When Islam Ibrahim fled Sudan after her father was killed during the siege of el-Fasher, she believed she had survived the worst of the conflict. The twenty-year-old pharmacy student escaped with her mother and six sisters to the neighboring Central African Republic, abandoning her studies in the process. Now residing in the Korsi refugee camp, she spends her days supporting newly arrived women and girls. Drawing on the medical knowledge she gained before the war interrupted her university education, she volunteers to assist refugees who arrive exhausted after dangerous journeys from Darfur. Even in exile, Islam finds that she cannot escape the pressures that followed her from home.
Her uncles have traveled to the refugee camp, urging the family to return to Sudan to settle her late father’s estate. Islam fears that returning would not only place them back in an active conflict zone but also expose her and her sisters to intense pressure to marry relatives against their wishes. She maintains that she only desires to return to Sudan if it enables her to continue her education, not to divide her father’s inheritance. Islam’s story is echoed across the Korsi refugee camp, where an entire generation of Sudanese students is attempting to salvage futures interrupted by war.
More than thirty Sudanese university students interviewed over several days described lives put on hold by a conflict that has uprooted families, shattered ambitions, and left many wondering if they will ever return home. Most are in their twenties and hail from Amdafock, a border town in Darfur that became both a refuge and later a departure point as families fled escalating violence. Many initially believed their displacement would be temporary, imagining they would return home to complete their degrees once the fighting ceased. However, that hope has grown increasingly distant as the conflict continues.
Their experiences reflect a wider educational disparity created by the war. Millions of school pupils and university students in Darfur and other areas controlled by the Rapid Support Forces have now gone more than three years without regular schooling or access to nationally recognized examinations. In contrast, despite repeated disruptions, many students in areas held by the Sudanese army have gradually returned to classrooms and sat for exams, widening the disparity in educational opportunities between young people on opposite sides of the war.
Amdafock was recently seized by rebels operating across the border in the Central African Republic, further diminishing any realistic prospect of return for many families. With support from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, dozens of Sudanese refugees have secured places at the University of Bangui, offering a fragile path back into education. Yet, returning to university has proven far from simple. Having completed their schooling in Arabic, these students must now study in French, learning an entirely new language while struggling to keep pace with rigorous university demands. Many say the additional years required, coupled with financial hardship and the psychological toll of displacement, make it feel as though they are losing time they can never recover.
Among them is Gamar el-Shaikh, a sociology student at the University of Bangui. She noted that they left the refugee camp promising loved ones they would return with university certificates, but the educational environment and the difficulties they face make keeping that promise seem impossible. Another student, Baderelddian Issa, said his family fled after his father, an imam in Amdafock, was persecuted by the Rapid Support Forces for criticizing them during sermons. This made the family a target, forcing them to flee Sudan for the Central African Republic, where he is now trying to continue his studies while watching the possibility of return slip further away.
For some students, displacement has demanded even more painful choices. Intisar el-Sadig lost her husband during the war before fleeing to the Central African Republic with her young child. After the refugee agency secured her a place at the University of Bangui, she made the difficult decision to leave her three-year-old son in the Korsi refugee camp with her mother so she could continue her studies in the capital. She travels back whenever she can, but says every separation is painful. She studies because she refuses to let the war take everything from them, believing that stopping now would mean losing not only their home and her husband, but their future as well.
Ahmed knows how quickly those hopes can collapse. Before the war, he was studying law and dreamed of becoming a judge. His father, a Sudanese army officer, was killed during the fighting in el-Fasher. The family fled to Nyala, believing they had reached safety, but Ahmed says rebels attacked them there, where his mother was severely beaten and her arm broken. The family eventually reached the Central African Republic. Now living in exile, Ahmed’s studies have been put on hold, and his ambitions have narrowed to basic survival.
Across the Korsi camp, that sense of loss is shared in different ways. Students who once imagined futures as pharmacists, judges, engineers, teachers, and academics now spend their days navigating life in exile, learning a new language, and trying to rebuild their education in an unfamiliar system while worrying about relatives still trapped in Sudan. For young women like Islam, displacement has also brought renewed pressure regarding inheritance and marriage. For others, the loss is measured in years of interrupted education that may never be recovered. Islam continues volunteering in the camp, while Gamar, Baderelddian, and Intisar persist with their studies despite extraordinary obstacles. Ahmed still clings to his dream of becoming a judge. For these young Sudanese, education has become both a refuge and a form of resistance, a fragile attempt to rebuild meaning in lives shattered by war. As Ahmed told Al Jazeera through tears, they are the lost generation of Sudan who lost everything in this war.
