From childhood dreams to wartime reality: Sudan aid worker’s diary
At a humanitarian work station in Khartoum.
I had a dream. I dreamed that one day I would be a humanitarian. I wanted to be an aid worker, a selfless dream person who would help the most vulnerable.
Then I joined Doctors Without Borders (MSF). My childhood dream came true.
Two of my uncles had worked here before, and their stories ignited a passion for humanitarian work in me. Little did I know that my own life was about to take a dramatic turn, blurring the lines between helping and being helped.
My passion for humanitarian work stemmed from a deep desire to help those in need, especially internally displaced people (IDPs) and refugees.
A view of a street in the city of Omdurman damaged in the year-long civil war in Sudan, April 7, 2024. Residents in the city have found themselves besieged in their homes, trapped between the paramilitary RSF and the army.
This wasn't just an abstract concept - it became deeply personal when war broke out in Sudan in April last year.
News reports and desperate phone calls to my family painted a picture of chaos and destruction. My once peaceful town was under attack.
I wasn't in Khartoum at the time, but the effects of the war were immediate.
My family was forced to flee, becoming internally displaced persons (IDPs), moving from state to state in search of safety.
MSF, the organisation I'd always admired, was now a lifeline for countless Sudanese, including my family and myself. We received medical care and sometimes even food aid.
The war was a harsh reality check. I'd heard stories of conflict, but I'd never experienced it first-hand.
The fear, the loss, the uncertainty - it was overwhelming. My family and friends were scattered, some even lost their lives.
My own home became a memory, a collection of belongings looted and destroyed.
War is a brutal teacher. We never knew what the day would bring. Drone strikes became a frightening reality and a sense of unease lingered.
The constant struggle for safety wasn't just for displaced populations; it infiltrated our daily lives, forcing the evacuation of staff.
The human cost of the war is staggering. Friends lost, homes destroyed, memories stolen - these are the scars we carry. It's not easy.
Memories of violence lingered, and every loud noise triggered a wave of anxiety. We weren't sure if every day would be our last.
Some colleagues left Sudan altogether. It pained me to see them go, but I understood their need for safety; it was a bittersweet loss.
My childhood home in Bari is gone, a collection of memories reduced to rubble.
The life I knew no longer exists. But in the midst of the loss, there's a newfound strength.
My experience fuels my commitment to the work of MSF. Every day, I witness the resilience of the human spirit and the unwavering dedication of my colleagues.
My story is just one of countless lives turned upside down by war. Memories of a peaceful life are now replaced by displacement and uncertainty.
I hope for a future where Sudan is at peace and we can rebuild what we have lost.
Until then, I will continue to play my part with MSF, driven by the belief that even in the darkest of times, we can make a difference.
The author is a Human Resource assistant in Sudan, MSF.
