Marhaba,

This is the 41st issue of Atar English magazine, from Sudan Facts Center for Journalism. It will be coming to you on Monday, every two weeks.

Sudan today is a land where lives, livelihoods, and commodities alike are ransomed. The war that erupted in April 2023—and the broader, decades-long crisis in Darfur and Kordofan—has exacerbated the collapse of social, economic, and humanitarian systems across the region. The fall of Al-Fashir to the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) intensified these dynamics, accelerating displacement, insecurity, and the commodification of human life, but it was not the origin of the crisis. Civilians, farmers, and even soldiers have found themselves caught in networks of abduction and ransom, their survival contingent on cash, connections, and access to functioning markets.

The human toll is evident. As Nemat Alhaj reports, escapees from Al-Fashir were seized by RSF-aligned militias and camel herders, held in villages and damirat, and released only after families paid exorbitant ransoms. Many did not survive, while others endured days of humiliation, deprivation, and violence. Families scrambled to gather money, often selling belongings or appealing to distant networks, exposing how deeply the conflict commodifies human life. In this context, the term “ransomed lives” is no metaphor—it is the lived reality of hundred thousands across Darfur and Kordofan.

The economic dimension of this ransomed reality is equally stark. Mohamed Abdelbagi’s report on Al-Na’am Market shows how trade routes and marketplaces have adapted to conflict. Once a small local souk, Al-Na’am has become a vital artery for goods, fuel, and medicine, connecting Sudan to South Sudan and East Africa. Here, commerce is inseparable from survival: the market sustains towns under siege, enables pharmacies to function, and provides a lifeline to families in areas cut off from formal supply chains. Yet even this lifeline is precarious—vulnerable to fires, insecurity, and the whims of armed actors.

Meanwhile, the war has devastated Sudan’s traditional economic foundations. In Kordofan, fields lie fallow, and rain-fed agriculture has collapsed. Farmers in West and South Kordofan, as well as in Babanusa, report struggling with looted seeds, soaring input costs, and plummeting prices, according to Osama Abdelhai. Markets have thinned, trade has stalled, and households face mounting debt. The economic ripples of the conflict extend far beyond the battlefield, shaping civilians’ lives in ways that are as tangible—and as devastating—as ransom demands.

Displacement compounds these pressures. As Béera kurrâ ’s report from Tawila shows, tens of thousands of displaced people seek refuge in makeshift camps, dependent on overstretched aid networks. Communal kitchens, wells, and emergency shelters are barely enough to meet basic needs, and winter heightens the urgency for blankets, shelter, and medical supplies. Here too, survival is transactional: food, water, and medicine are rationed, and life depends on access to resources controlled by fragile, overburdened systems.

In post-Al-Fashir Sudan, markets, farms, and displacement camps exist under the shadow of ransom—not only of human lives but of economic opportunity. Livelihoods are held hostage by insecurity, frontlines, and currency collapse. Trade routes like Al-Na’am have emerged as lifelines precisely because the formal economy has failed, yet even they operate within the logic of negotiation, protection, and risk that echoes the human ransoms unfolding across Darfur and Kordofan.

These reports collectively reveal a stark reality: Sudan’s war is not only fought with weapons, but with deprivation, control of movement, and manipulation of economic lifelines. Ransomed lives are not isolated tragedies—they are woven into the economy, reshaping how Sudanese live, work, and survive. Understanding this interplay is essential, not only to document the human cost of war, but to guide responses that address both survival and dignity in a country whose people pay the highest price for a conflict they did not choose.

Atar Editorial Team