At night, children grow wings. When they wake, their families tell them they never truly flew, that it was nothing more than a dream. Yet there are other, metaphorical wings that emerge in daylight, wings capable of carrying them toward their future: their aspirations for education and work. Few things rival the excitement with which children answer when asked what they hope to become when they grow up. One dreams of becoming an engineer, another imagines herself as a doctor, while someone else envisions life as an airline pilot. But how has war reshaped the ambitions, plans and perhaps even the mindset of Sudan’s students, those who, only yesterday, were children?
According to a report by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), global enrollment in higher education rose from 100 million students in 2000 to 269 million in 2024. That figure represents 43% of the world’s population of traditional higher education age, typically between 18 and 24. Yet the increase conceals stark regional disparities. Enrollment reaches 80% among young people in Western Europe and North America, compared with 59% in Latin America and the Caribbean, 37% across the Arab region, 30% in South and West Asia, and just 9% in sub-Saharan Africa.
The report inevitably raises a pressing question: Where does Sudan stand? In Sudan, after a revolution, a pandemic, a coup and then war, the children of two decades ago have now come of age amid a crumbling education system, relentless political upheaval and universities struggling to survive. Sudanese university students have watched years of their lives become the price of earning degrees that continue to consume one academic year after another. How, then, do they view their future?
Hussein: Nine Years and Counting
I never once considered dropping out.
Hussein Mahmoud, engineering student at Al-Gadarif University.
At 26, Hussein Mahmoud is an engineering student at Al-Gadarif University. He still vividly remembers his first day on campus.
“I was 17 when I walked through the university’s main gate for the first time, overwhelmed by a mix of excitement and apprehension. It was 17 Sept. 2017, and my first lecture was Introduction to Physics.”
According to the academic timeline he had mapped out, Hussein expected to graduate by 2022. Instead, his education became a cycle of interruptions.
“We would study for a month, then stop for two. At one point, a sit-in at the faculty suspended classes for six months. After so many disruptions, I gradually stopped caring about attending regularly, even when classes resumed.”
Hussein attributes that response to the psychological strain caused by repeated closures and the painfully slow pace of academic progress. Yet, he says, those setbacks never weakened his determination.
“Despite the many reasons our faculty kept shutting down—from the December Revolution to the COVID-19 pandemic and now the war, which is still ongoing—I never once considered dropping out,” he told Atar
He spoke with unmistakable resolve.
Hussein says his perseverance stems from more than personal ambition. Studying engineering was not only his dream but also the hope his parents held for him.
“That has been my greatest motivation to keep going despite every challenge I have faced, and continue to face.”
He also considers himself fortunate to be studying in Al Qadarif, where he lives and attends Al-Gadarif University. That, he says, has given him another reason to remain committed to his studies. Had he been enrolled at a university in another state, continuing his education would likely have been impossible because of the additional costs of travel, tuition, and daily living expenses.
Hussein recalls feeling discouraged and losing his sense of purpose on countless occasions as he watched his childhood dream gradually slip away. The long interruptions between semesters made it difficult to connect what he had learned in his early courses with later material, let alone apply that knowledge or build new skills. But even those academic setbacks were not what troubled him most.
“My greatest burden was facing a society that never stopped asking questions about my studies and what I was doing with this stage of my life. I answered some of them and avoided others. Our neighbour, a woman in her 50s, would ask me every time the bus stopped at the station near my house, ‘So, are you almost done?’ And every time I would reply, ‘Just one more year.’ We’ve been repeating that same question and answer since 2023. Not long ago, she asked again, and I told her, ‘After Eid al-Adha, God willing.’ The holiday has now passed, and nothing has changed. Even my father, who is more eager for my graduation than I am, keeps asking, ‘So, is this finally it?'”
According to the latest arrangements, Hussein expects to defend his graduation project in July, nearly nine years after beginning his pursuit of a bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering.
If there is one silver lining to the prolonged delay, Hussein says, it is that it has never prevented him from earning a living. Over the years, he has worked as a satellite receiver technician in the Al-Gadarif market, taken on several jobs unrelated to his field of study, completed internships at the Al-Gadarif Grain Silo and with leading engineering firms, and now works for a humanitarian organisation.
