for a reliable source of transportation to drive them out of Khartoum safely on their way to Egypt. They feared they would never be able to come back, that they would not find their possessions if they did come back, and that they would never find a true home in the new place they were forced to settle in.
As my family was fleeing Khartoum for Egypt on the evening of April 23, I was on my way to Boston for Visitas, Harvard’s orientation weekend for admitted students. I was busy with all of the pre-frosh activities, but emotionally, I was torn and worried about my family’s safety. I had heard a few days prior that people were getting searched by RSF soldiers on their way out of Khartoum, their money and clothes were being stolen, and they were even held at gunpoint if they showed any signs that they were escaping the country.
My parents and I anxiously awaited news from my cousins who were traveling to northern Sudan to obtain visas. After days of silence, we finally got in contact with them. They reassured us of their safety. They did not know how long it would take the visas to be processed, but they were away from the gunshots. They had made it out alive, with no clothes and little money to get them by, but all that mattered was their lives. They eventually made it to Egypt, depressed, even traumatized, but they were alive, “Alhamdulillah.”
This, however, was not the case for everyone. No one could have imagined the consequences of the war to be as severe as they ended up being.
To many Sudanese people around the world, these past seven months have felt like a nightmare: an unending series of loss, sadness, violence, grief, heartbreak, and sorrow. Over 10,000 people have been killed, more than 5 million people have been internally displaced, and an additional 1.2 million have sought refuge in neighboring countries.
The long-term effects will be catastrophic: More than 19 million children were forced out of school, setting the country up for the “worst education crisis in the world.” Additionally, a cholera outbreak is plaguing Sudan, and over 70% of the country’s healthcare facilities are non-functional. This is an urgent humanitarian crisis.
While the world turns a blind eye to the atrocities that continue to occur in Sudan, the Sudanese community in the diaspora unites to help bring our families back home. Working with the Sudanese American Community Development Organization of Ohio and the Sudanese Youth Leadership Association, we hosted weekly fundraisers, raising over $215,000 to support victims of the war.
The people are still in desperate need of our help. We must continue to fight, advocate, and fundraise for Sudan. And we need your help too. Be their voice. Spread awareness. Donate. Do what you can. No matter how small, it will make a difference.
I hope that my family gets to go back home one day. I hope that I get to visit my grandma’s house, where my cousins and I share countless memories, from experimenting with ingredients in the kitchen to performing talent shows after a large iftar gathering during Ramadan. I hope that the Sudanese people get the freedom they want, the peace they have been yearning for, and the justice they deserve.
