In the heart of the besieged Sudanese city of El-Fasher, the air is thick with dust, grief, and the faint aroma of boiling ambaz—a bitter peanut residue normally fed to livestock. For the women gathered at the Matbakh-al-Khair communal kitchen, it is now the only food left to give their children.
“Our children are dying before our eyes,” one woman tells the BBC, her voice breaking. “They are innocent. They have nothing to do with the army or the Rapid Support Forces. Our suffering is worse than what you can imagine.”
Food in El-Fasher has all but vanished. Prices have soared so high that what once bought a week’s worth of meals now buys only one. Aid groups accuse both warring factions of using hunger as a weapon of war. The UN has pleaded for a humanitarian pause to allow convoys into the city, but negotiations stall—each side accusing the other of exploiting truces for military gain.
Dr Ibrahim Abdullah Khater, a paediatrician at Al-Saudi Hospital, says the reality is grim beyond words. “We have many malnourished children admitted in hospital but unfortunately there is no single sachet of [therapeutic food],” he explains. “They are just waiting for their death.” His voice drops to a whisper: “The situation, it is so miserable, it is so catastrophic. The children of El-Fasher are dying daily… the international community is just watching.”
For more than 14 months, the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) have tightened their siege on El-Fasher—Darfur’s last army-held city—cutting off food, fuel, and medicine. The blockade grew harsher after the RSF lost control of Khartoum earlier this year, and the latest assaults have been among the most intense since the war began.
Markets are nearly empty. The kitchen manager at Matbakh-al-Khair says bluntly: “There is no flour or bread. Now we’ve reached the point of eating ambaz. May God relieve us of this calamity.”
Local aid responders sometimes receive small sums through a digital banking system, but soaring prices erase any relief. Mathilde Vu of the Norwegian Refugee Council offers a stark example: “Today, $5,000 covers one meal for 1,500 people in a single day. Three months ago, the same amount could feed them for an entire week.”
As food runs out, cholera spreads. Doctors Without Borders (MSF) warns this is Sudan’s worst outbreak in years—nearly 100,000 cases and 2,470 deaths in the past year. Flooded camps, destroyed water systems, and the rainy season’s contamination create a perfect breeding ground.
Those who manage to flee El-Fasher often head west to Tawila, 60 km away, but the journey is fraught with checkpoints, extortion, and violence. “There is no safe passage out of the city,” say international NGOs, describing how people face “attacks, taxation at checkpoints, community-based discrimination and death” on the road.
Even in Tawila, conditions are dire. John Joseph Ocheibi from The Alliance for International Medical Action says: “We have shortages in terms of [washing facilities], in terms of medical supplies, to be able to deal with this situation. We are mobilizing resources to see how best we can respond.” MSF’s Sylvain Penicaud estimates camp residents have just three litres of water per person per day—far below the minimum survival threshold—forcing many to drink from contaminated sources.
In a tent clinic in Tawila lies 28-year-old Zubaida Ismail Ishaq. Seven months pregnant, gaunt, and exhausted, she recounts a journey of loss. “We drink water without boiling it,” she says softly. “We have no-one to get us water. Since coming here, I have nothing left.” Her husband was taken by armed men; her daughter carries a head injury; she and her mother contracted cholera soon after arrival.
Back in El-Fasher, the women at the soup kitchen voice the same desperate plea: anything—flour, sorghum, medicine, even an airdrop of supplies. “We’re exhausted. We want this siege lifted,” says Faiza Abkar Mohammed. “Even if they airdrop food, airdrop anything—we’re completely exhausted.”
For now, El-Fasher remains cut off, its people trapped between bombardments and famine. Hospitals limp on without medicine, families survive on animal feed, and children succumb to hunger and disease.
The siege has become not just a military standoff, but a slow, deliberate strangulation of civilian life. And while the fighting rages, one mother’s words echo through the dust-filled streets: “Our children are dying before our eyes… and the world is just watching.”
