Voices from Darfur

Between Unspeakable Suffering and Outstanding Resilience

My name is Hawa Mohamed and I lived in a beautiful village in Darfur surrounded by tall acacia trees. Towards the west, there was a green valley named Azum that provided us with mango, guavas, oranges, and beautiful gardens for six months during the rainy season. Toward the east, there were sugarcane farms. I considered everyone in my village to be rich. Through hard work, they cultivated all types of grains, vegetables, and fruits. They also raised goats, sheep, and cows. Most people had what they needed to survive and only went to the market to buy clothes, soap, and sugar. Everyone was very friendly and supportive. If you needed help building a house, the community would come together and finish the house in one day. Life was beautiful and I was very happy.

One day in 2003 an army came to my village early morning when I was in the valley feeding cows. At the time I was 24 years old, married, and had four children. They came on camels, horses and land cruisers, carrying heavy artillery. I could hear them chanting, shooting and setting houses on fire. It was very frightening. I realized that it must be the Sudanese Government Army and the Janjaweed (government supported militia) because we knew of nearby villages that had been attacked by them. I thought of sending my cows away so that the men could not take them. Or hiding among the animals so that the men would not see me.

Eventually, my three brothers, my uncle, and his two sons came running to rescue me. But before they could reach me, the killers shot them right in front of my eyes. After this brutal killing, the militiamen came close to me and ordered that I lie down. I refused and threw stones at them, bringing one of them down. In retaliation, they shot me in the back, forced me to the ground, and raped me repeatedly, until I was unconscious. When I woke up, I was bleeding. I pretended to be dead until night came and the men left.

After they were gone, I got up and went in search of my kids. As I reached the village, I suddenly realized that I was stepping on dead bodies. The armed men had killed or wounded almost everyone that they encountered. More than one thousand people were killed on that day. I found an injured fellow that I knew and he told me that my children had been taken to the forest to hide and that I would be able to find my kids there.

I was guided to the right spot and we were finally reunited after two days. Now that we were all together, we had to get away from the killers. So we walked for three days to another village. My wounds were still bleeding and I had to carry my youngest child on my back. Finally, we approached a community where some people gave us a mixture of millet flour and water to alleviate our hunger. They also tried to stop my bleeding using traditional medicine. We had to be prepared for a longer walk to a refugee camp in Chad.

We reached Chad after a month of walking and unimaginable suffering. I often doubted that I would survive to see another day, but something deep in my heart was telling me that I would. I decided not to surrender, even when I felt exhaustion, thirst, and hunger. Or when I was overwhelmed by sadness, thinking of the genocide perpetrators’ intent to humiliate and exterminate us.

In the camp, I was lucky to receive medical treatment from international NGOsDay_2. And after six months, I was finally reunited with my husband. Since the attack on our village, he had been missing. I learned that he had been seriously wounded and was in a remote village in Darfur. I notified the International Rescue Committee and, thankfully, they found him and brought him to Chad. When he arrived, I could barely recognize him. Due to his injuries, he became permanently physically disabled.

Life in the camp seemed safe, but when I started speaking up about what had happened to me, I was targeted to be killed. The Sudanese Government had infiltrated the camps with spies and they did not want victims speaking about the attacks to international organizations. So I eventually had to be transferred with my family to Kenya, Burkina Faso and, finally, to the United States.

In Houston, Texas, we found a new home and a new life with loving people. But when I was sent for further health treatment, I was told that my body had been severely injured in the shooting, and that I would never be able to work. It was hard to believe, but I didn’t let it shake my confidence in myself nor the mission that I had decided to accomplish in life. I was determined to be productive and optimistic, no matter what! Now that I was living safely in the United States, I wanted to go to school, get a degree, and be a fluent English speaker. I had never been to school in Sudan because it was not considered safe for girls to go walk to school – only boys.

