This season, Mohammed al-Khair al-Azhari, a farmer in Sudan’s White Nile State, has been sowing sorghum seeds in a place where he had never thought to plant them for many years. Traditionally, seeds are scattered across land that is largely flat, after which machinery comes in to form what farmers call sarabat: raised earthen ridges created by lifting the soil, with the seeds embedded in their upper sections. The ridges allow the seeds to germinate at the top while simultaneously protecting their roots from excess rainwater, preventing them from rotting.
This year, however, as rainfall dwindled, al-Azhari joined scores of other farmers in placing seeds in the furrows between the ridges. Rainwater runs down from the higher ground and collects there. It is one of several improvised techniques farmers have adopted this year to give their seeds a chance to germinate despite the scarcity of rain.
Al-Azhari told Atar that he learned the technique from his father, who resorted to it in 1984 to avoid losing his seeds to failed germination, a year that witnessed one of the worst periods of drought in Sudan and the Horn of Africa.
Since May, the Intergovernmental Authority on Development (IGAD) Climate Prediction and Applications Centre has been warning of a more than 60 per cent likelihood of below-average rainfall across much of Sudan between June and September. Farmers have indeed complained of insufficient rainfall in recent months, a critical period for rain-fed agriculture.
In July, water levels in the Nile receded across several areas along the river: in southern Omdurman, East Nile, and large parts of River Nile and Northern states. Residents watched as the river retreated from its banks to an unprecedented extent, leaving behind expanses of dry mud and islands that had never before been visible.
Necessity, as the old wisdom goes, breeds ingenuity. This year, Sudanese farmers have learned to read the language of the land and adapt to the harshness of nature. Rain-fed agriculture is no longer simply a matter of scattering seeds and waiting for the skies to open. It has become a form of grassroots engineering, an exercise in rapidly responding to climatic shifts and drawing on inherited knowledge to weather the drought that has descended on the agricultural season.
Soaking the Seeds
Farming is the safety valve of our lives.
Ahmed al-Muhakkar, farmer in northwestern Al-Jazirah
In northwestern Al-Jazirah, where the village of Hineish is located, farmers have taken to soaking sorghum seeds in water for between 10 and 24 hours before burying them in the soil, hoping to ensure germination with only a small amount of rainfall.
Ahmed al-Muhakkar, a farmer from the area, told Atar that he has cultivated his land since 1991, when his father died and left it to him. Yet, he said, he has never experienced conditions like those of this season.
“In the past, we would see clouds gathering without rain, but eventually they would rain on us. Now, even the clouds have disappeared. We barely see a cloud form before it dies in its infancy. We have never known anything like this,” al-Muhakkar told Atar, adding:
“Rain has become scarce, and we are in need of help. Food has also become prohibitively expensive, and we have no option but to farm. So we devise solutions and adapt ourselves to the changing times. We know no other craft. Farming is the safety valve of our lives.”
“The moment we spot a cloud in the sky, we rush to the sacks of sorghum we stored from last year. We take out whatever we intend to plant and soak it in water. If it rains, that is what we hope for. We sow our seeds, already primed for germination. If it does not rain, we eat what we have soaked and try again when new clouds begin to form. We keep doing this until one of our attempts succeeds. And it has worked for some farmers.”
Although the planting window is fast closing, al-Muhakkar remains hopeful, placing his faith in his Feterita seed variety. He says it needs only 45 days to produce ears of sorghum, a promise that he and his fellow farmers await with bated breath amid the searing heat and the gnawing hunger.
Since the beginning of the year, weather-watchers’ warnings have spread like wildfire.
“The 2026 rainy season will be meagre and below normal.” These were not merely passing climate forecasts, but harbingers of a calamity threatening millions of farmers and pastoralists across Sudan’s rural peripheries, whose food security and very survival depend on the rainy season.
As clouds failed to gather and their behaviour changed,“forming and dying in their infancy,” as farmers put it, drought ceased to be merely an environmental ordeal. It became a testing ground for innovation and for the revival of inherited forms of folk wisdom as a means of adaptation.
The term “El Niño” has also been on everyone’s lips. It refers to a periodic climate phenomenon that occurs every two to seven years as a result of unusually warm sea-surface temperatures in the equatorial Pacific Ocean, disrupting wind patterns around the globe.
Under normal conditions, trade winds push warm surface waters westward toward Australia and Asia. During an El Niño event, however, these winds weaken, allowing warm waters to move eastward toward the coast of South America. This mass of warm water shifts areas of rising air and alters the path of the jet stream, reshaping the global distribution of rainfall and temperatures—from severe drought in some regions to flooding in others.
