In the midst of Sudan’s brutal conflict, the human cost of war is starkly evident in the lives of those caught in the crossfire. Harun, a man living in a shelter for discharged hospital patients, sits hunched on a bed, his head covered by a sheet. His mind, fractured by psychosis, clings to the memories of a home he once knew in central Khartoum. He offers directions to his house, pointing out bridges and turns, but the war has shattered the stability that once kept him grounded. The trauma of the conflict permeates his days, leaving him deeply scarred, though his body bears no visible wounds. Nearby, in a tented corner of the shelter’s yard, other men nurse gunshot wounds and amputated limbs, a grim reminder of the war’s relentless toll on human flesh and spirit.
Badreldeen, another survivor, shares his harrowing story from the Shambat neighborhood of Khartoum North, now reclaimed by the military after being occupied by paramilitary fighters of the Rapid Support Forces (RSF). He recalls the terror of being trapped in his neighborhood, pleading with the RSF to spare him and his family as civilians. “They just fired at us,” he says, his voice heavy with grief, as he gestures to his bandaged leg. The streets of Shambat witnessed unspeakable horrors; five people were killed in his street alone, and many more lost their lives in the chaos. Today, Shambat is one of the districts slowly returning to life, but the scars of war run deep. Civilians who survived the siege are now flooding hospitals in Omdurman, their bodies broken and their spirits crushed. The sounds of war still echo through the streets—shells whizzing overhead, gunfire ringing out across the Blue Nile.
As the conflict between the RSF and Sudan’s military rages on, the humanitarian crisis deepens. Millions have been displaced, forced to flee their homes as the fighting intensifies. Tens of thousands have been killed, injured, or detained, leaving families shattered and communities devastated. In the southern edges of Bahri, the once-residential compound near Kober Bridge stands as a haunting tableau of war’s destruction. Rows of identical orange buildings are pockmarked with bullet holes, their charred corners a stark contrast to the uniformity that once defined the neighborhood. The bridge itself remains intact, but its base tells a different story—a scene of abandonment and despair. Blackened car bodies, discarded household items, and the remnants of lives interrupted litter the ground. A wedding dress and baby photos lie among the debris, a poignant reminder of the lives torn apart.
Walking into a family home north of the bridge, the scale of the devastation becomes even clearer. Everything is overturned—couches, toy cars, roller skates, and dishes scattered across the floor. Even the electric cables have been ripped from the walls, leaving the house stripped of its warmth and life. In the corner of the living room, the remnants of antique furniture smolder, burned Beyond recognition. Clothes, cushions, and other worthless items are piled into a rubbish heap, a futile attempt to erase the traces of the people who once called this place home. The sounds of shells booming in the distance and the sight of army soldiers speeding by on motorcycles serve as a grim reminder that the war is far from over.
As the military gears up for what may soon be a victory in Sudan’s capital, the road to recovery for its people is long and uncertain. The physical destruction of homes, bridges, and neighborhoods is one challenge, but the deeper wounds—those of trauma, loss, and shattered lives—are just as daunting. For men like Harun and Badreldeen, the scars of war run far deeper than any bullet wound. Their stories, and those of countless others, underscore the resilience of the human spirit, even as they reveal the profound toll of conflict on individuals and communities.
In the end, the liberation of Khartoum North and other war-torn districts marks only the beginning of a long journey toward healing and rebuilding. The echoes of gunfire, the sight of abandoned homes, and the stories of survivors like Harun and Badreldeen serve as a stark reminder of the human cost of war—and the immense effort required to rebuild lives, communities, and a nation.
