Opinion: Looking forward to building a safe, just and dignified future

As a small child he was displaced from his parents to a camp in Darfur, suffered a childhood of further dislocations and disasters until….

He writes:

In 2021, my heart was filled with hope when I received the news of my acceptance into the Faculty of Medicine at the University of El Fasher, North Darfur, Sudan. It was the lifelong dream I had fought so hard to achieve.

However, my joy was short-lived; the escalating political and security tensions gripping the country at that time stood between me and my university place, postponing my dream indefinitely.

Then came the war of April 2023, crushing whatever hope remained. It was not just an ordinary armed conflict: it was an earthquake that dismantled our lives in the blink of an eye.

Initially, when the first spark erupted in the capital, Khartoum, we decided to wait it out and stay inside the camp, hoping the dark cloud would pass quickly. But that hope evaporated within just two days when the fires of war reached us directly.

Within 48 hours, everything around us collapsed: the economy ground to a complete halt, security vanished, and even the humanitarian aid organisations—our only lifeline—were forced to abandon their headquarters after their offices and staff came under brutal armed attacks.

We found ourselves exposed, without protection, without food, and without a safe haven.

The world narrowed around us, and there was no escape but to cross the border into the Republic of South Sudan in 2024.

I applied for asylum there, desperate for a moment to catch my breath, but safety proved to be a fleeting illusion. A few months later, terrifying armed attacks broke out in the capital, Juba.

The violence there was not just random; it began openly targeting foreigners, attacking refugees and traders alike. With the doors of Juba slammed shut in my face, I was forced to retrace my steps back to the old camp inside Sudan.

There was nowhere else to go in my own country, at a time when the regime was systematically targeting us on an ethnic basis.

Yet, amidst this pervasive fear and unknown destiny, a sprout of hope grew from the rubble: I got married, and together we began to share the heavy burden of survival.

On January 31st, 2025 an armed militia stormed our camp without a shred of mercy. On that night, our peace was violently torn away forever; the militia cold-bloodedly assassinated my father-in-law and assaulted innocent children. The camp became a horrific scene of screams and bloodshed.

At that moment, something shattered inside me, and I realized that staying meant a slow death. I knew I had to do whatever it took to save what was left of my family.

It was some months after the tragedy that I gathered my strength enough to take the treacherous road to Libya. I spent five gruelling months there, enduring the bitter taste of alienation and endless waiting.

Finally, fortune smiled upon us, and I succeeded in boarding a perilous boat across the Mediterranean Sea toward Italy. The waves crashed violently, and our hearts were in our throats, but the desperate will to live was far stronger than the fear of drowning.

Finally I set foot in Italy and lost no time: two days later, I managed to cross the border and entered France in late February 2026.

France was not my final destination; driven by the search for ultimate stability, I pressed on until I entered the United Kingdom on April 9th, 2026.

Here, in this distant land, I stand today to tell the story of my survival. I carry in my memory the stolen dream of practising medicine in El Fasher, the agony of Khartoum, the blood of that January night, and the roaring waves of the Mediterranean—all while looking forward to building a safe, just, and dignified future.

Find out more at www.Maunrefuge.org.uk