Women and LGBTQI+ people in Sudan’s displacement crisis: “We are trying to become ourselves again.”

When war broke out in Khartoum more than three years ago, Fatima Siddig was about to finish her nursing degree. Like many Sudanese students, her education stopped immediately. First, she found refuge in Wadi Halfa in Northern State, but she had to leave again after four months when floods hit the area. The war was always connected to other hardships. Climate disasters, shortages, disease outbreaks, and failing services also determined where people could stay and when they were pushed out again. In the weeks that followed, she was forced to move again and again, ending up in four different locations. “Each place felt temporary,“ she says, as safety never lasted long enough for her to settle.

Fatima’s story is one among millions. Since the war between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) began in April 2023, Sudan has become the largest ongoing displacement crisis in the world. More than 14 million people have been forced from their homes, including around nine million displaced inside the country and over four million who have crossed borders into neighbouring states. An estimated 150,000 people have been killed since the start of the war, though most international assessments suggest that the real number is likely higher. At the same time, about 19.5 million people are facing acute food insecurity, with hotspots at risk of famine in parts of Darfur and South Kordofan.

Throughout war and displacement, women are among the most vulnerable groups. “Fear was constant,” Fatima says. On one of her trips, RSF soldiers stopped the bus ahead and demanded women from it. When it was her bus’s turn, passengers gathered their money and handed it over so they could pass. It was not the only time she had to pay money at checkpoints. Besides that, Fatima recalls, “even basic hygiene supplies were out of reach, simple things like sanitary pads were impossible to get.”

At the same time, much of the response to the crisis is also being organized by women. According to UN Women, women-led groups are at the centre of local survival systems in Sudan. Fatima says, wherever she settled, she met women rebuilding daily life from scratch. Teachers continued giving lessons. Women organized communal kitchens and informal shelters. Volunteers filled gaps left by the absence of state institutions. “I saw people practicing solidarity in the most beautiful way,” she says. 

“I saw that this war created new families.”

In many cases, women have become responsible for holding together what remains of daily life. They are finding food, caring for children, supporting elderly relatives, searching for income, and navigating repeated movement between places that offer little stability. As the war enters its fourth year, these responsibilities continue to expand while the resources available to meet them are shrinking.

In October last year, a nine-day-long journey took Fatima to Dilling in South Kordofan. She arrived in a city under siege. The situation was already severe and continued to deteriorate. Goods rarely entered, so markets stood almost empty, and families survived on what they could grow, often turning to plants and foods not intended for human consumption. Despite this catastrophe, Fatima decided to join volunteer medical units working in the area. There, she began treating children suffering from malnutrition and food poisoning. “There were weeks when a child died almost every day,” she recalls. But it was impossible to respond to the scale of need. “As a nursing student, I understood what was happening, but as a volunteer, I had almost nothing to offer. There were barely any medical resources left.”

She began contacting Sudanese solidarity networks abroad. Through organizers of a feminist group in Berlin, kandakat4sudan, support reached Dilling at a time when violence and shortages were intensifying. Part of the funds helped evacuate four families headed by women and their children. Today, back in Khartoum, Fatima still measures the value of solidarity through those families. In a conflict defined by overwhelming numbers, she remembers four mothers and their children who were able to flee a war zone.

After years of displacement, she has resumed her nursing studies. “I hope to complete my degree,” she says. Despite the challenges she still faces, Fatima knows she is more fortunate than many women who have not had the same chance to rebuild their lives.

Women particularly at risk

Women and girls are particularly affected by the ongoing war. The collapse of 70% of healthcare facilities puts mothers at risk of death in the months following childbirth, since medical care is now barely accessible.

Women face the highest exposure to gender-based violence. Human rights organizations, UN agencies, and local women's groups have documented cases of rape, gang rape, sexual slavery, abduction, forced marriage, and other forms of conflict-related sexual violence since fighting erupted in April 2023.

the full scale of these violations remains difficult to document, as they often face stigma, limited access to healthcare, and the absence of safe reporting mechanisms.

