Displaced women in Darfur left with nothing

Fatima Mohamed

Fatima’s Story:

My name is Fatima Yousif Babeker Mohamed. This shell hit my home, killed my brother Suleiman Eshag and his son. It destroyed our house in Hasahisa camp. We had to stay down on the floor and run away. We don’t have anything, and we are not getting anything. We came empty-handed with our children. We are suffering, we don’t have water, we don’t have food to eat. The people of this community received us in this school where we are staying. They bring us something to eat but we often sleep with empty stomachs. I’m suffering, I have my grandmother at my home. She is totally dependent on me and my brother was killed as there is nobody else to support me. We have been living here for a long time. Eleven months or maybe more. I have a big family. I have children, my mother, my brothers’ and sisters’ children. We are all suffering over here. We are just people seeking work that can bring us some money, but this is meaningless given the needs we have for a family of our size. I try to go to collect some firewood to sell and bring something to my family to eat. If one goes to collect firewood, they get beaten. Tomorrow, I have to go back to work, even if I get beaten again.

Kaltoma Mohammad Adam Mohamed

Kaltoma’s Story:
​My name is Kaltoma Mohammad Adam, and I have lost everything. They forced me out of my home in Hasahisa camp, beat me. I couldn't even get my things from my home. Since that day, I have been sick. ​
​Now, I have nothing—no food, no clothes, not even a bottle to carry water. I sleep on the ground with only one mat, and I have nothing to cover myself.

​Life in Hasahisa camp was different. We had our home, we could work, and we had access to water. Now, the water sources are far, and I have no way to carry water even if I could reach them. I depend entirely on my neighbors to eat, who share small amounts of flour with me when they can. I cook what little we have and hope that tomorrow, someone else might help.
​Hunger, cold, and the lack of water are my biggest struggles. I went back to my old house and the few things that I owned like clothes and cooking utensils; I found them thrown outside the home and I brought them with me.

​Each day is uncertain—we eat what we have today if someone shares, we wait if no one does. This is how we survive.

Mariam Abdalmanan

Mariam´s story:

My name is Mariam Abdalmanan, and I now live in Al Hamidya camp because of the war. One night, armed men came and forced us out of our homes. We had no time to take anything—they stole everything, even our clothes. I escaped with only what I was wearing.

Before this, in Hasahisa, we were happy. We had our homes, our lives. Now, we have nothing. No food, no money. Sometimes people bring us small amounts of crops, but it is never enough.

Two days after we arrived in Hamidya, my sons went back to check on our home. They found it empty—everything was gone.

But the worst pain is the loss of my younger brother. They shot him twice in Khartoum. He was young. When I heard the news, I cried for three days straight. My tears felt endless.

I built my home in Hasahisa with my own hands. I saved money to buy the plastic sheeting, and my son and daughter helped me build the roof. Now, it is all destroyed—my home, my daughter’s home, everything. They left us with nothing.

I want to go back home, but I can’t. Armed men are still there. For now, all I need is food. We are just trying to survive.

Hanan Abdullah Omar Al-Taher

Hanan´s story:
​My name is Hanan Abdullah Omar Al-Taher. I am 45 years old. Before the war, we had lives. My husband worked, we were happy, we lacked nothing. But now, we have lost everything. Some days, I go hungry. Some nights, my children sleep with empty stomachs.
​We have nothing—no food, no water, no shelter, no clothes, and no money. For two years, I have been sleeping on the ground. ​ In the past, I worked, I traded, I earned a wage. Now, I have no resources to start over.
​Even planting crops is impossible. How can we buy seeds when we don’t even have enough to eat?
​To eat, I go to people who have received aid from their families, hoping they can spare something. Yesterday, my neighbor gave me some soap and sugar when she was washing clothes. I have nothing of my own.
​When the war started, we became wanderers, fleeing all night in search of safety. Families were forced out into the streets. Mosques, roads, every space was filled with displaced people. We used to live together as neighbors and relatives. Now, people are scattered, lost in different countries. I sit and wonder when this will end. When will we go home? ​
​I think of Sudan and my heart aches. The way we are mistreated is unbearable.

Sameera Abkir

Sameera Abkir, 25, holds her 2-week-old baby at the MSF mobile clinic in Romalia, West Darfur. She developed fever and an arm infection due to a poorly administered injection following a home delivery. MSF teams disinfected and dressed the wound and prescribed antibiotics for treatment. January 2025.

Sameera´s story
​My name is Sameera Abkir, and I am 25 years old. I live in Ab Doui, a place far from here. I don’t know exactly how far, but it is in that direction. I gave birth at home. It wasn’t easy. After the delivery, I developed a severe fever. My brother went to the pharmacy, got some injections, and gave them to me. But then my hand started to hurt. I didn’t know what was wrong.

​I came here to the hospital because I needed a birth certificate for my baby. But I also hoped they could give me medicine for my hand. The pain was getting worse. I didn’t come alone—my husband came with me. We travelled by cart because the hospital is far, too far to walk. The journey was difficult, but I had no choice.

​In my neighbourhood, most women give birth at home. ​ I also gave birth at home, like always. The hospital is just too far, I can´t cover that distance. Now, with a cart and after suffering a lot, I managed to come. It was not easy, but I had to. The pain was too much. I only hope that next time, there will be an easier way.

Halima Ishaq Osman

Halima´s story
​My name is Halima Ishaq Osman. This is my fifth pregnancy, and I feel sick all the time. The pain never goes away. It is my first time coming to this clinic. I live in Ammoshush, which is very far from here. The journey took me an hour in the donkey, and it was difficult.
​At home, we have no proper transportation. I only have a donkey, and the distance is too great to travel easily. That is why, in the past, I gave birth at home. I never went to a hospital. I do not know what will happen this time, but I worry.
​Since the war started, the situation for us has not changed—but we still suffer. Reaching the hospital quickly is almost impossible. Without transportation, we rely on a traditional carriage, which makes the journey slow and difficult.
​Sometimes, people go far to find transportation for us, or we search for a Tuk Tuk to take a patient to the hospital. But too often, it is not fast enough. Some people don’t make it in time. My grandmother was one of them—she passed away on the way to the hospital. I just hope things will be different for me.

Afaf Omar Yahya (No photo available)

Afaf Omar Yahya, 35, endured an agonizing journey of several hours on a donkey to reach Zalingei Hospital in Central Darfur. Upon arrival, she was devastated to learn she had suffered a miscarriage. Doctors performed an emergency caesarean section. December 2024.

Afaf´s story
​My name is Afaf Omar Yahya. Life has been full of pain and suffering.
​There is no transportation where we live, so I had to travel by donkey to reach the hospital, with unbearable pain. We left at around two o’clock in the afternoon, but the donkey moved slowly. It took us hours to get here, and we only arrived in the evening. The journey was slow and exhausting, and by the time we arrived, it was too late—I had already lost my baby. The miscarriage was devastating.

​Yesterday, they performed surgery on me. I survived, but losing my baby is the greatest loss I have ever known.
​I have given birth to nine children, but only five of them are alive. Four of my babies have passed away. My youngest is just eight months old. My biggest hope for the future is to be well, to be healthy, and to be able to provide my children with food, water, and education. I just want them to grow up in safety.

​My house was destroyed because of the war, now I live in a straw tent, struggling to survive. My young son is suffering from malnutrition. This year, life has been harder than ever. If you find food today, there is no guarantee you will have anything to eat tomorrow. That is the reality we face every single day.