Ordinarily, a traveler knows the destination ahead, understands the purpose and timing of the journey, has the right to choose companions, carries luggage, and sets off with a sense of reassurance, provisions for the road, fragments of youthful dreams and the glimmer of ambition.
This journey, however, is different, vulnerable at every moment to shifting conditions that compound the hardship of crossing land and sea: changing and unforgiving routes, harsh terrain, severe weather, soaring temperatures, relentless sandstorms across the desert, vehicle breakdowns, the brutality of highway bandits, rudimentary means of managing danger, limited knowledge of how to respond when crises strike, and brokers of passage who sell transit toward the promise of a happier future on the opposite shore of the Mediterranean. Then, in the grip of open waters, the traveler sails at the mercy of thunderstorms and torrential rain that strike the sea with rhythms unlike those of the mainland, alongside the uncertainty of the sumbuk, its failures and drifting course, and the ever-present possibility of drowning.
As Sudan’s war and its accumulating toll on an already deteriorating economy deepened, the hopes of many young people for marriage faded. The cherished dream of building a family and launching modest ventures to shield themselves from the hardships of life began to collapse, while unfolding events swept away youthful ambitions for the long-awaited arrival of joy.
For this reason, and many others, these young men came to see departure as the better option and as a chance to “fulfill at least some dreams and keep pace with life’s fast-moving clock.” That is how Tijani, a young Sudanese man still waiting along the southern shores of the Mediterranean, summed it up as he hopes to overcome the perils of land and sea and make it to Europe. His outlook can be distilled into a single belief: Within risk lies a measure of survival.
Tijani: Rome is the destination. It is a must
No one leaves, except dead or released after paying the required amount.
Tijani, recalling conditions inside a Libyan detention centre run by militias
Tijani enrolled at university in 2016 to study archaeology. But as the country entered successive waves of upheaval, his academic life was disrupted, first by the December 2018 revolution and later by COVID-19. He turned to freelance work. Yet the financial return proved insufficient to meet his obligations, sustain everyday life or fulfill his aspirations.
After years passed without any change significant enough to persuade him to keep waiting, he made his decision: crossing the Mediterranean had become unavoidable.
To pursue that dream, Tijani traveled to Libya twice.
“My first trip to Libya was in 2020. I left my home in Dar Al Salam, Block 10, and headed to Kandahar Market west of Omdurman. From there, I took a passenger bus to Al-Khanaq in Northern State, on the western bank of the Nile. Then we crossed through the border triangle region into the Libyan city of Kufra,” Tijani said, adding: “At Kandahar Market, people seeking to cross into Libya usually contact Sudanese brokers who arrange the journey onward to Benghazi, Ajdabiya or Tripoli. That is what I did. I asked a broker to secure my arrival in Tripoli and paid the agreed amount for the entire trip, around 140,000 Sudanese pounds, which at the time exceeded $1,000.”
“When we reached Kufra, the Libyan driver told me the Sudanese broker had not paid him. I had no option but to pay again. I handed over the equivalent of 300,000 Sudanese pounds, more than $2,000 at the time, and to this day, I do not know which of the two lied to me,” he said.
The vehicles used for the journey are large cargo trucks driven by Libyan drivers who transport travelers to Kufra. In most cases, they hold them there as hostages inside a farm we will refer to here as Tarkeina, an isolated place cut off from movement, communication and basic services. The drivers then force the travelers to contact their families and demand ransom payments, claiming that the Sudanese broker did not pay the agreed transportation fees. In the end, it comes down to luck. Some drivers do deliver passengers to their destinations without demanding a second payment. But the odds of being deceived are greater, and this happened to many Sudanese. “When I arrived in Ajdabiya, I met a group of Sudanese travelers who told me they had also been scammed. At the time, there were no guarantees whatsoever. For reasons beyond my control, I eventually returned to Sudan in April 2023.”
Tijani says this was how the journey worked in previous years. But on his second attempt, much had changed. “In October 2023, I set out once again and followed the same route as before. 250,000 Sudanese pounds was all the money I had with me,” he told Atar.