Marafi: Eight Years, Finally
Eventually, I found myself without any real ambition or clear goal other than graduating, by any means possible.
Marafi, graduate of the Faculty of Arts at Red Sea University
Marafi, 25, enrolled in the Faculty of Arts at the Red Sea University in 2018.
“Finally, after eight years, I celebrated my graduation this year, although I still have not defended my graduation thesis,” she told Atar.
Marafi recalls beginning university with tremendous enthusiasm. Enrolling in the Faculty of Arts had been a conscious choice driven by genuine passion.
“But as the years passed, that passion gradually faded. Eventually, I found myself without any real ambition or clear goal other than graduating, by any means possible.”
Throughout her studies, Marafi worked in a variety of fields, some closely related to her academic discipline and others entirely unrelated.
“While balancing humanitarian work, media jobs and my own projects, I was constantly bombarded with questions from family and friends about my studies. More than once, I seriously considered abandoning my education in Sudan and trying to complete it abroad, but those efforts never succeeded. In the end, I accepted staying. Since I already have a job and live in a country I know well, it made more sense to keep going until I finished my degree, especially because working while studying has given me invaluable knowledge and practical experience.”
Marafi does not dwell on the opportunities she may have missed because she lacked a university degree. Instead, she remains convinced that “everything happens for a reason, and there are still opportunities ahead.”
Al-Fateh: Seven Years
Al-Fateh Al-Nour, 28, enrolled in the Faculty of Law at Sinnar University in 2018, when he was 20 years old. Instead of graduating in 2022, as the academic plan projected, he spent nearly eight years earning his bachelor’s degree in law before graduating in 2025. In addition to the succession of national crises that slowed academic progress for higher education students across Sudan beginning in 2018, Sinnar University was forced to suspend classes because of nationwide strikes by university professors, followed by a second strike by the university’s own faculty members.
Summing up his years at Sinnar University, Al-Fateh told Atar:
“It was an invaluable journey that helped shape both my personal and professional skills. It enriched me intellectually and socially because universities that encourage extracurricular activities alongside academic study, while allowing space for political and cultural engagement, as Sinnar University did, play a vital role in developing students’ talents and abilities.”
Al-Fateh hopes to pursue postgraduate studies in law, but he remains cautious.
“I’m afraid the same experience could repeat itself, costing me many more years to earn a master’s degree. Given the country’s complex circumstances, there are no guarantees that my studies would continue uninterrupted. That’s why I’m looking for an opportunity to study abroad.”
He currently works for a civil society organization, far removed from the legal profession.
“I intend to return to practicing law because my primary goal is to defend human rights. That means I first need to sit for the bar examination. After that, I hope to return to the nonprofit sector with a stronger focus on protection and human rights.”
Athar: Eight Years — and Still Counting
Athar, 25, is a medical student at Al-Gadarif University, where she enrolled on Oct. 28, 2018. At the time, she expected to graduate no later than 2023.
“But one event followed another, and now it’s 2026, and I’m still in my ninth semester. If classes continue at the current pace, I expect to graduate in February 2027.”
Athar describes the journey as “exhausting,” shaped by an ever-changing academic calendar, the uncertainties of daily life and mounting health and economic pressures. She told Atar:
“I always tried to spend as little as possible. I avoided buying printed textbooks or study guides whenever electronic versions were available.”
She recounts the course of her university years:
“I had been studying for only one month when universities shut down following the outbreak of the December 2018 Revolution. Al-Gadarif University did not resume classes until December 2019, even though several Sudanese universities had reopened months earlier. Then, just as the university resumed operations at the end of 2019 and the beginning of 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic struck, forcing another closure. Later that same year, university professors and staff went on strike, leaving the university closed for another six months. As a result, every semester throughout my academic journey effectively stretched into an entire academic year, until the April 2023 war broke out.”
Among the exceptional causes of delay she observed at Al-Gadarif University, particularly in the Faculty of Medicine, was the absence of a stable academic calendar clearly outlining lecture and examination schedules.
“We would often learn from our class coordinator late at night that we had a lecture the following morning. Exams could be scheduled or postponed without warning. That level of uncertainty placed enormous psychological pressure on us.”