I am happy to say that in the last four years, I finished an ESL (English as a Second Language) course, successfully did an ACT (American College Testing) test, and I am currently working on my GED (General Education Diploma) to be able to go to college. I am doing great in my classes and remain a distinguished student, in spite of my multiple responsibilities and health situation. My children are in college and working evening jobs to support our family – from paying rent to other costs. They also play sports and are top ranking students in their schools. I have also been able to give birth to two more healthy children. Because we have been targeted for elimination, I wanted more children to overcome the loss of our people.

My plan for the future is to continue to speak up for myself and other women, fight against genocide, write a book, and study law to be able to pursue justice for me and my people.

I thank Darfur Women Action Group for giving me a voice. I would like to appeal to all of you who read my story to do whatever you can to speak up for the victims of the long-standing genocide and particularly for the women who have been victimized. I call on you to not feel discouraged by the fact that the world has failed the women of Darfur. If we all speak in one voice, we can compel the international community to act to end the genocide in Darfur, and the suffering of women elsewhere in the world.

It Was The Happiest Moment, and I Will Never Have it Back

My name is Aisha Khalil and I am currently living in an internally displaced person (IDP) camp in central Darfur. I am here because my life changed in July 2003, when I was only 10 years old. It was a beautiful sunny day in my village. It was a market day, which was always the best day of the week because my mom, dad, and grandmother would purchase all sorts of fruits and snacks for my siblings and me. In the evening, we gathered outside as they distributed our gifts. Grandmother told us stories under the moonlight and pointed out this one star that was higher than usual. She said it was a sign that it wasn’t going to rain much this year. We all laughed and asked how she knew such things. It was the happiest moment, and I will never have it back.

Around midnight, we heard shouting, then multiple gunshots, and then heavy shooting – which sounded just like heavy rain. Suddenly, the entire village was engulfed in flames. We were under attack by the Janjaweed (a government sponsored militia). It was terrifying and we all started running away from the fire. My mom told us to run as far as possible and went back to get my grandmother. Other villagers told us to keep going, that my mother would join us soon.

We kept running for most of the night. A few hours before dawn, someone in our group said that we should stop, find a place away from the road and get some sleep. I was very thirsty, but luckily a woman who looked just like my mother had a gallon of water that she had been carrying on her back. She gave each one of us a sip of water – but just a little, because there was a long road ahead of us and the water had to last. People started counting their family members, and I found that my youngest sister and brother were missing. I cried and decided that I could not go ahead without them. I wanted to go back to the village to find them. But others in the group convinced me that there was no one left in the village and that when we reached the city I would be reunited with my family.

I had no choice but to carry on. I cried almost every day but a woman from my village offered to be my mother until I found my family. I slept with her very night and she was very kind to me. We finally reached another village and I hoped that we could stay there, but it was not safe. There was news of attacks on nearby villages, which meant that the Janjaweed was close by. We were given food, water and a couple of donkeys, and continued on our journey. To our dismay, as soon as we left we were ambushed by Janjaweed soldiers. They beat us and took our food. Sadly, they also took two young women from our group aged 16 and 14. We never heard from them again.

After five days of passing countless villages in ashes, we finally reached Kalma Camp in South Darfur. People at the camp were very kind and received us with warm greetings. The camp leader saw me and told everyone in the camp that there was a girl alone, who was looking for her family. After that, more than one hundred women came to me, assuming that I was their missing daughter. When they realized that I was not, they cried and hugged me. I realized that many families had been torn apart. My new mother and I stayed in the camp for one month, but there was no news of my family. We eventually moved to Abushok Camp for another two months. Again, several women came to see me, assuming that I was their missing daughter. And every time I hoped that one of them would be my missing mother.

I learned to swallow my pain, but I did not lose hope of reuniting with my family. Someone told me that there were many IDPs living in the city of Kabkabiya and that there was a chance that my mother was there. When we arrived, the Janjaweed had occupied the city, and they were shooting everywhere. We had to hide for about a month in a nearby camp named Elsalaam. In the meantime, my new mother went around asking people if they heard of my mother or siblings. There was no news.