From Kandahar to Al-Khanaq, the fare per passenger was 25,000 pounds. From Al-Khanaq to the Triangle border area, the ticket cost 23,000 pounds. From the Triangle to the Libyan city of Kufra, the fare was 300 Libyan dinars, equivalent to about 80,000 Sudanese pounds. There are now offices in the Triangle dedicated to coordinating migrant travel, and one has a choice: either pay at the Triangle office or settle the payment later in Tripoli.
In Kufra, there is also a farm that offers work opportunities and accommodation for labourers. People arriving from Sudan stay there temporarily to rest before continuing the journey the following day. Those who run out of money remain there to work and try to earn enough to cover the amount needed to resume the trip toward northern Libya.
On the morning of last Eid al-Fitr, at 4am and shortly before the dawn call to prayer, Tijani and his companions began their journey from the border city of Kufra in southeastern Libya toward Zawiya in the country’s northwest, on the Mediterranean coast. “We traveled in four enclosed, tinted four-wheel-drive vehicles. There were 56 of us in total, divided into groups of 14 per vehicle, with two additional vehicles escorting us for security. When we reached Zawiya after nearly 20 hours, we were split into several teams: one group was assigned to purchase provisions for the crossing, while another was tasked with bringing the quma, the Libyan term for the inflatable boat Sudanese migrants calls the sumbuk,” he said.
These boats are often worn out or have been in service for years. The quma is about eight metres long and powered by a single 60-horsepower engine mounted at the rear. It cannot withstand strong, crashing waves and instead moves entirely at their mercy. Before departure, it is inflated and tightly secured so it remains ready for launch without drifting away.
“There was also a group responsible for carrying fuel packs, eight in total.” Although the journey normally requires 15 fuel packs to reach safely without running out at sea, reducing the number to eight creates enough room to carry more passengers aboard the quma. That allows brokers and smugglers to make more money from each crossing. A reality that leaves no room for objection or negotiation.
“By the time fueling began, we were still 56 passengers. Four of us had been assigned specific roles to guide the quma to the opposite shore of the Mediterranean: one served as captain, another as the captain’s assistant, a third carried the GPS device for navigation and course tracking during the crossing, and the fourth carried a Thuraya satellite phone to maintain communication and call for help at sea or near the Italian coast.”
“This is what we are told to expect at sea, and the brokers train us accordingly. They do not accompany us on the crossing, nor do they assume responsibility for passengers’ safety. Their role is limited to showing us how to manage on our own, face difficulties at sea and deal with arrival on the opposite shore. Travelers are also prohibited from carrying personal mobile phones or Bluetooth earphones in order to reduce surveillance and prevent location tracking. With the reduced fuel supply and the excessive weight on the boat, hope ultimately rests only in Allah and in the Italian Coast Guard and emergency rescue vessels,” Tijani explained.
Despite the careful planning and strict timing, Tijani said the journey ultimately collapsed when members of the Zawiya militia raided the launch site of the quma along the shore.
Here is his sojourn in his own words: “Coast police were on official holiday during Eid, and the group was detained and transferred to the Zawiya detention centre operated by Libya’s anti-irregular migration authority. People call the detention facility Osama Prison. It is a large concrete structure with rough cement floors, a place unfit for human habitation. They held us for two hours without bringing any specific charges, then transferred us elsewhere under the escort of around 20 militia members for intensive searches and confiscation of all belongings. Even the women were not spared. They were denied dignity and humane treatment. We were subjected to constant insults, obscene language and degrading remarks that reflected deeply disturbed behaviour. And whenever migrants made any request, the response was always the same: threats of execution or being thrown into the open sea. After that, they took us back to Osama Prison and ordered us to contact our families and acquaintances inside Libya and back home using phones controlled by the militia. They demanded a ransom of 3,500 Libyan dinars per person in exchange for release, equivalent to roughly 3.5 million Sudanese pounds. The fact that the militia members came from different nationalities made it easier for them to communicate with detainees’ relatives and collect the required payments. Among them were Somalis, Ethiopians, Sudanese, Ghanaians and Nigerians.”
