A year has passed since I left home and arrived in Cairo. I can still remember all the emotions and feelings I experienced when I left, the quick goodbye to my family because I was too afraid of saying goodbye properly.
I remember that as soon as I left Omdurman Road to start my journey to Cairo, I got a call from my friends in the neighborhood. They told me that the armed forces had surrounded my house and arrested one of my relatives on suspicion of being affiliated with the Rapid Support Forces. They warned the rest my the family to leave the house immediately because it could be targeted by bombings at any time. At that moment, I was overwhelmed by anxiety, panic, and deep remorse.
Once I arrived in Cairo, I found refuge at the homes of friends, many of whom I had met by pure chance. Their doors were always open for me, which offered a small sense of security in the midst of everything.
Yet, even in those homes filled with kindness there was often an underlying sadness, a pain, and a loneliness that mirrored the emptiness inside me. Sometimes, despite being surrounded by people, I still felt a profound sense of loneliness. It was as if there was a void inside me, one I couldn’t quite understand or figure out how to fill.
I hope my family is doing okay in Sudan and I constantly pray for this war—this relentless, cruel force which is slowly tearing everything apart—to come to an end.
Every night my friend and I wake up terrified. We have nightmares in which we see people breaking into our rooms. We quickly wake up and don’t know where we are, but we quickly realize that we are alone and no one will enter our rooms because the doors are closed.
