By Hassan Lali / BBC
- Advertisement -
When conflict erupted in Sudan, Sarah Williams found herself ensnared in an unimaginable nightmare. As gunfire echoed through the streets of Khartoum, she and her children became unwilling participants in the chaos that enveloped their neighborhood. “Bullets pierced our walls, fires illuminated the sky, and the tremors of explosions shook our very souls,” she recounts, clutching her one-year-old son in a protective embrace. “We had no choice but to crawl on the ground to escape.” The raw vulnerability in her voice encapsulates a reality all too prevalent in regions torn by war.
At just 33 years old, Sarah is a mother of five, originally hailing from South Sudan. In 2013, she fled her homeland, which had only just begun to embrace its independence from Sudan two years earlier. The excitement and hope for a new nation quickly diminished as a brutal civil war erupted, ignited by a power struggle between President Salva Kiir and his deputy, Riek Machar. This conflict would ultimately claim an estimated 400,000 lives, displacing over 2.5 million people, with Sarah being one of those affected.
After journeying to a seeming safe haven in Khartoum, Sarah initially found stability in her new life, securing work as a housekeeper for a middle-class family. Yet her fragile sense of security was shattered once again in 2023, when fierce battles erupted between military factions led by Abdel Fattah al-Burhan and his former ally Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as Hemedti. “It all started among themselves,” Sarah explains, her tone weary and resigned, “but they soon began targeting South Sudanese, even though we were not involved in their conflict.” This tragic turn of events has plunged Sudan into one of the most severe humanitarian crises the world has witnessed.
Today, the death toll from the ongoing conflict stands above 150,000, while over 12 million people have been forcibly uprooted from their homes, leaving vast areas of Khartoum in ruins. In the face of such despair, Sarah made the harrowing decision to return to South Sudan, only to discover that violence had resumed there as well. The United Nations has sounded alarms, warning that the fragile 2018 peace agreement between Kiir and Machar is on the verge of collapse.
For now, Sarah finds herself in Renk, a once-quiet border town transformed into a bustling hub for refugees fleeing the turmoil of both Sudan and South Sudan. “I yearn to return to my hometown, Nasir, in Upper Nile State,” she shares, a flicker of hope momentarily brightening her weary expression.
Yet, the reality is grim—Nasir is anything but safe, becoming a battleground itself. “There’s conflict ahead of us,” she states matter-of-factly, gently rocking her one-year-old son while keeping a watchful eye on her four-year-old daughter. The strength in her demeanor belies the emotional turmoil coursing through her.
Reports indicate ongoing clashes between government forces and the White Army, a militia allied with Machar. The violence has resulted in heavy shelling and frequent ambushes, further displacing innocent civilians. “I haven’t heard from my family since the conflict erupted—where did they go? Are they safe?” she asks, her voice trailing off as uncertainty looms like a heavy fog.
Stranded at the Renk Transit Centre, Sarah and thousands like her are confronted with overwhelming challenges. The camp, intended for far fewer, is now home to more than 9,000 people, triple its capacity. While aid agencies provide small amounts of cash to help refugees buy food, it only lasts for a couple of weeks. After that, they are left to fend for themselves.
In a desperate bid for survival, Sarah shares that she and others are forced to chop down trees to sell for firewood, a stark reminder of how war devastates not only lives but the very environment they depend upon. “I used to gather wood to buy flour, but there’s nothing left in the forest now,” she lamented, illustrating the grim reality of their new existence.
The conditions in the camp are dire; overcrowding has led to increased outbreaks of disease and malnutrition. Corrugated shelters squeeze in up to 15 individuals per room, while others construct makeshift homes from sticks, old cloth, and tattered sacks. Aid agencies are working tirelessly to relocate families to safer areas, where they can access essential services and reconnect with communities. “Finding ways to bolster the health of families, not just in terms of aid distribution, is crucial,” highlights Vijaya Souri from the International Organization for Migration.
In this turbulent landscape, the River Nile stands as a vital lifeline, offering transport links amidst a web of conflict. Hundreds line up under the scorching sun, patiently waiting to board overcrowded metal boats headed for Malakal, each face telling a story of loss, hope, and resilience. Among this throng is Mary Deng, who fled from the battleground of Wad Madani in Sudan. “This child was just one day old when we crossed the border,” she declares, holding a bundle of documents—a representation of her family’s ticket to safety.
As medical services buckle under the strain of increased demand, the Joda border clinic struggles to provide care. Built from iron sheets, it’s the only operational health center in the vicinity. “We’ve delivered over 600 babies since the outbreak of the war,” a health worker mentioned, emphasizing the urgency for nighttime medical staff—a luxury that funding shortages have rendered impossible.
The specter of disease lingers heavily over the camp. A cholera epidemic was declared in Renk last October, exacerbating the suffering of an already vulnerable population. As the rains approach, the threat of malaria rises sharply, warning of a new wave of illness and despair on the horizon.
Amidst this turmoil, relief efforts are hindered by cuts in global aid, leading to a humanitarian crisis of staggering proportions. “Five of our partners have drastically reduced their operations, compromising the level of care we can provide,” notes Tatek Wondimu Mamecha from the World Health Organization.
As the days drag on and uncertainty lingers, the refugee crisis in Renk shines a spotlight on the perilous reality faced by tens of thousands caught between two conflicts. For many, South Sudan, once seen as a beacon of hope, has now become a perilous trap, with regions no longer considered safe havens for those fleeing violence.
Political tensions escalate, complicating the fragile landscape. George Owino, the chair of a monitoring body established under the peace deal, warns that ongoing clashes threaten the fragile foundation of the agreement. “Political leaders continue to command rival troops without integrating them into a unified national army,” he explains. This precarious situation underscores the reality that when leaders clash, ordinary individuals bear the brunt of their conflicts.
With the specter of civil war reemerging, the leaders’ inability to find common ground—echoed through history since the civil war’s onset in 2013—remains a daunting challenge. As Sarah reflects on her tumultuous journey, she admits, “I have no intentions of returning to Khartoum.” Instead, she resolves to rebuild her life in South Sudan, hopeful, yet aware of the struggles that await her. “Even if the situation is bad, I am determined to find a way forward.”
If one thing is clear, it’s this: hope can thrive amidst desolation, and the human spirit remains resilient even in the face of overwhelming odds.
Edited By Ali Musa
Axadle Times international–Monitoring.