Despite Sudan’s geographical distance from the Pacific Ocean, disruptions to global wind circulation have a direct bearing on its climate. El Niño weakens the northward movement of the Intertropical Convergence Zone, delaying the onset of the rainy season and increasing dry spells during the summer in states such as Al-Gadarif, Al-Jazirah and the Kordofan region.
El Niño years are associated with elevated temperatures and intense heatwaves, which increase evaporation rates and accelerate the loss of moisture from soil and vegetation. Reduced rainfall over the Ethiopian highlands and the headwaters of the Blue Nile, combined with higher temperatures, causes water levels in the Nile and seasonal wadis to recede. Low rainfall and high temperatures also leave swathes of rain-fed farmland uncultivated, reduce the yields of staple crops such as sorghum and sesame, and diminish natural pasture and drinking-water sources for livestock.
Reading the Language of the Land
It is a difficult equation that we have been forced to embrace because of the scarcity of rain.
Bakhit Ajab al-Dour, farmer in North Kordofan
In the areas of Ajabtina, Breima al-Janna and Umm Saboula, west of Ar-Rahad Abu Daknana in North Kordofan State, farmers told Atar that their areas received early rains in June and July, only for the rain to disappear throughout August. Their crops were left parched and stressed, while the soil cracked under the strain.
Through experience, however, the farmers discovered that these cracks allow air to penetrate deep into the soil, accelerating the evaporation of moisture trapped underground, moisture that plants depend on through their roots. They, therefore, began sealing the cracks in the ground to preserve the minute quantities of water within the soil, creating the degree of moisture their crops need to survive and grow amid the drought.
Farmer Bakhit Ajab al-Dour told Atar that they would never have resorted to such a measure under normal circumstances. When rainfall is plentiful, he said, the cracks are indispensable: they allow air into the soil, supplying plants with the oxygen they need. This year, however, necessity has forced them to do otherwise.
“It is a difficult equation that we have been forced to embrace because of the scarcity of rain,” Ajab al-Dour said.
The tactic may prove futile if the dry spell persists. But, as Adil Attiya, a farmer in northern Ad-Diweem, put it, they will not simply sit idle. The rains have grown scarce, yet they need food.
“A drowning man clings to a straw,” Attiya recounted, even when he knows it may not save him. Still, he added, the tactic may pay off if even “a light shower” arrives.
Farmers in al-Liri, South Kordofan, are also complaining of the absence of rain. Farmer Jagdul Jabir Juma told Atar that May and June brought good rains, enabling some farmers who could afford the costs of cultivation to plant their fields, while others were unable to do so.
When those who had struggled to prepare eventually got themselves ready to plant, they ran into another obstacle: the rains stopped.
“Not a single drop fell on us throughout July and August. Many farmers emerged from the planting season empty-handed. Those who planted during the first part of the rainy season are now struggling to preserve whatever crops have managed to sprout. They are fighting daily battles to keep them alive,” Juma said.
The Guest Star
In the Blue Nile region, farmers began abandoning traditional sorghum varieties as early as May. Varieties such as Wad Ahmed, Tabat, and hybrid sorghum, although known for their high yields and strong market value, require substantial amounts of water. Faced with dwindling rainfall, farmers have instead turned to fast-growing varieties such as Arfa‘ Qadamak and Feterita—drought-tolerant crops with shorter growth cycles, though neither has demonstrated particularly high yields.
“Necessity makes you take the difficult road,” Balla Fath al-Rahman, a farmer in the rain-fed agricultural schemes of al-Migainis, told Atar.
Despite the limited economic returns of these varieties, al-Rahman said, farmers have adopted them as a way of adapting to climatic fluctuations, sustaining agricultural production and securing, at the very least, adequate food for their households.
Al-Rahman revealed that farmers have also begun bringing grasses in from outside their fields and laying them over the stems of their crops, shielding the soil from the intensity of reflected sunlight, which dries the ground and accelerates evaporation. The grasses create shade around the plants, helping prevent the little moisture remaining in the lower layers of the soil from evaporating.
In the past, these dry grasses would have been fed to livestock or burned as waste, since they sometimes carry seeds that can germinate again when they fall to the ground in the following season.
Al-Rahman also explained why farmers moved so early toward these crops and purchased their seeds even before the onset of the rainy season.
“Weather forecasts indicated that this year’s rainy season would be below average, and we had a duty to prepare for that. But we also know which season is coming by watching a ‘star’ that appears early after nightfall and disappears a few hours later. If its path leans towards the southwest, that signals scarce rainfall. If it appears in the northwest, it is an indication of a promising season,” al-Rahman said.
