From Sudan to Lebanon: ‘Wherever we go, war follows us’

Rudayna's large black coat can barely conceal her swollen belly. The 32-year-old is nine months pregnant, and could give birth at any moment. 

 A refugee from Sudan, Rudayna is exhausted. On March 2, as the first Israeli bombs struck Lebanon, she and her husband fled the southern Beirut suburb of Burj el-Barajneh with their three children. They escaped on foot, in the middle of the night.

“We came here walking. We walked for almost three hours,” Rudayna recounts. “All the walking hurt me. The children suffered too, especially my seven-year-old daughter who has autism. We got here at around one in the morning. We were wandering around, not knowing where to go. The Sudanese who work here told us about this church.”

For many years, the Jesuit parish of Saint Joseph in Beirut’s Achrafieh district has welcomed migrants and refugees with open arms. It hosts masses, social activities, and even cricket matches on its parking lot. For the displaced people who come here, the church has become a key lifeline.

Read more‘I left everything for my grandchildren’: In Beirut, displaced families exhausted by endless war

From Sudan, Ethiopia and Sri Lanka

When war broke out, the parish swiftly turned into an emergency shelter for migrants and refugees fleeing the strikes, in particular the women and children.

“Today, there are around 200 migrant workers staying here, even though we only have the capacity to shelter 80. They come from Sudan, Ethiopia, Sri Lanka and other countries,” Robert Gemayel, the spokesman for the Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS), explains. “There are many children, women and adults. We provide them with accommodation, mattresses, food, water, electricity, hot water, and as of next week, we’re planning to launch educational and mental health programmes.”

Psychological support is especially important since many of these refugees have already fled war in their homelands — like Rudayna in her native Sudan.

The soft-spoken mother of three talks about the “psychological, material and financial pressure” she endures. The stress is constant, and has been dogging her since her arrival in Lebanon.

“I came to Lebanon to join my husband who had been here since 2009. I didn’t come to work, I came here because of the situation in Sudan. Everything brings us misfortune. Wherever we go, war follows us,” she says.

The turmoil in Sudan began with a 2019 coup, in which president Omar al-Bashir was overthrown. A transitional government — composed of civilian and military members — was then set up to oversee a peaceful handover. But in 2023, rivalry between two military factions ended up sparking one of the world's deadliest conflicts.

‘I walked for two days’

“When the problems started in Sudan, I fled the bombing. I went to Syria, where I stayed for two days. Then I walked for two days to get to Lebanon,” she recalls, explaining that her husband, who opposed the former regime, could not return to Sudan to see her. “I carried my eight-year-old daughter. When I got here I no longer had shoes.”

After Bashir was deposed, Rudayna hoped that “things would get better” and went back to Sudan.

“When the protests started, everyone thought war would break out. My husband, who was supposed to join us there, told me to come back to Lebanon,” Rudayna recalls, her harrowing account devoid of self-pity.

“I’ve known every tragedy. When I got here, there was Covid. Then, the first war. Then, the second. I don’t have any news from my parents. And then there’s my daughter’s illness. That’s what makes me suffer the most today. It costs $5,000 to send her to school. How could I possibly get that much money?

“Our whole lives have been difficult. I hope my children will have better lives than us.”

Read moreHumanitarian crisis in Lebanon: Displaced families face despair

‘War has caught up with them’

The refugees at Saint Joseph are all too familiar with the bitter taste of war.

“Most have arrived here without proper ID. Some have passports, others don’t,” Gemayel explains. “Some passed through Syria illegally, and now, war has caught up with them. And so they’ve had to move again. A third time, a fourth time.”

Anwar fled from Darfur. Since the beginning of the 2000s, the western Sudanese region he calls home has seen it all: genocide, forced displacements, famine.

In 2019, he moved to Lebanon. But when bombs started to pound the southern part of the country, he had to flee with his wife and daughter again.

Exhausted by the walk to the coastal city of Saida, they abandoned the few belongings they had brought with them, and continued their way to Beirut.

“I was seven years old when the war started in Darfur,” he says quietly, but without revealing anything more. Anwar does not want to talk about his stricken homeland.

“Today, we feel lost. We don’t understand what’s happening. I’m a foreigner, but I’m afraid like everyone else,” he says.

‘Stuck’

Saint Joseph’s parking lot is almost empty. The heat is almost suffocating. There are only a handful of people outside. Some are chatting, others go about their business. Sitting on a chair in the sun, Ousmane is having his hair shaved by another refugee. He also comes from Sudan, but has lived in Lebanon since 2010.

“I had friends in Lebanon. They told me to come, and today I’m stuck here,” he says, as the electric razor polishes his smooth scalp. “I can’t go back to Sudan, because the war there is worse than here.”

Two days ago, two of his Sudanese friends were killed, but he does not want to say any more.

Before the war began, he worked at a petrol station in southern Lebanon. He hopes to go back to his job as soon as possible, but for the moment he feels safe here.

“God only knows what will happen. We can only hope for the best.”

This article was adapted from the original in French by Louise Nordstrom.