Sudan: Waiting and praying for news of victory after two years of civil war

Sky News

18-02-2025

From the crowded northwestern market spilling over with returnees, vendors and soldiers, to the barren stalls of central Omdurman still devastated by brutal battles, people here are praying for news of a military victory after almost two years of war.
Omdurman, along with Khartoum and Khartoum North (Bahri), are jointly called the tri-capital and constitute the national capital of the republic of Sudan.
The Sudanese army has now reclaimed Khartoum North and is moving quickly to liberate Khartoum - the heart of the capital - from all directions.
Its grass-roots support here is born out of sheer necessity - a need to release Sudan's cities from a deadly occupation by the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) - the militia that was once trained and armed by the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) is fighting it for absolute control.
RSF siege conditions, SAF airstrikes and shelling have killed tens of thousands of civilians in the capital alone, and now the final battles for its liberation are proving to be the most brutal.
"We have seen heads cut off bodies," emergency response room (ERR) volunteer Momen Wad Zeinab tells us in the backyard of one of the few functioning hospitals, Al Nao hospital in Omdurman.
"We see a lot of things. We aren't good, all of us. One of our fellow volunteers has gone mute for over a month now. We have tried to give him relaxants to help him but now we have had to keep him away from the hospital."
Momen adds: "Nowadays, we are with the military because we see the RSF as the big enemy. First, we will finish with the RSF by attack or negotiation. Then, after the war, we will try to rebuild."
The ERRs have been hailed for their life-saving work and nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. But their revolutionary roots as the neighbourhood resistance committees that planned pro-democracy demonstrations and treated injured protesters in Sudan's 2019 revolution have left them vulnerable to arrests by the Sudanese authorities.
Under his breath, Momen tells us the intelligence officer escorting our team through the hospital has arrested him before. When I called to speak to him a day later, he'd just been released from detention after showing up to provide assistance at another health facility in Omdurman failing to keep patients alive.
"Our revolution has become another kind of revolution. It is not always about marches and fighting and saying no - sometimes it is by helping people here," he says.
"After the war finishes, we will go back to the street and fight against the military and say to them we need civilians to rule this country."
One of his fellow volunteers was killed in the recent RSF shelling of Al Nao hospital. Four other members of this ERR have died from sickness or combat injuries. And after risking their lives since the start of the war in April 2023, their capacity has now been compromised by Donald Trump's freezing of USAID funding.
Past the dwindling ERR pharmacy giving out free medicine and the bustling blood bank, there is an outdoor waiting room where we find 13-year-old Mohamed.
He was caught in the latest RSF shelling of one of the largest surviving markets in SAF territory, Sabreen. Shrapnel broke Mohamed's leg as he sold biscuits at a stall to help his family.
The strike was one of the deadliest single attacks in the capital since the start of the war, killing close to 60 people and injuring 200.
"I saw dead people and bodies torn apart. It was not a pretty sight," Mohamed tells me with wide eyes.
"When I remember it, I feel shock."
The bricks and cement that made up a two-storey building in Sabreen market are still crumbling at the site of the attack.
"People are just trying to eat. They have nothing to do with the military, nothing to do with this war," the area commander tells us, pointing at the rubble.
"The RSF knows where the military sites are but they want to terrorise civilians."
Two weeks later, the streets of Sabreen market are heaving with people who have to make a living despite the risk, civilians and soldiers merging into a river of people.
As we approach the car to leave the market, a security officer yells in our direction: "No civilian rule, no nothing! Only dictatorship from now on!"
There is a tense silence of embarrassment and glares from the soldiers around him. For the first time, it is hard to tell who is a career officer and who could be a protester turned recruit.
"Revolutionaries have become military recruits, community volunteers have become military recruits, and Islamists have become military recruits," a revolutionary turned soldier, Tewa, tells me after another day on the frontline.