[Original by Mona Hassan, local staff at the Sudan Office (March 5, 2025); Translated by K. Tanimoto/J. Santiago]
From the outbreak of battle to a life on the run
The battle began in April 2023, just before the onset of the post-Ramadan holiday break. At that time, I wasn’t home in Khartoum—I had traveled to El-Obeid to visit my husband, who was working there alone.
Mona evacuates from El-Obeid to a nearby village
Even in El-Obeid, fighting between the Sudanese Armed Forces and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) was intense. Airstrikes and shelling occurred close to our home. We hid under the bed more times than I can count. Eventually, we escaped to a nearby village where my relatives live, about 60 km from the city center. Ten days later, we returned to the city—but had to flee again when the situation worsened. This time, we stayed with my husband’s relatives in another village. We stayed there for about two weeks—waiting, watching, trying to read the mood of the war. Then, once more we returned to the city. The villages had no way to connect with the outside world—no cell service, no means of contact. Back in El-Obeid, I was finally able to reach out to family, friends, and colleagues. I resumed remote work. I even made it to the bank and was able to send money to our office in Kadugli. Though the army controlled the city center, the RSF had encircled it. Their presence tightened like a noose, and gradually, basic necessities stopped coming in. As the war dragged on and the pressure became unbearable, we made the decision to flee once more. On October 7, we left El-Obeid for Kosti, in White Nile State.
Mona’s evacuation route: Khartoum (Home) → El-Obeid → Another village → El-Obeid → Kosti → Renk → Juba (South Sudan) → Port Sudan
We boarded a large bus to Kosti, knowing full well the road ahead was risky. Fourteen checkpoints stood between us and safety. At one checkpoint, RSF soldiers boarded the bus and began inspecting ID cards, one passenger at a time. When they saw my husband’s occupation—mechanical engineer—they took him off the bus. They told him he wouldn’t be released unless he repaired one of their vehicles. That hour felt endless. My heart was pounding. Somehow, he managed to fix it. They let him go. He got back on the bus. At another checkpoint, an RSF fighter stormed aboard and pointed a gun at the woman seated just in front of me. He demanded her money and belongings. Somehow, she walked away unharmed. We rode on, silent and shaken. What should have been a three-hour journey turned into ten fearful hours of detours and unpredictable turns.
In Kosti, there were no sounds of shelling or bombing, the communication environment was stable, and there was access to electricity and water. The government offices were open. I continued working remotely from there for a while, but as the RSF’s territory expanded, the possibility of Kosti being surrounded grew. It became clear that the situation would rapidly deteriorate.
Crossing into South Sudan by donkey cart
Fleeing across the border
By August 2024, the only remaining option was to flee to the neighboring country, South Sudan. After crossing the border by land, the route from the city of Renk in northern South Sudan to the capital, Juba, was unclear. Transportation was unreliable, many standard procedures were uncertain, and corruption among government officials was widespread. It was a very anxious time. However, by sheer luck, on the very day we arrived in Renk, there was a seat available on a small plane to Juba. It was my first time setting foot in Juba. The weather was clear, the people were welcoming, and it felt like being in “one country.” I spent a week in Juba, trying to adapt to the changes around me. I worked to erase the painful memories and enjoy a small respite after enduring so many hardships.
Reunited with Imanaka (right) in Port Sudan. We rushed around searching for an office.
My final destination was Port Sudan, a coastal city on the Red Sea. There was a direct flight from Juba to Port Sudan. After the fighting, some of the capital’s functions were relocated to Port Sudan, and nearly all humanitarian organizations, including JVC, have set up their base here. After 1 year and 4 months, I was finally able to reunite with Imanaka, JVC’s local representative. However, amid all this, I received the news that the younger sister of my friend, a former JVC staff member, had been injured in a shelling attack.
The true resilience of a former JVC staff member
Let me tell you about a remarkable friend of mine—someone who shares my name—Mona. She was once a staff member at JVC’s Kadugli office. During her time with JVC, she was involved in running supplementary classes and gardening training programs for women. Even now, she remains in the RSF-controlled areas of Khartoum State. In a place where food is scarce and schools remain closed due to the conflict, she continues to resist what she calls “the theft of the children’s future.” She has created a small classroom for local children—giving them a chance to keep learning and find a sense of normalcy amid chaos. What’s more, she organizes gatherings for mothers in the community, helping them process trauma and cope with the unrelenting stress of war. She encourages them to stay strong for their families, and to keep persevering.
Another Mona, a former JVC staff member
Last month, her younger sister left home to find food and was caught in shelling. She was passed from hospital to hospital, finally reaching one in another state—only to pass away. She left behind young children. The youngest, still too small to understand, asked, “When the RSF leaves, will Mommy come back?” Losing her sister was an incredibly painful experience for her. Even when she returned home, she had to pass through checkpoints from both the national army and RSF, walking back through deserted areas in the middle of the night. Despite facing overwhelming hardships, her determination to support her community is a true testament to the power of resilience and compassion. She provides education and emotional support, even in the face of adversity. She has not lost hope or strength.
The passion for continuing my work
JVC also faces many challenges in carrying out its mission, but my commitment to helping those in need remains unshaken. The reason I continue my work is simple: I feel a deep moral obligation to help those who are suffering. This is not just a job— it is my sacred responsibility, a calling at the core of my being. The belief that my efforts and actions can bring about significant change in the lives of those who need help the most, fuels my passion and dedication. As I mentioned earlier, I am greatly supported by the resilience of those around me. Even when placed in situations of unimaginable difficulty, they never let the light of hope go out. I, too, have experienced displacement—losing not only my home and belongings, but also the cherished places where memories with loved ones were made. But no matter what obstacles lie ahead, I am determined to keep moving forward.
About the Author: Mona Hassan
Mona Hassan
Born in Khartoum, Mona studied Islamic law at university and obtained Lawyer’s Qualification. While working with various aid organizations, she completed her doctoral studies. She joined JVC in 2011, dedicating herself to supporting those affected by conflict while helping them claim their rights. Mona also strives to strengthen the roles of government and related institutions. On weekends, she engages in community work through gardening and volunteering with an NGO, collaborating with family and relatives. She has visited Japan twice for JVC-related work in 2016 and 2017. Her favorite Japanese dish is Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, which she tried in Hiroshima.
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