At 9am, detainees were served what became their only meal of the day: “That was the ration: one plate of rice shared among five people, plain rice, with nothing else. They also handed each of us two small packs of highly saline seawater. No one could manage more than a few sips to ease thirst. One detainee soon began showing signs of kidney complications because of it. We informed the militia, but their response was that they would leave him to die and dispose of his body in the sea. Another young man was suffering from hepatitis and developed severe complications from the illness. But the rule was clear: no one leaves, except dead or released after paying the required amount. I went through a difficult ordeal trying to reach the right person. Opportunities to make calls were limited, and I had to contact someone trustworthy who could gather the money needed to secure my release. I spent 14 days in that hell before I finally found someone who paid the amount and I was released. And I am still working to save enough money to try again.”
Mohammed: A different route
Like Tijani, Mohammed Abdel Moneim hopes to cross the Mediterranean and reach Europe, but not by taking the sea route from Libya to Italy. Instead, his first choice was to travel to Morocco and submit an asylum application through the office of the UN High Commissioner for Refugees.
Mohammed’s journey began by leaving Sudan for Saudi Arabia. He traveled by ferry from Port Sudan to Jeddah under a standard family visit arrangement. From there, he continued to Riyadh, where he applied at King Khalid International Airport for a travel visa to attend the Africa Cup of Nations held in Morocco in December 2025. The visa was issued during a transit connection in the United Arab Emirates that lasted about seven hours, and within half a day he arrived at Mohammed V International Airport in Casablanca. He says the total cost of the journey was 3.5 million Sudanese pounds while the airfare from King Khalid International Airport to Mohammed V Airport was 1,200 Saudi riyals.
Here is his recollection of the journey: “I chose a different route to avoid the hardship of overland migration and escape the human traffickers I kept hearing about. After arriving in Casablanca, I traveled to Rabat and submitted an asylum application through the refugee agency, hoping to be resettled in Europe. I received an appointment six months later for an interview. After completing it, I underwent another interview three months later and was then given a further appointment scheduled for June. The purpose of the final interview is to understand the reasons behind the asylum request, assess the social conditions in Sudan, and clarify other personal details related to physical and psychological well-being and similar matters.”
Those who regularly traverse the desert route grow accustomed to seeing human skeletons.
Mohammed Abdel Moneim, a Sudanese migrant
Despite submitting an asylum application and pursuing a safer path toward Europe, Mohammed says he attempted to cross into the Spanish enclave of Ceuta twice by scaling its barbed-wire fence.
Ceuta lies in Moroccan territory along the Mediterranean coast, just south of the Strait of Gibraltar, but is administratively governed by Spain. It is separated from Morocco by a heavily fortified fence of barbed wire, which migrants seeking entry into Europe relentlessly try to breach in an effort to reach the Spanish enclave.
Mohammed’s attempts, however, failed. He was arrested by specialized police units and deported to the El-Koudia El-Beida area in Taroudant Province in southern Morocco.
“There is no harsh treatment when someone is arrested for attempting to cross the fence,” he said. “There is a degree of leniency and compassion. They do not hesitate to provide meals, and they usually return personal belongings such as phones, rings and other accessories if they were confiscated during arrest. Police treatment of migrants may vary depending on individuals, but they are required not to beat, extort or abuse them. In the past, deportations were carried out randomly to other cities within Morocco. Now, however, those who attempt to cross are mostly deported to neighboring African countries such as Niger, Tunisia, Algeria or Libya. I was fortunate to be returned within Morocco, to Al-Qadiya Al-Bayda, where I am now staying until an opportunity arises to attempt the crossing again into Ceuta.”
Mohammed met Sudanese migrants who had taken the desert route from Libya into Algeria through the mountainous Debdeb region and onward to Morocco. Their ages ranged from older adults to teenagers under 20. They told him the journey can require up to 13 days on foot, a trek that has led to deaths due to the lack of sufficient drinking water and adequate food along the way. They also spoke of how those who regularly traverse the desert route grow accustomed to seeing human skeletons, the remains of those who perished en route, and bodies left behind, unburied and unattended.
Khalid: Through the desert route
Smugglers often mixed drinking water with fuel to conserve supplies and prevent water from running out along the way.
Khalid, describing conditions on the desert route to Morocco
Khalid, who identified himself by just one name, is a young migrant who was among those who crossed the desert route.
Like Tijani, his journey began at Kandahar Market west of Omdurman, continuing to Dongola before a bus carried him to Al-Khanaq and then to the Triangle border area. He says this is the well-known overland route into Libya from eastern, northern and central Sudan, used by Sudanese, Eritreans and Ethiopians alike. The journey is typically made aboard ZS trucks or “Tundra” vehicles, large trucks similar in size to ZS models, both suited for rough terrain, which carry passengers to the Triangle, from where trucks cross the border into Kufra.
