Voices on the move

Everything was gone. At that moment, we chose to leave.

I’m a 28-year-old man from Darfur and I’ve lived in the Kakuma 1 Refugee Camp in Kenya since 2005. I left Sudan as a young boy because of the Janjaweed invasion. One morning, the Janjaweed attacked our unarmed village and committed horrific acts: looting everything, burning down homes, destroying property and carrying out violence, including rape and killings. That day, I had gone to play football with other boys nearby. While we were away, one of the boys came running to warn us that the Janjaweed were raiding our village. We quickly hid until it was safe to return. When we went back to the village, what we saw was unimaginable. Almost everyone was dead. Houses were burnt to the ground. Everything was gone. At that moment, we chose to leave.

I followed a group of boys who were also fleeing. I felt scared and kept to myself for most of the journey. When we arrived in Nyala, some boys stayed behind and the rest of us continued on. We sneaked onto a cargo train, as we had no money for transportation. We hid among the goods and travelled all the way to Khartoum. In Khartoum, we split up again, and I decided to go to the camps with the older boys. When we arrived in Kauda, after travelling and sleeping rough for days, we were welcomed and given support by a UN organisation. They told us we could relocate to the Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya. We had no choice, so we agreed.

I was able to access education in Kakuma…and now hold a diploma in social work

Currently, I am a registered refugee. When I first came to Kakuma, I was grouped with three other boys as we were all under 18. After turning 18, I went through several interviews with UNHCR and the Government of Kenya. After seven years, in 2017, I was issued an Alien ID. Then I was able to access education in Kakuma. I continued my studies here and now hold a Diploma in Social Work. Receiving my Alien ID allowed me greater freedom of movement and made me eligible for resettlement opportunities. Now I work with an international organization as an auxiliary nurse.

In Kakuma, movement outside the camp is highly restricted. I have a friend who was smuggled out for about KES 55,000 (approximately, USD 425). Refugees need a special pass to leave the camp, otherwise they risk arrest by authorities. I left the camp for the first time in December 2024, after nearly 20 years, when I was invited through an organisation to attend a conference on Sudan in Nairobi.

In the camp, many children go missing and are never found, and women disappear and are often discovered later in Sudan, as part of forced marriages. There are also major security concerns in the camp. The host community also faces extreme hardship, which leads to frequent looting and attacks. Many of the boys I arrived with felt that life in the camp was too hard, so they chose other paths or went back to Sudan. Only one of the boys, my cousin, still lives in the camp.

I found a job abroad…but when Trump returned to power the company withdrew their offer.

In 2017, Sudan was added to the list of countries affected by Trump’s travel ban, which meant that all resettlement cases involving Sudanese nationals were placed on hold. It was devastating. They say my case is “pending”, but I believe it’s been “sold out”: people with money may have stolen or taken over my case, using their influence to relocate. Stuck in this uncertain situation, remaining in Kakuma was my only option. In 2023, I found a job abroad but, unfortunately, when Trump returned to power the company withdrew their offer. I’m open to resettlement in any first-world country, preferably the United States. If I can secure a work permit, I would even consider relocating within Kenya.

Living under this pressure is stressful…I’m stuck in limbo.

I miss my family deeply. My cousin is the only family member I still have contact with, and I don’t even know if we have any other relatives left in Sudan. Living in this camp has been extremely challenging. Food is a daily struggle and the health sector is in a terrible state. Only basic treatment is available. My housing situation is also poor. My home is made of mud and iron sheets. UNHCR no longer provides housing materials, so we have to build and maintain our homes ourselves. Recently, my house cracked due to heavy rains. During the rainy season, rivers overflow into the community, forcing people to leave their homes and seek shelter elsewhere. We receive water assistance and food from organisations, and protection from the Kenyan police, though their support is unreliable.

Living under this pressure is stressful. It’s almost impossible to save anything. I would like to continue my education but don’t have the money for that. I feel like time is passing but I’m stuck in limbo. I’ve had to start rationing meals and now only eat two times a day.

Resettlement has become harder than ever… the migration and resettlement process must become fairer.

The future outlook is bleak. Resettlement has become harder than ever. The United States and Germany have suspended new refugee cases and there’s increasing talk of integration instead of resettlement. In Kalobeyei, for example, integration is already being practised, and people there are no longer recognised as refugees. Refugees oppose reintegration because it forces us to accept Kenyan citizenship, which closes the door to international resettlement. Many of us came here seeking safety and the hope of resettling to a more stable country abroad. Even Kenyan citizens themselves are struggling with limited employment opportunities and means of survival! And with most Kenyans being highly educated and experienced, getting into the job market would be very difficult for refugees.

The migration and resettlement process must become fairer. Organizations like UNHCR need to improve the services they offer to refugees and ensure that opportunities are distributed equitably and transparently, prioritising those who have waited the longest.