One day, my new mother fell ill and was taken to a hospital managed by Doctors Without Borders. She never came back, and I learned later that she had passed away. I was so sad and in deep pain. That kind woman had left her children with a sister to help me find my mother. I wished that I had died instead. Another family took care of me for a while, but the food ratio that they received was not enough for everyone, and their shelter was very small. Eventually, they started asking other families if they could take me.

I went to live with a nice family of five – father, mother and three children – who had a house in the city. They had a daughter about my age and I lived in her room. She was very happy to have someone to play with. And I was happy because for the first time after leaving my village I was not in a camp. They became like family to me. They took me to a nearby school and bought me clothes. I never talked to them about my missing siblings and mother. They thought that the women who lived with me in the camp was my real mother. I wanted to tell them, but it was a very sad story and I was afraid that I would start crying all over again. So I just kept it to myself. But they noticed that I had trouble eating. Every time I looked at a plate of food, I would think of my family. Were they hungry? Were they dead or alive?

After three months, a woman knocked on the door and told us that my mother and two siblings had recently arrived in Abu Shok and that they were looking for me. I was so happy that I couldn’t hold my tears. For the first time, my host family learned that my family had been missing and cried with me. They arranged for me to travel to a camp near El- Fashir city on an NGO car. When I arrived, I met with my mom and we cried for about two hours. She told me that my dad and brother were killed when our village was attacked. And that my grandmother had struggled with burns on her body, and also passed away.

After two weeks, my mother and I moved back into the camp to be near relatives. I brought my books with me because I wanted to go back to school in the camp. But my mother fell ill and was soon paralyzed due to trauma. I was only 12 years old, but I had to take on the role of raising my youngest brothers, who were 5 and 7. Today I am 23 years old and I am grateful that I could help them to grow. However, I wish that I was given the opportunity to finish my education.

I still live in the camp and I work to organize women to support each other. Life in the camps is hard. There is no security. Women are raped every day and many more are living with severe trauma. There is no medical treatment or any kind of support for them. I have also recently adopted two children whose mother was raped and shot to death. It will not be easy, but I will raise them and I hope that they will grow and find education.

My message to the world is that women in Darfur are strong and kind, and if they are free they can do much for their families. We need protection, education, and support – especially for the ones who have been devastated by rape. Please tell the world that Darfur is still burning, that most men were killed and the women are left to suffer. Please share my story and tell everyone not to forget about us. I have long wanted to share my story. Thank you, Darfur Women Action Group for giving me a voice.

I Went to Jail Because I am Not Afraid Stand Up for Rape Victims

My name is Fatima Gazali. I was born in Kurdufan, an area in Western Sudan. My family is from Darfur and still live there, so I consider myself to be a Darfuri as well. As a child, I used to enjoy watching movies on television, particularly the ones that had female characters that were journalists. They seemed so empowered and independent – everything that I wanted to become someday. As a teenager, I began imitating those characters by writing for school magazines and newspapers. I eventually went to college to study journalism. In 2001, I graduated and started working for a local newspaper in the capital of Sudan.

Soon after that, genocide broke in Darfur, and my job suddenly gained an importance that I never expected. In 2004 I traveled to Darfur to cover the violence and the humanitarian crisis that were unfolding. It was a very risky assignment, but the news coming from the area was so restricted that I needed to travel to Darfur in order to understand what was happening. Why was the government attacking its own people? Why were Darfuris being pushed out of their villages and forced to live in IDP (Internally Displaced Person) camps? There were so many questions on my mind. At the time, the conflict was still considered a civil war, but it became more and more clear that it was, in fact, a genocide.

I traveled through villages and visited IDP camps, where I interviewed many women. I heard shocking stories of women who had been raped by government-sponsored forces. Others told me that their children were violated. Many more were struggling to provide for their families after being uprooted from their homes and moved into camps, where they did not have access to basic needs – such as education, health assistance, and security. The stories that I heard stayed with me. I was so touched that after the trip I decided to focus my career on women’s rights and human rights issues.

