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LONDON: A haze of red dust hangs over the cracked roads of Al-Fasher. Children stumble through the rubble-strewn outskirts, barefoot and silent, their faces taut with exhaustion. A woman collapses beside a water container, her two toddlers clinging to her scarf.

Nearby, a man holds a torn piece of cardboard with the word “Zamzam” scrawled in charcoal — a word that no longer means refuge. The camp it refers to, once one of the largest displacement sites in Sudan’s North Darfur, has been ravaged by violence.

On April 11, armed groups reportedly linked to the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces launched a deadly assault on the city of Al-Fasher, Zamzam, and another displacement camp called Abu Shouk, forcing tens of thousands to flee.

According to preliminary reports from the UN and humanitarian agencies, more than 400 civilians — including women, children, and up to a dozen aid workers — may have been killed in the space of three days, in attacks that also struck the nearby town of Um Kadadah.

The RSF said the camps in question were being used as bases by what it called “mercenary factions.” It also denied targeting civilians and accused its rivals of orchestrating a media campaign, using actors and staged scenes within the camp to falsely incriminate it.

The assault sent shockwaves throughout the region. More than 400,000 people fled, many of them to already overwhelmed towns like Tawila. Others disappeared into the hills of Jebel Marra, carrying only what they could hold. Zamzam is now under RSF control.

“It has been completely overrun — killing, raping, burning, and taking people hostage. No one remains unless they are prisoners,” Altahir Hashim, a human rights advocate who once lived in Zamzam, told Arab News.

Now based in the UK, Hashim monitors desperate voice messages sent by survivors still in hiding. “Every morning I hear names of the dead, pleas for food, calls for medicine,” he said. “But no one is listening.”

For many in Darfur, the violence echoes a familiar pattern — and a painful reminder of promises unkept. This April marked 20 years since the UN Security Council referred atrocities in the region to the International Criminal Court.

But for those displaced today, the anniversary feels hollow. “The killers are still free. The victims are still forgotten,” said Hashim, referring to the genocide perpetrated by the RSF’s forerunner, the Janjaweed. “We are reliving what the world said would never happen again.

“The people arriving in Al-Fasher have nothing. No shoes, no food, no blankets. Famine was already creeping through Zamzam before the attack — now it’s an open wound.”

Although the Sudanese Armed Forces have recently made headway against their RSF rivals, retaking the capital, Khartoum, in March, the center of the conflict has shifted elsewhere since erupting suddenly on April 15, 2023.

Al-Fasher itself has become the last major stronghold of the Sudanese state in Darfur region. Here, tens of thousands of newly displaced civilians crowd into schools, mosques, and courtyards.

The city, once a lifeline for aid distribution across the wider region, is now itself under siege. Forces reportedly affiliated to the RSF surround it, choking off humanitarian access and isolating the population within.

Dr. Ibrahim Abdullah Khatir, director general of North Darfur’s Ministry of Health, is among the few officials still coordinating medical efforts in the city. He described conditions as “beyond collapse.”

Khatir told Arab News: “Even pregnant women needing cesarean sections are being turned away.”

He added: “We have received reports of mothers dying in labor because there are no doctors, no medicine, no way out.”

Fuel has all but vanished from the city. Diesel prices have quintupled, halting the trucks that once delivered drinking water to outer neighborhoods. The city’s main water stations are out of service.

“Children are collapsing from dehydration,” Khatir said. “And now, our staff can’t even get to the clinics.”

Al-Fasher was never untouched by conflict, but it was a place where aid agencies could still operate and displaced people could seek help. Now, with RSF fighters reportedly deploying drones and artillery in surrounding areas, even that fragile space is crumbling.

Survivors describe the flight from Zamzam as a gauntlet of fear. Amina, a mother of four, arrived in Al-Fasher after walking for three days.

“We hid in dry riverbeds and behind trees,” she said. “My youngest is sick now — he hasn’t eaten properly in a week. There is no milk, no clean water. We are waiting for help that hasn’t come.”

Others, like 14-year-old Abdulrahman, came alone. “I lost my parents in the crowd. I don’t know if they made it,” he said, huddled beneath a tarp shared with strangers. “I just walked with people who were running.”

The UN children’s fund, UNICEF, has warned that more than 825,000 children around Al-Fasher are at daily risk of death due to malnutrition and a lack of clean water.

Humanitarian organizations are mobilizing aid — including 1,800 metric tons of food and 9,000 non-food kits — but with road access cut off and security deteriorating, deliveries have stalled. Several agencies say their staff remain trapped inside the city with no safe evacuation routes.

Medecins Sans Frontieres suspended operations in Zamzam earlier this year due to insecurity. Other groups have pulled back or reduced staff due to threats and attacks.

One international aid worker in Al-Fasher, speaking on condition of anonymity, told Arab News: “We’ve gone from emergency mode to survival mode. There’s nothing left to distribute. And no guarantee we’re even safe.”

The violence has once again drawn attention to Darfur’s long and bloody history of displacement, exclusion, and impunity.

In the early 2000s, the region was the site of mass killings and systematic ethnic targeting. Today, many Darfuris say the same patterns are playing out again.

“This isn’t just war,” Hashim said. “This is designed to erase entire communities. To remove them, not just physically, but from the map of Sudan.”

Fatima, a local nurse working in a makeshift clinic near Al-Fasher’s central mosque, said she sees the emotional toll every day. “We don’t have proper medicine, so we clean wounds with salt water. But it’s the look in people’s eyes that haunts me. They are afraid to hope.”

Despite urgent appeals from the UN and Sudan’s humanitarian coordinator, Clementine Nkweta-Salami, little progress has been made to secure humanitarian corridors or even a temporary ceasefire to allow aid in.

“Time is running out,” Dr. Khatir said. “We are out of water. Out of food. Out of medicine. And soon, out of time.”

Al-Fasher holds more than just strategic value; it is the historical and cultural heart of Darfur. For many here, it represents the last place left to defend human dignity.

“If Al-Fasher is lost,” Dr. Khatir said, “then the hope for Darfur is lost too.”