Two years before the war, my cousin was trying to play with my mom.

Today, I find myself lost, unsure of where I am. This isn’t my bed! How did I end up here? When did I come to this place? Where is the rest of my family? And who are these unfamiliar faces around me? Even my grandmother keeps asking, “Will we be going back soon?”

On the morning of Saturday, May 20, 2023, we made the difficult decision to split up and leave our home, heading to safer areas in the northern part of the city, Omdurman, with the hope that we could return after ten days once the situation had stabilized.

Just two weeks later, the RSF would invade our home, looting and stealing everything they could carry before taking over the house. What once felt like the hope of a near return has now become a distant dream.

After a long day of clashes, a friend of mine called and said, “Al-Naw Hospital needs blood donors.” I told him, “I’ll head over and see if they still need donors—I can donate if they do.”

Within two hours, I had carried three more bodies. Among them were people who had entered the hospital alive, only to die in front of me from bleeding or other causes.

Most of the people there were volunteers, doctors, nurses, residents from the neighborhood, and others who came solely to help. The hospital was bombed in October. I thought it would never operate again, but there was no choice but to reopen it, as there were no alternatives at the time.

The hospital and its surroundings were targeted several times, and we lost many lives there, including volunteers who were working tirelessly to help.

Friends are decreasing day after day, some of them left to a safe place to look for a new place, and some of them died.

Everything I managed to capture only reflects a fraction of what’s happening there. At times, I would secretly take photos while pretending to scratch my eyebrow, so the security officers wouldn’t realize I was photographing.

My heart is tied to the days when we had electricity, and my father would turn on the TV to watch the live broadcasts of prayers from Mecca. He loves that.

My friends and I went to prepare a grave, and when it was my turn to dig, clashes erupted in a nearby area. To avoid the bullets flying overhead, we all lay down on the grave.

It seems that we have started to adapt. One day, I found children playing near the graves, burying each other and chanting 'la Ellah Ella Allah,' just as they see throughout the day.

I met Tariq Abu Zeid, a volunteer at Al-No Hospital who was also in charge of one of the central kitchens. While helping his neighbors during an attack, he was injured by indiscriminate shelling, which led to the amputation of his right leg.

My friend called me to invite me to his wedding. I apologized, saying I was still in Omdurman. He replied, "My wedding will be in Omdurman, and I want you to come and photograph it."

I was unsure of what a wedding in that area would be like, especially since it’s a place prone to random shelling. I was really worried something might happen. But thank God, the wedding went smoothly with a small gathering of family and a few friends, accompanied by music.

All day, I couldn’t stop thinking about the song by al-Kabli, especially the part where she sings, "When the drum is beaten, we say the world is still good, here are the people getting married and having fun."

New faces, new places, new friends. One day, I realized that every person around me, every friend I have now, came into my life because of the war.

In June 2023, a nationwide call to arms drew many youth into the Sudanese Armed Forces. The conflict worsened in December when Wad Madani fell to the RSF, whose violence and looting deepened the country’s crisis. In response, the 'Popular Resistance' emerged—civilians, including young women, training to defend their families and communities amid fear and loss.

“My father passed away, and I found out about it more than a week later. After he passed, my cousin left for Shendi to find a network so he could contact me. I still don’t know how he passed away.”

At night, there was complete silence. Suddenly, random shelling began in the neighborhood, and one of them hit our neighbor's house. We quickly moved to the center of the house for safety. After a moment of stillness, my friend turned to me and said, “Now, after all this, we’re going to hell ?” We both laughed and then went to check on the neighbors.

The photo was taken the following day after the house was cleared of burnt furniture and efforts to clean up the damage.

After several months, I was able to visit the neighborhood where I used to live and see my house, but it wasn’t as I had left it. The neighborhood had changed completely. Many homes had been destroyed, graves now stood where houses once did, bodies and limbs remained uncollected, and unexploded shells lay scattered around.

“My friends,
The war has grown long and created distance between us. I am okay, I just miss you all. I don't know when we will meet again, I have so many stories I want to tell you. Take care of yourselves till we meet again soon,
God willing.”

We were here.

After several months, I was able to go out in search of a new way of life.