Once Upon A War

At six or seven years of age, I used to sneak behind my mother’s back, but unlike other children instead of sneaking out to play, or to try and get away with a few more sweets, I was sneaking behind her back to watch the news. We were not allowed to watch the news as a kind gesture of our mother to try and protect us from the terrifying world we live in. I vividly remember the small details, but there are certain news I cannot forget watching. It was one of the numerous Israeli attacks on Palestine throughout the years or even decades. I can almost see my younger self hiding behind a wall crouched down desperately trying to see and hear what the man on the screen was saying when the picture suddenly changed to a very disturbing bloody scene. I can still remember it to this day as it will forever be printed in my memory.

A million thoughts jumped into my head while I was running back to my room. I remember praying very hard to the souls of those young Palestinian children that night and crying myself to sleep not knowing what I was crying for exactly. As I am older now, I think I might now have a clue of why. I remember choking on very heavy feelings I could not describe or name back then but now, I can say I felt powerless, useless, helpless, and incapable. That was neither my first encounter with the Israel-Palestine Conflict nor will it be my last. And every time the same heavy feelings weigh on me even harder.

On 15 April, 2023, almost 16 years after that scenario, I woke up to my phone ringing non-stop, when I answered my aunt’s voice came back very worried and out of breath, asking if we were all home and safe, and if I could hear any gunshots nearby. I had no clue what was going on, but thankfully we were all home. My aunt explained to me that there were clashes between the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) and the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) It seemed like I was still dreaming and never in a million years would I have imagined the current situation we are living in due to that conflict. Never in a million years, would have thought I might live in a war zone area.

My mother always tried to hide the bad side of the world to prevent us from seeing war, hunger, and death, and to keep our spirits high and joyful, but how can you stop war when it comes knocking on your front door? My family was only one of the millions of Sudanese families who woke up that catastrophic day on 15 April and have never been able to carry on with their lives since then. A year later, and we are all still waiting to wake up and realise it was just a nightmare.

We spent that day dialing every relative or friend’s number to make sure they were all safe and sound. Thankfully that was the case for most, but unfortunately, not all. Some of our family members like many others were stuck in their workplaces, friend’s house or even the airport when gunfire broke out beside the main bridges of the three cities of Khartoum preventing them from going home to their loved ones. I recall my friend’s cousin hysterically crying as she wasn’t able to get back home to her family from university. I can only imagine the dark thoughts one might have in a similar situation when you hear gunshots around you and you see death with your bare eyes, not through a camera lens. Thankfully, that friend was able to get back to her family a week later, but that wasn’t the case for many others who lost their lives in the early hours and days of the war without a chance to say goodbye or to mentally prepare for it. 

All that comes to mind is we are living what we used to see and watch on TV when we are lying down on our stomachs praying to dodge the bullets flying around. I used to see Palestinian people trying to escape despite the rain of bullets fired at them, but now while we are living the situation one can only wonder how. We only stayed in Khartoum for a month and what a month it was. We used to wake up to the sounds of bombs and gunfire, and as we lived at the top of the building, we used to run to our uncle’s apartment downstairs every time the gunfire started. Instead of being crouched down to watch the news, we crouched down as if we were the news. Our neighbour’s house was bombed they left earlier that day, but the thought that it could have been us never left my mind.

I will never forget the day we decided to leave our home, not even knowing when we would be back again. We only took our important papers and documents and as we walked down our beloved street – the one we’ve been living at for 23 years – I closed my nieces’ and nephews’ eyes so they do not see the dead bodies scattered everywhere. And at that moment, I replayed the scenario from 16 years ago one more time. How can you convince a child that there is a full life ahead when death is the only thing they can see?

On October 2023, not even six months after the war in Sudan, the Israel-Palestine conflict was reignited, and Israel has been mercilessly attacking Gaza and committing genocide. It started carrying the same heavy, hard feelings and ever since then the names of the two countries have been a constant factor in many prayers. Once again feeling powerless, useless, and helpless, not being able to change the situation or make a difference neither in Sudan nor Gaza.

Countless tales remain unsaid and there is always more to be told. We were able to get out of Khartoum, but the shadows of the war still reflect on us with our brothers, sisters, and family members being killed and tortured as collateral damage.

We hope for peace and for a world where children’s laughs are heard from every corner. We pray for a world where mothers do not have to conceal their children from witnessing death and horror. We pray for a world where all our wild dreams become a reality and our lives are cherished and valued.

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Lamia Abdallah Ahmed is a final-year medical student at Ahfad University for Women (AUW). She is also a content writer and storyteller who lives for reading, writing, and fighting for human rights.