From Scenes of Displacement: The Harsh Winter of Mohammed Ali
Mohammed Ghulamabi
In a displacement camp at the mosque of Sheikh Hussein in Al-Thawra neighborhood, Gedaref City, Mohammed Ali, a displaced person from West Al-Jazeera, recounts his journey of suffering alongside his family. His story begins with leaving his original homeland in one of the villages of Al-Managil locality, passing through the horrors of the journey, and now residing at the camp in Gedaref. For him, a happy ending would mean returning to his village in Al-Jazeera and resuming the life he once knew.
Mohammed Ali, a retiree, narrates how members of the Rapid Support Forces attacked his village last Ramadan as they were about to break their fast. The aroma of home-cooked food and traditional beverages wafted through the tranquil village, tickling the senses of its fasting residents on a scorching day. Then came the first gunshot, shattering the peace and marking the beginning of the villages devastation.
"I saw panic and fear take physical form, running through the men, women, and children as they fled into the unknown," Mohammed Ali said. Some women managed to carry dates, water, and cooked sorghum porridge to break their fast in nearby fields, which the villagers used as temporary shelters until the Janjaweed left.
By evening, when they returned to the village, homes and small shops had been looted. "I decided to leave the village with my family," Mohammed said. With no specific destination in mind, they joined a spontaneous crowd, their belongings crammed into the crowded Al-Managil city marketplace. Eventually, Mohammed resolved to head to Gedaref.
The Journey to Gedaref
The journey to Gedaref had its bright moments amidst the suffering. In the village of Kadaybat, south of Al-Managil, the locals came together to offer food and drinks to the passengers on buses and goods trucks. "They laid out their hearts before the ground," Mohammed Ali recounted, expressing gratitude for the hospitality and generosity of the villagers, who welcomed everyone with open arms.
That night, they stayed under the care of the villagers before resuming their journey the following morning. However, numerous army checkpoints and roadblocks along the way exacerbated the travelers hardships, especially for the elderly, disabled, children, women, and those with chronic illnesses, whose suffering multiplied during the journey.
Life in Gedaref
Upon arrival in Gedaref, Mohammed Ali and his family spent two days at the citys marketplace under the open sky. There was no roof to shield them from the heat, no mats for rest, and no food or water for the exhausted children, women, and patients.
Eventually, Mohammed decided to move to a displacement camp in Al-Thawra neighborhood, near the Sheikh Hussein mosque. "I found the mosque teeming with displaced people, survivors of death," he said. People and their meager belongings crowded into tight spaces. The camp administration later allocated a "kranak" (a hut made of wood and straw) for the women and children, while the men fashioned tents from empty sugar sacks and jute bags.
During the past rainy season, they endured swarms of flies by day and mosquitoes by night. Despite the efforts of organizations and local initiatives to assist the displaced in Gedaref, the need for food, water, and medical care remains overwhelming.
Mohammed Ali emphasized the critical support provided by Sudanese expatriates, particularly those in Gulf countries, who spared no effort in assisting their displaced relatives in Gedaref, other cities of displacement in Sudan, or refugee camps in neighboring countries.
Nine Months in Displacement
Now entering his ninth month as a displaced person in Gedaref, Mohammed Ali joked, "Had I remarried after my late wife’s passing, my new wife would have delivered by now." Yet their burdens and sorrows remain undelivered. The dream of returning home remains elusive, while mysterious fevers like dengue and others loom over them.
Meanwhile, their children have been left behind by the moving train of education. They now face the biting winds of December without shelter, food, or cover. The wind howls around them, as described by poet Muhyiddin Faris in his beautiful poem Night Without Refuge:
"The wind extinguished the lamp, cackling behind the tents,
Your young, soft-feathered chicks shivered like doves,
They huddled on the mat, piled like broken twigs.
They slept in hunger, unaware of a smile’s taste,
On their cheeks lay remnants of tears and dry dust."