Khalid recounts his journey: “When we arrived at the Triangle, there were so many of us that we were divided into groups: one heading to Kufra, another to Ajdabiya, and a third to Tripoli. That part of the journey was done in regular vehicles. From Tripoli, we headed toward the Ghadames area at the western border triangle between Libya, Algeria and Tunisia. From there, we continued to the mountainous Debdeb region, where we searched for a ‘guide’, someone experienced in the route, to take us to Ouargla in central Algeria, and then to Béchar in the far west. From there, we continued on foot for two days, covering a distance of 80 to 100 kilometres, until we reached the Moroccan city of Bouarfa in the east. From Bouarfa, we moved on to Errachidia in the deeper east-central region of Morocco. The cost of the journey reached roughly 2 million Sudanese pounds. Smugglers along the route came from a mix of nationalities, including Sudanese, Libyans, Algerians and Tunisians, along with others operating inside Algeria to facilitate entry toward the Moroccan border. Severe shortages of provisions worsened the journey’s brutality. Smugglers often mixed drinking water with fuel to conserve supplies and prevent water from running out along the way. The main food provided consisted of low-quality peanuts and dates. There were no stops along the route except for essential needs such as breakdowns and maintenance, in addition to the harsh desert terrain and extreme heat.”
After arriving safely in Morocco following the grueling journey, Khalid concludes that the most difficult part of the entire experience is falling into the hands of Libyan militias, which demand large ransom payments for release. He echoed Tijani’s account, saying detention is the outcome for those unable to pay, where migrants face severe mistreatment and are exposed to disease and its complications. To avoid capture by militias on the route from Libya into Algeria, migrants rely on smugglers to secure passage, sometimes in vehicles that follow safer paths, and at other times on foot through alternative routes.
Khalid draws a comparison between the fate of migrants when they fall into the hands of Libyan militias and the treatment they receive if arrested by authorities in Algeria or Morocco: “If the Algerian government arrests migrants, the penalty is imprisonment or deportation to Niger, leaving limited options. At times, the only path left is to return to Sudan via Chad. This applies to other nationalities as well, whether Ethiopian, Eritrean or Chadian. In Morocco, however, if migrants are arrested while attempting to cross from Algeria, police do not impose deportation or expulsion in the same way Algeria does. Instead, they are transferred from Rabat to other cities within Moroccan territory, depending on circumstances. The same applies if they are caught trying to scale the barbed-wire fence toward Ceuta. However, in addition to being moved to other cities, migrants may also be detained, in which case organizations pay their bail, about $250 per person.”
Like Mohammed, Khalid places his hopes in luck, believing one of his attempts to cross the barbed-wire fence into Ceuta will eventually succeed. “In that case, we come under the protection of organizations and continue regularizing our status as refugees,” he said.
A permanent migration project
What once was a simple overland journey from Sudan through Libya, Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco in search of Europe has evolved into a complex humanitarian, security and economic phenomenon, driven by the war that erupted in April 2023, collapsing livelihoods and deepening fears about the future. The reality on the ground is far harsher than what is sometimes reflected in news reports or on social media.
According to lawyer Abdul Shakur Hassan Ahmed, who focuses on irregular migration cases, it is nearly impossible to obtain accurate statistics on the number of Sudanese migrants in Libya, as most movements occur irregularly through deserts, open borders and smuggling networks, as described by Tijani, Mohammed and Khalid.
The International Organization for Migration estimates that 936,134 migrants were present in Libya at the start of 2026, with Sudanese nationals representing the largest share at 36 per cent of the total migrant population. The UN.High Commissioner for Refugees also reported that the war in Sudan has significantly increased the flow of Sudanese into Libya, with hundreds arriving daily through the Kufra crossing in southeastern Libya.
Entire neighborhoods now host large numbers of Sudanese, Chadians and Nigerians, to the extent that it has been referred to as “Slave Areas”.
