This would be my second time on the border between Chad and Sudan. It’s been a year since war broke out in Sudan and one of the few ways to get to the heart of the story has been through its western neighbor,
On the journey there I kept thinking of all the people who had shared their stories with me on my first visit. Are they still there? How are they holding up? Did those who had lost touch with their loved ones reunite with them?
Touch down – the heat was the same. I could feel the sun in my bones. But many other things had changed. At the border town of Adre, the first batch of refugees who had crossed over to Chad at the beginning of the war have been relocated to another camp several hours away. The Sheikh who served me coffee last time, the journalist who gave birth while fleeing, the survivors I had met at the local hospital… none of them were there in Adre.
Humanitarian organizations have also now set up permanent bases and offices near the refugee camps. Their off road 4x4s parked in every street you walk through. And we got a place to rent and stay, unlike last time, where we had to lodge in Farschana, a town, two hours away from the border, and we would drive to and from, every single day!
Not much has changed in the refugee camps at the border though. They are still full. More people are coming in from Sudan every day, the queues at the water pumps are endless and the local health facility is still overflowing with patients. Just like last time, there are hundreds of people with gunshot wounds being nursed there. There are not enough beds, and some are forced to sleep on the floor. Many have severe injuries, with metal pins protruding from their limbs. The malnutrition stabilization center is treating dozens of severely malnourished children.
More than 600,000 people have fled Sudan to come to Chad. Almost all of them have seen or experienced violence. Everyone I met knew someone who has been killed, injured or is missing. Sexual violence is also a huge problem, but official figures are low because many victims do not speak out for fear of further victimization and social stigma.
I met Amina at a Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) facility inside the refugee camp. She’s 18 years old with big brown eyes, though she did not look at me much, but when she did, she looked, lost… Amina was raped by men from an armed militia as she fled her home in Sudan. Two months on, she has just been told she is pregnant. And has decided not to keep the baby. She decides, in secret, to have a medical abortion. Without a goodbye, she disappeared into the camp and got swallowed by a crowd of people heading towards a food distribution site set up by the World Food Programme.
Zahra, both a social worker and a refugee, invited me to a space where she brings together survivors of sexual violence for them to talk about their lives now and how they are coping.
I thought it might be just five or six women in there but, there were close to 40. Maryamu, a university student, was raped as her mother was forced to watch. Nima, who was kept for days by her captors and lost count of how many men abused her…. Zuhura, Maria, Leila… They cried together and hugged and two hours later, just like Amina, each disappeared into the crowded camp, to their own makeshift tent.
After my assignment I flew home to Nairobi. Throughout the journey, I could not get Amina out of my mind. Was her termination a success? How heavy is the burden of the secret she is carrying? How hard is it for her to go through this alone? You see, she cannot tell anyone, not even her sister or mother…what happened. Her family could disown her, may not be able to get, married, and there will definitely be gossip in the camp.
Ordinary women in Sudan are paying the price for the brutality which has been unleashed by the conflict. Sadly, there is no end in sight to this ruthless war.
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