“We noticed the star appearing in the southwest as early as April, so we prepared early and planted our seeds with the first shower of rain. Today, we continue tending the crops, drawing on our traditional heritage in dealing with conditions like these, while keeping our eyes fixed on the sky, hoping it will finally give us what it has withheld so far,” he added.
In some parts of Sudan, this star is known as the Guest Star. Its appearance is traditionally taken as a sign that guests may arrive throughout the period of its visibility. Once it disappears, people no longer expect visitors.
A Blessing in Disguise
Limited ploughing and less disturbance of the soil helped preserve a good level of moisture.
Abdel Azim Ra‘i al-Jamaa, farmer on the outskirts of Tandalti, White Nile
In ad-Dinder, where rainfall has been relatively good, agricultural expert and rain-fed farmer Osman Abdel Majid Faraj told Atar that the early weeks of the rainy season brought unusually heavy rainfall, enough to sustain crops such as sesame if the rains continue regularly for another two months. They are not, however, sufficient for sorghum, which requires considerably more water.
Faraj noted that farmers have nevertheless this year relied on “light” varieties that grow quickly and withstand drought, including Ajib, Arfa‘ Qadamak, Korkolo and Gishish, which require around 40 millimetres of water to grow, as well as the local Akar variety.
Locally, he said, this rainy season is described as Abraq, literally, “flashing in two colours”: neither an exceptionally good season nor a disastrous one, as it has been in some other areas.
Farmers, Faraj said, have begun planting short-cycle, drought-resistant varieties to ensure their crops reach maturity before an early cessation of the rains. He also pointed to farmers’ growing reliance on weather forecasts, which they now use to bring planting dates forward or delay them in response to seasonal forecasts, seeking to avoid prolonged dry spells.
On the outskirts of Tandalti in White Nile State, farmer Abdel Azim Ra‘i al-Jamaa told Atar that soaring diesel prices prevented them from preparing their fields as thoroughly as they had in previous years. Yet what initially appeared to be a setback has, under conditions of scarce rainfall, turned into a blessing.
Limited ploughing and less disturbance of the soil helped preserve a good level of moisture, precisely what their crops need, particularly during prolonged sabnat periods, the local term for temporary breaks in rainfall that can last for more than a month.
Ironically, farmers’ complaints in White Nile’s agricultural schemes in recent months had centred on inadequate preparation for the farming season.
Rising diesel prices reduced the proportion of land prepared for cultivation, with many farmers settling for a single operation, either a kasr (a preliminary soil-breaking operation) or an initial ploughing.
Yet, as the saying goes, rubba darratin nafi‘a, a misfortune may bring a benefit. The reduced tillage helped preserve some of the moisture stored beneath the surface, saving some crops from being lost and allowing them to withstand the effects of drought and prolonged sabnat periods.
The experience has, in effect, offered a measure of vindication for the practice of zero tillage in irrigated schemes, and raised questions about its potential application in rain-fed agriculture. One of the principal advantages of zero tillage is its ability to conserve moisture in the deeper soil layers, an especially valuable attribute in drought years.
I planted okra, ajur, sorghum and cowpeas in a single field.
Sheikh Adam Faki Musa, farmer in Brām, North Darfur
Some farmers also say that once rain arrives, they turn to traditional planting methods, using the salluka and jarraya rather than broadcasting seeds and ploughing the land afterwards. These techniques work well during periods of heavy rainfall, but are less effective when rain is scarce.
Malik Abu al-Karam, a farmer in Umm Rawaba, North Kordofan State, said that because of the shortage of rain this year, he planted without preparing the soil, seeking to preserve its existing moisture. Instead of the traditional salluka, he used a mechanical hand-operated planter known as a “planter.” Unlike the salluka, the machine can cover large areas and does not require previously ploughed soil.
In the Fata Barno area of North Darfur, farmers told Atar that drought and scarce rainfall—conditions affecting Darfur alongside other parts of Sudan, prevented them from planting their crops this year.
Sheikh Adam Faki Musa, a farmer in Brām, told Atar that they had spent the season waiting for the rains to begin planting and broadcasting their seeds. But, he said, the wait has dragged on.
Musa said they had been counting on this season to ease their economic hardship. Rural households are enduring exceptionally difficult conditions, with food prices and the cost of agricultural inputs soaring, while seeds, planting materials and farm machinery remain in short supply.
He warned that if the rains continue to delay, agricultural production could fall sharply, further increasing the risks of food insecurity.
Musa said farmers have also resorted to planting multiple crops in the same field, a strategy for coping with scarce rainfall and adapting to the changing climate.
“I planted okra, ajur, sorghum and cowpeas in a single field,” he said.
The logic is simple: if one crop cannot withstand the drought, another might. In this way, he hopes to secure at least part of his household’s food supply.