This decision soon got me into trouble. Every time that I wrote an article or column on the topic of violence against women, members of the Sudanese Security Services would take me into an interrogation room, question my reporting and motivations, and at times even detain me for a few days. It became clear that the government of Sudan did not want local journalists writing about what violence against women, particularly women in Darfur. Probably because often the perpetrators of such violence were army officers or members of government-supported militia groups. Through intimidation, they were trying to force me to write about other issues, that would not damage the government’s image.

The pressure intensified in 2011, when I wrote about Safiya Ishaq for the independent newspaper Al-Jareeda. Ms. Ishaq, a 24-year-old student-activist from Sudan University, was arrested for participating in a rally and handing out flyers. While in the custody of Sudanese Security Services, she was brutally beaten and repeatedly gang-raped. Her story evoked a lot of anger among Sudanese women and civil society leaders. I wrote a column praising her courage, requesting an investigation into her accusations and demanding accountability for the perpetrators.

The Sudanese government not only questioned me about my column, but Day 12also took me to court and unjustly charged me with the crime of “publishing false news”. A Sudanese court tried my case and ruled that I was guilty. A judge sentenced me to one month in jail, unless I paid a fine of 2,000 Sudanese pounds (US$ 300). Five other journalists were accused of the same crime at the time, but were released. Another female journalist was sentenced along with me, but she filed an appeal and was also released. I believe that I was particularly targeted because I have roots in Darfur – and the government does not look kindly on Darfuris.

I could have paid the fine, but I chose to go to jail because I wanted to show people that I was not afraid to stand up for rape victims. As a result, I was in Omdurman Women’s Prison for more than one month (my story even made international news headlines). While behind bars, I met many women who were suffering horrific human rights abuses. Those encounters inspired me to continue to write about women’s issues and human rights. I left prison even more convinced of the importance of my role as a journalist in Sudan and determined to continue my work.

My hope for the future is to further my education and upgrade my skills and knowledge. I already have a master’s degree in Peace and Conflict Resolution and another in Gender and Governance from the Ahfad University for Women, but I still have so much to learn. I also want to continue to advocate for women’s rights through my writing. Many still do not know the daunting challenges that Sudanese women face on a daily basis. Women are denied quality education and healthcare, they are oppressed by the law, and frequently undermined by the Sudanese government and by society. Life is very difficult, even in areas where there is peace. Of course, in conflict areas the situation is much worse. Women suffer with the bombing of their homes and the death loved ones. And they live in constant fear of being raped by the Janjaweed (government militia).

I am so happy to speak with you. Darfur Women Action Group (DWAG) does such a great job of developing strategies to support and empower women from Darfur. I also admire that you speak up about genocide and pressure the international community to take action. Sudanese women need advocates all around the world to provide them with strength and support. I am very proud of DWAG and the work you do, and I sincerely thank you for giving me the opportunity to contribute. I hope that your readers can support DWAG’s efforts to provide Darfuri women with opportunities for a better life.

Lost And Helpless At a Camp In Chad

My name is Amani E. and I am a refugee from Darfur currently living in the Cary Yary Refugee camp in eastern Chad. I was born in Amboro village, in north Darfur, and I used to work as an elementary school teacher. I loved my job. Now I am a widow, and I raise two beautiful daughters who have lost their dad.

On January 27th, 2004, our lives changed forever. On that night, a plane dropped bombs on our village, hitting people’s houses and public buildings such as schools and hospitals. Soon after, ground troops belonging to the Sudanese government and the Janjaweed (government-sponsored militia) came by foot and started shooting everyone and everything that moved – even a plastic bag blown by the wind. They wanted to ensure that the whole village was destroyed. People started running in different directions, but were hunted down and shot to death. However I try to describe this scene, I certainly will not do justice to the brutality of the attack. Hundreds of people were killed. I lost two nephews, two other immediate family members, and 10 extended family members.

