Women Creating Life from the Womb of War: Stories from Shelters in Sudan

April 15th marked a pivotal transformation in our political and social history, as a war erupted and lasted far longer than expected, casting a dark shadow over everyone. Between seeking refuge, displacement, and forced migration, or staying under the constant fire of war, Sudanese families found themselves facing a bitter reality they never anticipated.

The effects of the war went beyond the battlefields, leaving behind a new reality and deep suffering. Homes were no longer safe, livelihoods were cut off, and looting, rape, and murder became rampant.

Amid this chaos, many women had no choice but to flee their homes, seeking safety for their daughters, children, and the elderly. This added a new burden to their already heavy load, forcing them to endure harsh and painful experiences outside the walls of what was once a safe haven.

Journeys of Displacement and the Search for Safety: (Sh.M) decided to escape the horrors of war, setting off with her son, his wife, and their children towards the city of Madani. The journey was long due to numerous checkpoints and harassment. The road was fraught with danger, with fire and destruction surrounding them at every turn, while the young men accompanying their families were subjected to insults and accusations by the Rapid Support Forces.

Upon arriving in Madani, exhausted from the journey, (Sh.M) and her family were soon forced to flee again as battles broke out in the city. They wandered aimlessly, searching only for a place far from the sound of gunfire.

They walked seven kilometers on foot before finding temporary shelter in a small village. Her son couldn’t find work there, and a local youth advised him to seek opportunities in mining areas. He left them some money, promising to send more later. However, soon after, the Rapid Support Forces stormed the village, taking everything, including their phone and the little money they had left.

They were forced to flee again for a third time, eventually settling in a shelter, hoping their son would find them and return.

Schools Turned into Shelters: The school had transformed into a shelter, housing many women and children in varying circumstances. The spacious building felt small under the weight of the new lives within. The students had disappeared, replaced by others who hadn’t come running to the morning bell, but rather fleeing the sounds of gunfire and shelling.

Tehani Hassan found herself forced to leave her home and seek refuge in a school after the rent for a room in a “safe” city reached twenty thousand Sudanese pounds, an unbearable burden.

Tehani shares the struggles of her ten-year-old son, who wakes up every morning terrified, asking, “Why are we here? I should be at home, going to school in the morning. We’re sleeping on couches!” He then falls back asleep, heavy with worry.

Tehani wonders: Do the war’s instigators, so determined to continue it, understand the future they are denying these children, who were lucky to escape with their lives? Do they realize these children have been out of school for over a year and a half? That a child who was six when the war started will now join school at eight, even if the war ends today, sitting next to a six-year-old?

Daily challenges, seemingly simple, grow more pressing. The place designed to accommodate a limited number of students for just eight hours has become a shelter for dozens of families, all hoping to keep their children alive. Mothers wake up at sunrise, already anxious about how to manage the day’s affairs, waiting for a helping hand to provide a bit of flour and sugar.

Seham shares her struggle of going to the bathroom at night, as they are far from the classrooms and the place is dark. “After a short time, my son developed a fever from dehydration and urinary inflammation. I noticed he had been drinking less water just to avoid going to the shared bathroom.”

“Haboba” – A Symbol of Resilience: Under the tree lies a simple bed for “Haboba,” as everyone calls her—a woman surrounded by children and mothers eager to help, even though her granddaughters are with her. I approached her and asked, “Are you okay, Haboba?” My simple question stirred her sorrow, and she quickly replied, “Yes, I’m okay, but when I left my home, I mourned for my only daughter, who died in Al-Arda while fasting during Ramadan. She was with her daughter in the Al-Abbasiya neighborhood. Neither I nor her daughters were able to attend the burial. The Al-Arda area, which we used to walk to from Al-Abbasiya, was unforgiving. A fierce war like no other we’ve seen. We used to live in the Al-Busta neighborhood back in the day. I remember World War II, when the siren would sound during an air raid, so people could hide. But these people, they don’t respect the elderly.”

I responded only with, “Insha’Allah, we’ll return, mother.” She replied, “Insha’Allah, we’ll return to our homes, where our loved ones and neighbors will bury us.”

Hope Amid Despair: Despite the overwhelming sadness, attempts to coexist in this place persist, with everyone racing to help one another, especially the young women. (M.Kh) says, “Every morning, I used to serve tea to everyone here as charity for my mother’s soul. We tried to avoid danger and left Omdurman in the early days of the war, but the war caught up with us in Al-Jazirah. The Rapid Support Forces came, looted, and terrorized everyone, even taking our vehicles. We fled with my mother on a cart, but she couldn’t bear it. She died on the way before we could reach the nearest city. We buried her in the nearest village, and the people there were very kind.” She continues, “We later received news that our house in Omdurman was looted entirely, as was my father’s shop. I don’t care who wins or loses; we lost everything to the war. Our house is gone, and my mother is no longer with us.”

The stories are many and similar, all marked by the loss of loved ones, homes, and the growing despair with every new report of a fallen town and its displaced people. Yet despite everything, there are those who radiate hope from within, turning this place into a temporary station to overcome and learn from, rather than a place to accept suffering or adapt to it. These women insist that they are always creators of life, resilient, and skilled at supporting one another.

Creating Life from the Womb of Suffering: Tehani Hassan reflects, “I always think about the causes of war and how to prevent it in the future. Since I believe in change through art, I sought to take advantage of the cultural diversity in this environment. I gathered children’s traditional games and directed them towards a peace-building project. I trained the children, including my son, who used to wake up terrified. The children loved the games. I believe one of the reasons for wars is that we don’t know each other.”

In another shelter, (M. Al-Haj) shares a similar experience to her colleague’s. She says, “I came from Omdurman, filled with sorrow for everything—our country is collapsing before our eyes. I witnessed this collapse at the General Command and was disillusioned that this would happen to the whole Sudanese people. I fled Omdurman and sought refuge in Madani, where I found that the artists who had arrived before me had initiated an inspiring social project and established their artistic endeavor, which I joined.”

She adds, “We thought we could face this ordeal, so I participated in several dramatic works that help heal the trauma of war. I thought about building amidst destruction, and wondered: can we rely on such ideas outside the theater? So, I chose to work with children, and with UNICEF’s help, I launched my project. Life began to return, and we had a purpose to wake up for each day. We would part at the end of the day, our hearts filled with hope that the war would end and we would have a better life. But the fall of Wad Madani was devastating, halting the project, though I didn’t stop working.”

In the same context, (A.A) expresses her constant concern about the role of theater, asking, “Is theater just entertainment that comes after securing life’s basic needs—food, drink, and shelter? It’s time to answer that question. Theater is our means of reorganizing our lives; it leads us to think correctly. This has been proven by the experiences of theater practitioners in shelters in Kassala, Port Sudan, Shendi, and even parts of Omdurman and White Nile, where they established a close connection between art and society.”

(A.A) adds, “Fortunately, in late 2022, the organization I work for launched a training project for artists and journalists in collaboration with the ‘Al-Alaq’ Press Services Center. It wasn’t the first project of its kind, but this training focused on explaining several international conventions and agreements that emphasize the preservation of human rights. The training was comprehensive on the situation of women during conflicts and included extensive discussions about Resolution 1325 and the obligations to protect and support women and their role in peace processes and peace-building. I remembered this and thought of how my organization and its partner, the Al-Alaq Center, had been racing against time to prepare female journalists when we thought peace was within reach for our country.”

She concludes, “When I look at what women are doing inside shelters or even in semi-safe areas, I am certain of the great awareness these women—especially young women—have of their roles in society. Most of them have faced direct assaults, either against themselves or other family members, and have endured.