A Story of Exile and Resilience

For Fatema, Ramadhan is a date that awakens unforgettable memories, a silent present and a long-awaited future. While many welcome the holy month with joy, it stirs in Fatema a quiet sorrow tied to one day that changed everything.

In Sudan, before the war, Ramadhan carried familiar rituals. Before dawn, young men walked through neighbourhoods calling families to wake for suhoor, creating a shared spirit of devotion. The suhoor table was simple, milk, dates and often hilu mur, the traditional Sudanese drink present in every home. Days continued with work, school and prayers at nearby mosques. At sunset, families gathered for iftar. Ramadhan was never solitary; it was rooted in belonging.

Family gatherings defined the month. Every Friday, Fatema and her relatives shared dishes like Assida and Tagliya, meals that symbolised unity more than sustenance.

Then came the 24th of Ramadhan. Instead of peaceful night prayers, war erupted. “Every Ramadhan takes me back to that night”, she says. The holy month has never been separate from that memory.

During a brief two-hour ceasefire, just before iftar, Fatema’s family made the painful decision to leave Khartoum. There was no time for preparation or proper goodbyes. They packed a few clothes into school bags and left behind documents, certificates, passports, money and gold. “On the road to exile, you leave your home, but you never know where your feet will take you”, she recalls. They fled between soldiers and gunfire.

For a year, they lived displaced and Ramadhan carried uncertainty instead of peace. Safety became the only shared priority.

Two years ago, Fatema moved to Oman. The Ramadhan atmosphere felt different from Sudan, yet she found something she had long missed: peace. “We found safety and reassurance for the first time”, she says.

Now Ramadhan holds layered meaning. It marks the beginning of war and displacement, but also renewal of faith. “Ramadhan reminds us not to hold too tightly to this world”, she reflects. Leaving everything behind reshaped her understanding of what truly matters. Possessions can vanish in a moment, but faith remains.

Each year, the month deepens both her grief and gratitude. When she returns to Sudan one day, she hopes her suitcase will carry lessons of patience, resilience and the kindness she experienced in Oman.

At every iftar, she sends a quiet prayer, wishing to return to the 23rd of Ramadhan, the last day before everything changed and hoping that safety will one day return to her homeland.