Some of us managed to run to the mountains for safety. Unfortunately, the soldiers followed us and set fire to the mountains. We continued running. Eventually, we decided to flee all the way to the neighboring country Chad, where we would be safe. We had to walk for 7 days before we reached a city on the border called Bahai, where we settled. In the confusion, families were separated and many people went missing. We later learned that some people fled to different refugee camps, but most of them were killed.

15Days_5Our new home was a dry desert with very few trees. It was windy and dusty. Many people felt sick and there was no medicine. We had to improvise in order to survive. We walked took daily walks to a nearby forest, where we gathered wood to make food and straws to use as clothes and sheets. It was much later when the humanitarian organization International Rescue Committee came to us offering basic aid such as food and health assistance. Even then we felt lost and helpless. We had lost everything.

Before the genocide began, life was beautiful and stable. We had limited resources and services, but we were happy. People in my village were productive. They were farmers, owners of livestock, civil servants, teachers, health professionals, and traders. Women were part of every occupation as active members of our community, working hand in hand with men and actively involved in all aspect of daily life. They were productive while still providing for their families. And we were lucky to have extended families that would help each other. Today that has become a distant dream.

Most of our people have now been uprooted from their place of origin, humiliated and forced to become homeless. We continue to count our losses, which include our social fabric, our culture, and unique values. Life has become very different. We have been oppressed, subjected to economic and social exploitation, psychological stress and trauma. Darfuri women have suffered unimaginably. Not only have we mourned the loss of husbands, children and loved ones, but also we have lost our power. We went from being productive to being helpless.

The overwhelming majority of the population in camps today are women and children. It is no way to live. We have no home, no property, no privacy and no protection. With many of the men gone to fight, we bear the primary responsibility of providing to our families. But there are limited options to make an income – and they are all risky. We can work in harsh labor, such as manual brick making or construction. Another alternative is to walk daily to the forest to collect firewood or straws to sell in a local market, which puts us at risk of being raped. It is humiliating, but many women have to accept this risk because it is the only mean of survival for their children and families.

Having watched the difficult situation of women for many years, I refused to stay helpless. I started a support group to empower women who live in the camps and to encourage them to speak up about the dire conditions that they face on a daily basis. I wanted to teach these women how they can (and should) participate in the decision making of their communities, including the peace-building effort. We have been completely absent from all the regional and international peace forums, which is very disappoint to me. We have been sidelined and deprived of our rights to participate in whatever is happening regarding Darfur.

Since the group was created, we have reached out to regional and international actors who are working to bring peace to Darfur, including the British Ambassador, and the United States Special Envoy for Sudan and South Sudan. We explained to them that Darfuri women are the most affected by the genocide, and yet we are left behind in all the peace efforts. We told them that women are the backbone of our society in all aspects, including economic, political, and social, because of the role that we used to have in our communities, and the new roles that have emerged during the crisis.

Recently we heard some talk about an improved situation in Darfur and the return of many people to their villages. To me, that is a big lie. As someone who has lived through all of the crisis and who is still living, the reality is that the conditions that forced millions of people to flee have not improved. In fact, it probably has deteriorated. Sadly, there is still no security in Darfur or any sign of lasting peace. At to make matters even worse, the humanitarian assistance that we use to receive in camps has been dramatically reduced, making our survival nearly impossible.

I would like to appeal to everyone to stand with the women of Darfur, and to help them fight for their rights and to restore their dignity.

My hope for the future is to obtain a master’s degree to continue my work educating women. I also want to educate the next generation of Darfuris, in order for them to have a better future. I hope to want to raise my daughters to be strong and to stand up for their rights and the rights of others. Thank you, Darfur Women Action Group for giving me this opportunity to contribute. I hope we will continue to work together to empower women so that we can all speak in one voice and fight for our rights.