The Only Way Is Up

Note: This story contains real images and video shared by the author, including sounds of gunfire and scenes of destruction. Please take care while reading and viewing.

I never thought that one day I’d be a refugee.

Let me take you back with me to a time where I felt most mentally, emotionally, and physically secure, before April 2023.

I was a young woman making my way through life with certainty and hope, living in Khartoum-Burri with my mom, two siblings, and precious cats after my dad passed away in 2019, in a two-story home that my dad had built with faith, love, and determination. The least I could say is that I was content.

On Saturday, April 15th, 2023, at exactly 11:30 AM, I was woken up by a call from my uncle saying that "these people are having an armed dispute." I was still so sleepy and confused, and just when I started asking him what was happening, the power dramatically went out! Then my mom came in crying, and just then I heard the gunshots and the sound of military helicopters roaming around!

Mind you, I lived 10 minutes or less away from the army's HQs in Khartoum, but I was so deeply asleep that I didn’t even get woken up by the sound of bullets. My family thought it was just a "casual" thing, so they didn’t think much of it, but when helicopter sounds appeared, we should’ve known that this was more than just a casual incident. That’s why my mom started crying and called her cousins and sister to say goodbye. For some reason I thought it was funny, but I just didn’t comprehend the gravity of the situation.

We stayed in Burri for 18 days with no power or tap water. We used to go to another neighbourhood, "Aldraysa," to shower every 3 days and fill some containers with water. A few days before we left our home, our neighbour’s house caught fire, so me and my sister emptied the sole water container that we had for drinking to put out the fire, but we couldn’t control it. Luckily, a couple of guys saw the smoke and they used, I think, the soil and sand to put it out. While we were trying to talk about what happened, an RSF sniper shot us with a bullet that hit the wall near us.

The day we left the house, RSF were breaking into our neighbours’ houses, so we quickly decided that it was time to leave. We took our laptops, important papers, and only two pieces of clothing each because we thought we were coming back in a couple of days.

We went to a family friend’s house in Almamoura, which was relatively safe with water and power supply. After three months, we heard the devastating news that our house in Burri was struck and that the RSF lit something on fire. I decided that I had to go and see it.

I was heartbroken. No, I was entirely broken. I went there with a friend of my late dad. Half of the distance was on foot and it was scorching hot. The moment I saw the ruins, tears just started pouring down my face and my throat was closed shut. I couldn’t speak. Then I went inside and saw my room completely burnt to the ground. My books, my father’s diaries, our pictures, my clothes, everything was burnt. My sister’s room was burnt the same way.

I cannot find the words to describe what I felt, but it was utter misery. If I knew things would end up this way, I would’ve saved more memories or just pictures of my dad. What haunted me the most is that my father worked so hard to build this happy home, only for it to be destroyed and burnt like this.

We stayed another two months in Almamoura, and then we got struck once again by the RSF. We were saved, but shards of the missile that struck the building killed our neighbour, who was staying in an adjacent room to us. He was feeding the birds. It was so sad the way he passed away.

After that, we had no choice but to leave Khartoum. We were penniless. We managed to leave with the help of a friend. I cried the whole road because, why? My heart was soaked with grief. We stayed a few hours in Madani, then went to Al Qadarif. Not knowing anyone there, we were lucky to find a room with two beds, so all of us stayed there and bought two extra mattresses. In Al Qadarif, we had a moment to actually breathe and comprehend everything.

My sister urged me to leave and find work outside Sudan so we could have a source of income, but I refused. Nothing meant anything to me after what happened. I was so worried about my family and I didn’t want to leave them behind. We all die or we all live, TOGETHER.

After Madani was struck, we were hyper-vigilant and decided that we should leave Sudan. Again, I felt heartbroken and had the same feeling I had when we left our Burri home. But I knew things could get really bad. Luckily, our car was safe in Khartoum, so we managed to get it out before Madani was struck. After we arrived in Al Qadarif, we hopped in our car and drove to Port Sudan, sold the car there, stayed for about 10 days total, and made our way through the desert to Cairo. It was an inhumane way to travel. I felt so bad for our four cats, and I prayed that they made it out alive. We had lots of reflection to do in the desert. We actually spent four long and extremely cold days getting to Cairo. One of those days was New Year’s Eve of 2023.

We’ve been in Cairo for almost a year and a half now. My family and I, like many Sudanese people, were tarnished by this war. It was forced upon us. We never had a say, and we have to put up with the consequences of being repeatedly displaced and finally being labelled as refugees, which is a helpless and sad way to describe ourselves. The only home we have now is in our memories. We love Sudan regardless, and we will continue to love it. I know that we, the Sudanese people, are going to rise up from the ashes, and we will cling to hope no matter what. Because it’s what gives life meaning, and what’s keeping us alive.

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Visual Interpretation

Nour also shared a short video created from real clips taken by her sister during their journey from Khartoum to Cairo. This visual piece captures moments before and during the war, and adds another powerful layer to her story.