Kenya, 31 October 2025 - On a quiet Sunday morning in Kenya’s highlands, 13-year-old Madiha Adam sits at a dining table in a modest guesthouse near a mission hospital. She’s bundled in a sandy-brown sweater, her gray pants brushing softly against the chair. Her eyes dart toward the window, where birds cut through the mist. She looks anxious, yet relieved — as if still learning what peace feels like.
Across from her, her stepbrother Bakhit Adam, in his thirties, scrolls through his phone with one hand while cradling a cup of coffee in the other. His face bears the exhaustion of someone who has seen too much loss in too little time. “We have lived through war for as long as I can remember,” he says quietly. “Coming here feels strange. Too peaceful.”
They arrived in Kenya after a long, perilous journey — fleeing Sudan’s brutal conflict in search of life-saving heart treatment for Madiha. It is a journey that mirrors the suffering and endurance of millions of Sudanese civilians whose lives have been ripped apart by one of the world’s deadliest, least-reported wars.
A Childhood Interrupted
Madiha was just four when her family first noticed that she often grew dizzy and tired. By the time she turned ten, her condition had worsened — but access to healthcare in her hometown in South Darfur was nearly impossible. Decades of political instability had left hospitals in ruins and doctors fleeing for safety.
“We discovered Madiha was unwell, but there was nothing we could do,” says Bakhit. “Even before the fighting began, good healthcare was a dream. When the war came, it killed not only people but hope.” In April 2023, fighting erupted between Sudan’s national army and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) — turning cities and villages into battlefields.
According to the United Nations, more than 150,000 people have been killed, and over 12 million displaced, in what is now the world’s largest humanitarian crisis. For Madiha, the war was not an abstract statistic. It claimed her father, her older sister, and a brother. Her mother witnessed her own mother killed by militia fighters. “We have seen people die in front of us,” Bakhit says. “Every day we woke up not knowing if we’d see another sunrise.
Fleeing Darfur
When Madiha was in grade four, the gunfire and airstrikes reached their town. Schools closed. Her books — the ones she treasured — were left behind in the chaos. “Madiha was always top of her class,” Bakhit recalls. “She used to say she wanted to become a doctor. But the war tore that dream apart.”
In April 2023, the family fled Kalma Camp in South Darfur — a camp that had once sheltered people from previous waves of conflict but had itself become unsafe. Their only choice was to head south, across borders. The journey to South Sudan took weeks. They hid in forests, slept in abandoned buildings, and survived on food shared by strangers. By the time they reached the Pamir Refugee Camp, Madiha’s health had deteriorated. She could barely walk or breathe without pain.
At a Catholic-run hospital in the Nuba Mountains, doctors examined her and discovered a serious cardiac defect. The hospital could not handle such cases but referred her to a mission hospital in Kenya with specialized heart surgeons. “They told us she needed surgery soon,” says Bakhit. “If we delayed, we might lose her.”
The Journey to Kenya
With no savings and few connections, the family faced another impossible task — finding a way to Kenya. “We had nothing,” Bakhit says. “But people in the refugee camp and some friends in Juba helped us. We raised about four hundred dollars.”
They took a small plane to Juba, then traveled by bus through Uganda, and finally crossed into Kenya — a three-day journey through unfamiliar roads, checkpoints, and exhaustion. “When we reached here, it felt like arriving on another planet,” Bakhit says. “There was calm, no gunshots, no fear. But also, we didn’t know anyone.”
A local faith-based guesthouse, Mustard Seed House, that houses patients from distant regions offered them a place to stay. Soon after, Madiha was admitted to the nearby hospital for evaluation. Surgeons confirmed she required open-heart surgery. For weeks, Bakhit waited and prayed as his step-sister underwent treatment.
In late July 2025, Madiha finally received her life-saving surgery. The operation was successful. Slowly, her strength returned — her breathing steadied, and color came back to her cheeks. “We found angels here,” Bakhit says. “If we had stayed in Sudan, she would have died.”
The Long Road Home
By mid-August 2025, Madiha and Bakhit prepared to return — not to Sudan, but to the refugee camp in South Sudan, where they hoped to reunite with the rest of their family. “It is not home,” Bakhit admits. “But at least it’s safer. We keep dreaming that one day peace will come, and we’ll go back.” Madiha, still recovering, smiles faintly when asked what she wants to do once she’s well. “I want to go back to school,” she says in a small voice. “Maybe one day I can become a doctor and help other children like me.” Her words linger a quiet defiance against the devastation that has defined her short life.
A Nation in Ruins
Eighteen months into Sudan’s war, the scale of suffering is staggering. Once a bustling nation of 45 million, Sudan is now fractured into zones of hunger and despair. The Rapid Support Forces control much of Darfur, where entire towns have been razed.Rights groups report mass killings, sexual violence, and ethnic targeting reminiscent of the Darfur genocide two decades ago.
In El Fasher, the last government-held city in Darfur, more than 2,000 people were reported killed in a single week this year, according to the UN. Across the country, infrastructure has collapsed — hospitals destroyed, power grids gone, and aid convoys blocked. The World Food Programme warns that over 25 million Sudanese now face acute hunger.
For children like Madiha, the war has stolen not just their homes but their futures. Nearly 19 million children are out of school — the highest number of out-of-school children in the world, according to UNICEF. “This war is killing a generation,” the agency warned in a September 2025 report.
Holding on to Hope
Madiha’s survival is a small miracle in an ocean of loss. But as she prepares to return to the refugee camp, uncertainty looms. “We still don’t know what tomorrow brings,” says Bakhit. “But at least today, my sister is alive.”
In the evenings at the guesthouse, Madiha sometimes sits quietly while watching the sun sink behind the green hills. She says the silence reminds her of her lost family — and of a peace she wants Sudan to have again. “We will go back one day,” she whispers. “Not to war, but to peace.”