Survivors have been reported across several parts of the country, but the full scale of these violations remains difficult to document, as they often face stigma, limited access to healthcare, and the absence of safe reporting mechanisms. Furthermore, active fighting restricts humanitarian access and limits documentation efforts. Since 2025, reports have documented at least 330 cases of conflict-related sexual violence, while rights groups and Sudanese women's organizations say the actual number is likely much higher.

Aid agencies and UN officials describe sexual violence as a tactic of war. In March 2026, the UN Population Fund (UNFPA) Sudan representative said it was being used as a “form of warfare.”

And this is nothing new: Looking back to Darfur in 2003, it is clear that the pattern was already in place. Widespread sexual violence was documented by international investigations as part of attacks carried out by Sudanese government forces and the Janjaweed militias that were later reorganized and absorbed into what became the RSF today. The violence formed part of a broader campaign of ethnic targeting that led to mass displacement and the destruction of entire communities across Darfur.

Even some of the systems meant to provide protection have been implicated in harm. In June, Doctors Without Borders (MSF) confirmed 59 allegations of sexual exploitation and abuse by its staff in Sudanese refugee settings in Chad, including cases involving underage girls. The findings published by AP in 2024 included sexual harassment, exploitation, and abuse. According to AP, MSF said in an internal memo the real number was likely higher due to underreporting.

In El Fasher, after the RSF took over in October 2025, a high number of women have been arrested in markets, streets, and camps, often on suspicion of collaborating with opposing parties but with no evidence or proper legal process. The Strategic Initiative for Women in the Horn of Africa (SIHA Network) says about 250 women are now held in Shalla Prison in El Fasher. SIHA also reports that over 600 women and girls are still detained in the Korea Women's Prison in Nyala, including girls as young as 14. Some are still missing, and their families are searching for them.

Overlooked: LGBTQI+ people on the margins of refuge

Humanitarian responses often rely on broad categories of need, but life in displacement rarely fits neatly into them. Violence and survival are still shaped by existing hierarchies that influence who is exposed to risk and who can access safety. Many people who do not conform to dominant gender or sexual norms choose to remain invisible as a form of protection during war and displacement, making their experiences and needs harder to document and understand.

Mareel, a Sudanese queer activist who requested anonymity for security reasons, says: “The war intensified vulnerabilities that many queer Sudanese were already navigating before the conflict.” The LGBTQI+ community has never been recognized in Sudan, same-sex acts are illegal and social discrimination is widespread. In Mareel's own middle-class context, queer people had access to informal spaces where they could meet, build community, and explore their identities away from family scrutiny. “As the war erupted, these spaces immediately disappeared,” she says.

While some were able to relocate, maintain a degree of privacy, or access support networks, others were forced into living situations where they had little control over how they presented themselves.

Displacement did not affect everyone in the same way. “Class and economic resources shaped people's ability to navigate the crisis,” says Mareel. While some were able to relocate, maintain a degree of privacy, or access support networks, others were forced into living situations where they had little control over how they presented themselves. “I knew I had to look less queer,” she says, describing how she would wear longer and more covering clothes, remove her piercings, and keep her short hair hidden under a scarf while moving through checkpoints, host communities, and unfamiliar cities. She became very aware of her body and voice, even her tone, in order to move more safely.

For others, the consequences were more severe. Trans people in active transition lost access to hormone treatments and sexual and reproductive health services. Many queer Sudanese moved in with extended family members or became financially responsible for entire households, leaving little room to negotiate identity, privacy, or self-expression. Some had to return to environments where they experienced violence and exclusion that had existed long before the war.

“The current humanitarian responses do not see the diversity of humans,” Mareel says. She argues that queer Sudanese often remain invisible within aid systems despite facing distinct challenges during displacement. Access to support is shaped by language, education, social networks, and economic resources, leaving many without pathways to assistance. These experiences point to the need for responses that address not only immediate humanitarian needs but also the inequalities and vulnerabilities.

The war displaced queer Sudanese like everyone else. It also dismantled many of the spaces where they could safely exist as themselves. “We carried ourselves into displacement,” Mareel says. “No matter how long it takes, we are trying to become ourselves again.”