Abdul Shakur Hassan Ahmed, a lawyer specializing in irregular migration cases
Through field observations and testimonies from drivers, smugglers and local residents, Abdul Shakur describes how roads and travel patterns have changed since the war: “Before the war, international travel was relatively limited, and most travelers were either traders or seasonal workers. Roads were less congested, and border towns were more stable. After the war, however, massive waves of displacement emerged. Travel hubs became overcrowded with families and young people, while smuggling vehicles and four-wheel drives spread widely. Some markets turned into migrant gathering points, and the presence of brokers and smuggling networks increased. Certain desert routes became almost human corridors. In areas such as Kufra, Sabha and Umm Al-Aranib inside Libya. Entire neighborhoods now host large numbers of Sudanese, Chadians and Nigerians, to the extent that it has been referred to as “Slave Areas.” The main migration routes run from Darfur to Kufra in Libya, from northern Sudan to Egypt, from Chad into Libya and on toward Tunisia or Algeria, and from Libya across the Mediterranean Sea to Europe.”
Providing a detailed account of overland routes from Sudan into Libya, Abdul Shakur says: “The journey typically unfolds in arduous and hazardous stages, beginning with gatherings inside Sudan, in Darfur, Khartoum or the northern region, where arrangements are made with brokers or smugglers. Travel then proceeds in four-wheel-drive vehicles, pickup trucks or desert transports, driving for long hours across the desert, sometimes at night to avoid patrols. The route includes temporary stops: water wells, makeshift rest areas, and smugglers’ storage sites or homes, until the border is crossed. Some routes pass through Chad before reaching Libya. After arriving in Kufra or Sabha, travelers disperse either to work inside Libya, move on toward Tunisia or Algeria, or attempt to cross the Mediterranean to Europe. Many of these journeys take place without any official documentation.”
Abdul describes the humanitarian situation during the journey as “the most dangerous aspect of the entire issue.”
He lists the risks along the route: “water shortages, hunger and thirst, extreme daytime heat and freezing nights, overcrowding inside vehicles, the possibility of death from dehydration or getting lost, repeated financial extortion, theft and assaults, abandonment of sick travelers in the desert, as well as cases of detention, forced labor or ransom demands placed on families. From each migrant group, no more than 10 per cent may ultimately reach their intended destination.”
According to Abdul, the main nationalities present along the irregular migration route through Libya, now a key transit hub for migrants from sub-Saharan Africa, include Sudanese, Chadians, Nigeriens, Egyptians, Nigerians, Eritreans, Ethiopians and Somalis.
He argues that the Sudanese war is the primary driver behind the surge in Sudanese migration along these routes, citing its direct consequences: “loss of security, economic collapse, halted livelihoods, lack of services, fear of forced recruitment and killing by the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), as well as a widespread loss of hope among young people.”
He adds that some Sudanese who initially migrated to Egypt later returned and continued onward toward Libya due to worsening economic and living conditions.
Regarding what happens to irregular migrants when arrested, Abdul Shakur says the outcome varies depending on the country, region and arresting authority. “In Libya, for example, those detained may be held in migration centers where their documents are verified. They then face possibilities of fines, forced deportation or voluntary return, and in some cases, they are subjected to mistreatment or prolonged detention. Libyan authorities have deported thousands of migrants in recent years, and in certain cases they are handed over to the International Organization for Migration. In Europe, migrants may be detained while their asylum claims are reviewed, or returned to their countries if their applications are rejected.”
Abdul attributes the disparities in treatment based on migrant nationality to political relations between countries, skin color and race in some cases, financial capacity, type of documentation, security perceptions of certain nationalities, as well as the strength or weakness of migrant communities. “This is a reality documented by many human rights organizations and media reports, even though international law stipulates human equality. Public sentiment in some North African countries has also become more sensitive toward migration due to economic pressures and strain on services.”
Looking at both sides of the question, why young people risk everything on this route despite death and danger, Abdul says: “The answer is painful. Young people take the risk because they feel staying is more dangerous than leaving: no work, no education, no security, no clear future. As a result, the dangers of the desert and sea, and their terror, are transformed into a perceived chance of survival. But the reality, as evidence shows, is that irregular migration is not a guaranteed path to life. It can turn into detention, exploitation and disappearance, or an unknown death in the desert or at sea. Thus, the most dangerous consequence of the war is not only destruction, but the transformation of the human being itself into a permanent migration project in search of safety.”
