Overlooked by crises in Gaza and Ukraine, Sudan has now endured one 12 months of civil war. Nearly 16,000 people have been killed, with 8.2 million fleeing from their homes—including 4 million children. Both figures are global highs for internal displacement.
The United Nations stated that the “world’s worst hunger crisis” is looming, warning that one-third of Sudan’s 49 million people suffer acute food insecurity and 222,000 children could die of starvation inside weeks. Yet a world emergency response plan, endorsed by UN agencies including the Cindy McCain-led World Food Program, is barely six percent funded.
Sudanese Christians feel like “nobody cares.”
Five years earlier, that they had great hope. In 2019 a well-liked revolution overthrew longtime dictator Omar al-Bashir, wanted for war crimes against his people. The latest civilian government repealed the law of apostasy, removed Islamist elements from the bureaucracy, and implemented other democratic reforms. But in 2021 the final of the military, in cooperation with the leader of the Rapid Support Forces (RSF)—a government-aligned paramilitary group accused of the atrocities in Darfur—deposed the prime minister.
Continuing negotiations with civilian leaders demanded a merger of the 2 armed forces, but neither general could agree on terms. And while it is just not clear who fired the primary shot, last 12 months on April 15 the conflict exploded within the capital of Khartoum. Much of the North African nation is now a war zone.
Yet one way or the other, an evangelical alliance has formed and joined two regional bodies.
Rafat Samir, secretary general of the Sudan Evangelical Alliance, witnessed the outbreak of violence firsthand. Now resident in Egypt, he oversaw the dialogue between his own Evangelical Presbyterian synod and the Sudanese Church of Christ, shuttling between protected havens in his home country and in neighboring Ethiopia.
Earlier this month, these denominational partners, which Samir says represent not less than 75 percent of Sudanese evangelicals, successively affiliated with the World Evangelical Alliance (WEA) regional associations for each the Arab world and sub-Saharan Africa. Catholics, Anglicans, Coptic Orthodox, and various Protestant denominations account for about 4 percent of the population of Sudan, which ranks No. 8 on the Open Doors World Watch List of nations where it’s hardest to be a Christian.
CT asked Samir concerning the impact of civil war on the church, why its WEA identity exists in two directions, and why his only remaining hope is in God:
Where were you on April 15 last 12 months?
My house is within the Bahri neighborhood, where each the military and the RSF have bases, and antiaircraft guns were firing right outside my bedroom window, with bombing campaigns morning and night. Electricity and water services were cut. As it was Ramadan, sooner or later I went out at sunset to seek out food, considering there could be a lull within the fighting. A bullet missed me by mere centimeters.
I desired to flee immediately, but my brother preferred to attend it out, as now we have witnessed clashes before, and he anticipated it will end after a number of days, as previously. Bodies lie dead within the streets, and we covered them with sand to suppress the smell. But after enduring these harsh conditions together with his wife and two daughters for 15 days, he agreed to go away when a bomb hit his neighboring house.
How did you escape?
We searched three days just to seek out a vehicle to get us out of the town, and eventually needed to pay $500 USD to travel only two kilometers (1.2 miles). We then negotiated getting a small bus with 40 other people to take us to the Egyptian border, but then the motive force upped the value upon our arrival to $10,000 total. We had room just for our personal documents, leaving all the pieces else behind.
But leaving Khartoum was entirely depending on God’s timing.
The battle was still raging, with barrel bombs damaging the road out of town. An earlier bus was stopped by the RSF, who killed the people and stole their money. We heard that, at a military checkpoint, a later bus experienced the identical thing. We were lucky—soldiers only searched our vehicles for weapons and easily wanted a bribe to allow us to move onward.
A friendly family in the town before Egypt gave us a spot to sleep and running water. But the subsequent day, the border was so crowded it took us three days to go through. Some slept within the mosque, others under the scattered trees. When I finally made it to Aswan, an Egyptian friend met me and gave me a spot within the German mission hospital guesthouse. He cried when he saw me.
I didn’t know why until I finally settled in and checked out myself within the mirror.
Where are others in your church?
We have over 100 members in our Bahri church. Those who took shelter there have been beaten by the RSF once they attacked our constructing, and so they needed to flee. Many went to Egypt, others to Ethiopia, Chad, the Nuba Mountains region, or to South Sudan. But there, it is pricey, so several traveled onward to Uganda. Just a few stayed in Sudan, but renting in-country can also be expensive—and for those with children there isn’t a school.
Even a bottle of water costs as much as $10.
Everyone is making as much money off this crisis as they will. So, principally, people went where that they had family, could find work, or get a visa. But outside of Khartoum, most churches are still functioning. They usually are not at peace, but they don’t have any possibility to go away. Evangelicals usually are not from the elite—most believers come from war zones in Sudan. Many don’t have travel documents, and while they will work and eat, they continue to be poor.