Athar attempted to transfer to another university, but her efforts were unsuccessful.
“That only intensified the psychological strain. I was still in my third semester while other students admitted in 2018 had already reached their seventh or eighth semester. One of my friends studied radiology and is now on the verge of earning her master’s degree, while I’m still in my fifth year. The prolonged delays have also taken a significant toll on my relationships with my family and friends.”
She concluded the conversation with her eyes fixed on the distance.
“When you set high expectations for yourself and reality falls far short of them, you become discouraged and feel powerless to keep moving forward.”
Complications and Solutions
Over the past several years, the university continued admitting new students but was unable to graduate a single class.
Dr. Anas Ali, Dean of the Faculty of Computer Science, Kassala University
From an academic standpoint, Dr. Anas Ali, dean of the Faculty of Computer Science at Kassala University, told Atar that the issue of delayed or stranded cohorts has plagued Sudanese universities for years, creating a profound institutional crisis. The backlog, he said, has placed university administrations in a race against time to clear successive classes that should have graduated years ago, allowing students to move forward with their careers while freeing space for incoming cohorts.
“Over the past several years, the university continued admitting new students but was unable to graduate a single class. Instead of managing the usual five cohorts, we found ourselves with eight, nearly double the expected number. That made it impossible to meet the needs of every cohort simultaneously because our lecture halls and faculty members simply could not accommodate such demand. Addressing the problem requires significantly greater human and financial resources.”
Dr. Anas also highlighted another factor that compounded the backlog: housing for students arriving from outside Kassala state. Kassala University enrolls students from across Sudan, yet its dormitories are unable to accommodate them. The situation became even more challenging after schools and student residences were converted into shelters for displaced people during the conflict, leaving the university administration reluctant to resume classes while students struggled to secure safe accommodation.
To reduce the backlog, Dr. Anas said university administrators adopted several measures.
“Despite our limited resources, we introduced a rotating schedule. Five cohorts complete an entire semester before taking a break of three months or longer. During that period, the previously suspended cohorts return to continue their studies, and the cycle repeats. We began implementing this strategy when the backlog affected students from the first through the fifth year. Today, the accumulation remains only among fifth-year students. Once they graduate, the backlog will finally be eliminated. In the Faculty of Computer Science, there are no longer any delayed cohorts. We now have six cohorts studying simultaneously, unlike the situation in previous years.”
Students and Their Communities
The war has fundamentally reshaped the trajectory of higher education.
Sahar Hassan, social researcher at the Ministry of Social Development in Kassala State.
The war has fundamentally reshaped the trajectory of higher education, according to Sahar Hassan, a social researcher at the Ministry of Social Development in Kassala State. She told Atar that displacement, university closures, and economic collapse have forced thousands of students to suspend their studies.
Sahar said many families have lost their sources of income, compelling students to work to support themselves and their households. At the same time, the high cost of continuing education has prevented many from enrolling in alternative university campuses or accessing online learning, as they cannot afford the necessary devices or internet services.
She added that delayed graduation extends far beyond academic setbacks, affecting employment prospects, income, and social stability. Students who leave university are often drawn to the immediate earnings available through casual labour or artisanal mining, reducing the likelihood that they will return to complete their studies. Among female students, the risk of early marriage has increased, while many young men have postponed marriage because their delayed entry into the labour market has deferred their financial independence. At the same time, Sahar noted that volunteering in displacement shelters and community initiatives has provided many students with an opportunity to regain psychological stability and build new social networks.
Dr Aida Hashim, a psychologist at the Ministry of Health in Kassala, said delayed graduation can have wide ranging psychological consequences, including frustration, diminished self esteem, and anxiety about the future, particularly as students compare themselves with peers who have already graduated.
She said these pressures can escalate into symptoms of depression, academic burnout, declining academic performance and concentration, social withdrawal, and, in some cases, harmful coping behaviours as students struggle to manage prolonged stress.
Aida stressed that students experiencing persistent psychological distress should seek professional support. At the same time, she argued that success should not be measured solely by graduating on schedule. The extraordinary circumstances created by the war have produced vastly different educational experiences, she said, and what ultimately matters is reaching the destination, regardless of how long the journey takes.
