RSF chief Hemedti takes oath as leader of rival Sudanese government

Breaking: Sudan’s RSF chief Hemedti sworn in to lead parallel government as drones hit Nyala

What happened

Sudan slid deeper into a dangerous split this weekend as Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo — better known as Hemedti — was sworn in as head of a rival government backed by his Rapid Support Forces (RSF). The oath-taking was announced from Nyala, a major city in Darfur that has served as the RSF’s hub during the war. The ceremony could not be independently verified, and Hemedti has rarely been seen inside Sudan since fighting erupted 28 months ago.

Within hours, Nyala was rattled by drone strikes, underscoring how the battlefield — and the political chessboard — has shifted into open competition between two state-like authorities. On one side stands the national army, which says it controls much of central and eastern Sudan and convened its first cabinet meeting since the war began earlier this week. On the other is the RSF’s newly assembled leadership, with Hemedti at the top and Darfur as its de facto base.

A country fracturing in real time

What began as a power struggle between erstwhile allies in Khartoum has hardened into rival administrations, competing narratives and parallel capitals. While the army projects authority from the country’s east, the RSF has entrenched across most of Darfur, stamping its presence on towns like Nyala and elevating its own prime minister and presidential council. For millions of Sudanese, the political theater matters less than the daily calculus of where safety — or a bag of sorghum — can be found.

The symbolism is stark. Nyala, a city of bustling markets and fragile services even in peace, now plays host to a ceremony that signals a country at risk of practical partition. For many older Sudanese, the echoes are bitter: they have lived through one Sudan becoming two after 2011. Today’s threat is not a legal split, but a break in the fabric — where checkpoints, rival radio stations and two sets of officials become everyday realities.

Al-Fashir’s slow-motion catastrophe

The war’s geographic heart is a few hours north of Nyala in al-Fashir, Darfur’s historic capital. The RSF has been besieging the city and the hundreds of thousands of civilians sheltering there for more than 500 days. Aid groups describe people boiling leaves and eating animal feed to survive. UNICEF reported earlier this week that more than 1,000 children have been killed or maimed by a mix of airstrikes, artillery and ground fighting since the war escalated. The RSF says it allowed civilians to leave; however, researchers at the Yale Humanitarian Research Lab said Friday that satellite images show “physical barriers” restricting movement out of the city. Those who have managed to flee describe extortion and violent attacks along the way.

In the absence of steady aid access, hospitals have dwindled to a few overrun emergency rooms. Doctors exhausted by shelling and shortages describe triage on concrete floors. In small villages across Kordofan — the vast region lying between the two power centers — communities report raids, scorched homes and flight into scrubland. For families with children or the elderly, every decision carries mortal risk.

Why this moment matters

The formalization of rival governments does not create Sudan’s crisis — it codifies it. And it complicates any path back. Peace talks become harder when each side claims sovereign legitimacy. Civil servants must navigate which authority signs their paychecks. Humanitarian agencies will face new hurdles negotiating access and security guarantees for convoys. Most of all, Sudan’s 49 million people will be asked to endure another turn of the screw.

Already, half the population faces acute hunger, the economy has cratered, and aid flows are throttled by insecurity, looting and bureaucratic choke points. Mothers in displacement sites barter jewelry and blankets for a little flour. Teachers moonlight as day laborers; doctors leave for Chad, South Sudan and Egypt. Sudan is now home to what many aid agencies call the world’s most severe humanitarian emergency. If a parallel authority entrenches in Darfur while the army consolidates in the east and center, the map’s jagged front lines could harden into political borders in all but name.

A conflict echoing wider regional patterns

Sudan’s bifurcating reality will feel grimly familiar to observers of Libya, Yemen and, at times, Ethiopia: dueling institutions, disputed capitals, parallel currencies, and a war that becomes both a fight for territory and a struggle to define the state itself. The use of drones over cities like Nyala also reflects a broader trend of cheap, proliferating technology multiplying the harm in urban spaces. The longer this persists, the more civilians will pay the price — and the harder it becomes to stitch a single national fabric back together.

What to watch next

• The battle for al-Fashir: A decisive turn there could set the stage for mass displacement into Chad and further famine inside Darfur, or crack open space for negotiations if fighting ebbs.
• Recognition and diplomacy: No major power is expected to recognize competing governments, but quiet contacts often shape outcomes. How the African Union, IGAD and Arab states engage will matter.
• Humanitarian corridors: Any credible effort to demilitarize routes into al-Fashir and across Kordofan could save lives quickly. It will require guarantees both sides have so far failed to sustain.
• Economic fragmentation: With rival authorities, expect more currency volatility, fuel shortages and disruptions to trade routes from Port Sudan into the interior.

The human stakes

Behind the acronyms and front lines are parents rationing sorghum to make it through the week; farmers who should be prepping fields for harvest now weighing whether to flee; teenagers who have known only the sound of artillery for two school years. When a country’s leaders trade oaths under drone-filled skies, what does it mean for the idea of citizenship? For the promise of institutions that serve, rather than consume, the nation?

In sprawling displacement camps from El Geneina to the outskirts of al-Fashir, people often ask the most practical question of all: who will keep the road open tomorrow? Until there is an answer, Sudan’s rival oaths risk becoming the preface to another year of hunger, flight and loss.

For now, Hemedti’s swearing-in in Nyala is a single, stark fact: Sudan no longer has one center of power. How quickly the world can help nudge it back toward one country — or at least toward a ceasefire that saves lives — will shape whether this becomes a brief chapter in a long war, or the moment the page tears for good.

By Ali Musa
Axadle Times international–Monitoring.