The Church of Christ members are nearly all from the Nuba Mountains, which was at war with the federal government. Presbyterians are majority Nuba also, with 20 percent originally from South Sudan and one other 20 percent from the varied tribes. I’m of Egyptian descent—others are from Darfur or the Arab north.
How do you manage this diversity?
Identity is a giant problem in Sudan. Our country is African, but we speak Arabic. This is why we joined each regional alliances. If you say “Arab” to someone from the Nuba Mountains or South Sudan, it means the individuals who killed their families, raped their daughters, and tried to Islamize them. But within the north of the country, the Arab is his friend, family, and who he desires to bring to Jesus.
When we began reaching out to Muslims, some from the south resisted, saying: We don’t need to see them in heaven, they don’t deserve salvation. I understand this sentiment. But a few of our congregations operate out of their tribal identity and refuse to talk Arabic.
For an extended time, many in our country desired to call ourselves an Arab republic. We are a part of the Arab League, but when we want African help, we start calling ourselves Africans. But ultimately, we’re Africans who speak Arabic, multiethnic in our tribal makeup.
Sudan is a crossover country—some have origins from Yemen and East Africa—and most of us are of mixed heritage. Only the Nuba Mountains and a number of others usually are not. We were even a Christian country until the 14th century, and within the nineteenth century an eschatological Muslim movement killed many Christians and compelled others to convert to Islam.
Presbyterian missionaries got here in 1899 and commenced the primary schools for ladies, agriculture, and vocational training. The Church of Christ was established in 1920 and is the biggest evangelical denomination today. But Sudan is neither a Muslim country nor a Christian country, and likewise, neither Arab nor African entirely.
We joined the Middle East and North Africa Evangelical Alliance because we speak Arabic and face similar issues with Islam and government discrimination. We joined the Association of Evangelicals in Africa because we face the identical issues with ethnic identity. I checked with WEA regional leadership—it is just not an issue to belong to 2 alliances.
How has the church been capable of help?
The major thing we did was help people escape and find shelter.
Our schools in Wad Madani (100 miles southeast of Khartoum) received families and provided basic meals and trauma care. All the homes are filled with those displaced from Khartoum, but then when the war reached this area, many were dislocated again eastward to other cities and Port Sudan. We also helped 15 Muslim-background believers escape abroad, as they might not have been welcomed of their original villages.
We didn’t get much help from outside; so much is funded from our own resources. This is why we haven’t been capable of do much relief work. We pray and check out to offer hope to the people. We urge them to stay as salt and light-weight and to maintain their children from the fighting. The easiest approach to generate profits is to hitch the military or the RSF and take part the looting.
But it is obvious: Now is just not the time for logic or reason. Bullets are talking.
Do the churches have a political opinion concerning the war?
Only that we’ll never support war—we would like peace.
Last week officials approached me to make a press release in favor of the war. I told them it is just not concerning the army or the RSF; it’s about human life. We cannot support killing and destruction.
So then they went to the identical Christians they used against us through the era of Bashir, who belonged to his political party and usurped leadership in our church councils. They took nice pictures with the military general.
Did the RSF reach out to you furthermore mght?
As evangelicals, either side hate us. They burned our churches. We know the way the RSF killed our people within the Nuba Mountains and Darfur, so even once they were a part of the post-revolutionary government, we didn’t take care of them. I actually have met with army leaders previously, and I met our civilian prime minister and his cabinet. But we don’t engage the RSF.
We are clear that we stand for all times.
Security bodies approached the Church of Christ also, which faces the identical problems we do. Refusing them may put us in a difficult position afterward. But we cannot lie, we cannot forget who we’re in Christ.
What would you wish to say to those outside Sudan?
There is suspicious silence coming from the international community. The Arab League is just not helping—even in Egypt they ask us if we’re still in a civil war. Our issues usually are not on CNN, and nobody pays attention to news from Sudan.
It makes the church feel like nobody cares.
No one is standing as much as say: Stop the war. We don’t hear that folks are praying for us. We don’t see statements from churches to represent us before their governments.
To the Sudanese abroad, I say: Settle down, it can take some time before you’ll be able to return. They usually are not settled of their spirit, but I tell them to attend on God and avoid being negative about their nation. Eventually, many will come back and convey with them the fruit from life in other countries. Others will stay and may support from the diaspora.
But we’re all aliens and strangers on this world, like Abraham, living in tents.
Do you maintain hope in God?
We never lose it—we all know that God is sweet.
From Deuteronomy, we all know he can change a curse right into a blessing. From Isaiah, we all know he can change mourning into laughter. And from Romans, we all know he’ll make all things work together for good.
Like with Samson’s lion, he can turn a carcass into something sweet.
This is the one hope now we have. We know the situation now is just not the tip. God is working, we’re protected, and we manage to have enough to eat. This is all a blessing from him.
But now we have nothing we will do, except wait for God to maneuver.
