One year later

Approaching the one-year mark of the conflict in Sudan, I struggle to stave off the feelings of fear, anger, and anxiety. These emotions are not unique to me – the Sudanese diaspora is one body whose very heart is under attack. Our heart is burning, as buildings and heritage sites that once stood strong, representing our achievement and potential, now lie charred. Our heart is weeping, for neighborhoods once filled with life now empty.

The conflict grows more dire, with 5.4 million people currently displaced. Since early March there has been an internet blackout, blocking both communication and online remittances. This loss of remittances, coupled with lack of humanitarian aid in the region, has accelerated a near famine. Dwindling food, water, shelter, healthcare; yet, the international community is largely silent. Such indifference is a death sentence to millions of people.

What hurts me most as someone from afar is watching those who chose to stay. My Khalto Rajaa is one of eight children, seven girls and one boy. The girls looked so much alike growing up, but no two were as much as my mother and Rajaa. This, I think, is why I was drawn to her as a toddler in Sudan – often unable to discern between my Khalto, or aunt, and mother. Khalto Rajaa never minded, instead welcoming and treating me as her own.

Khalto Rajaa now lives in Al Jazeera state, working in Al Hasahisa hospital with her husband, both of them doctors. When the conflict began doctors had the most opportunities to escape. Neighboring countries welcomed hundreds of Sudanese doctors seeking safety. My mother urged my Khalto and her husband to leave and live a more comfortable life than even the one they had before the war. Khalto would reply: "If we all leave, what will become of our country? '' We have not heard from them since the internet black out began in early March.

As I reflect on their actions and move past my fear and sadness, I am filled with great hope and pride. Their courage and compassion are not isolated incidents but, rather, they reflect a larger movement towards peace and reconciliation. Millions of Sudanese people both inside and outside its borders are fighting to keep our nation alive. Sudan will never die because its spirit lives in us and through our actions, resilience, and unwavering hope for a better tomorrow.