No refuge in Libya, Sudanese endure racism and violence

22 June 2025

In a dim, overcrowded dialysis unit in a Libyan city, Halima Suleiman’s husband was the only Sudanese patient. His admission had not come easily—it followed days of pleading with doctors and hospital staff. But even once treatment began, his struggle continued. 

“When he started dialysis, the Libyan patients refused to let him sit near them,” Halima, who fled Sudan after the war, told Ayin. “They feared he had a contagious disease.”  

The hospital administration complied with the demands. Her husband was isolated in a separate room. Later, when a dialysis machine malfunctioned while treating a Libyan patient, staff stopped her husband’s session and took his machine. “That experience devastated him,” Halima recalled.

Her story reflects a broader crisis unfolding in Libya, where thousands of Sudanese who escaped war are now caught in cycles of discrimination, exclusion, and violence. 

According to UNHCR estimates from January 2025, around 210,000 Sudanese refugees reside in Libya—many undocumented, having entered through smuggling routes on the Sudan-Libya border. 

Halima’s family has been repeatedly denied basic rights. Her husband, who need regular dialysis, was often turned away from hospitals with the claim that there were “no available beds.” After his health deteriorated, she begged the medical director for help. “He told me Sudanese people were the reason hospitals are overcrowded. He said he didn’t care if my husband lived or died.” Only after intense pleading did they accept him—on the condition that the hospital would confiscate his passport if treatment costs went unpaid. 

“You shouldn’t be here tomorrow”

Outside the hospital, the situation is equally grim. “We were once attacked at home by armed men,” Halima said. “It was a hot day and we had no fan, so we left the door open. They stormed in with guns, took our phones and demanded our money and gold. One of them shouted, ‘you’re Sudanese—you shouldn’t be here tomorrow!’”  

The constant fear and racism have driven her to consider dangerous options. “After that night, I started thinking about taking the sea route—even with my sick husband and children. We have no future here.” 

Like Halima, many Sudanese in Libya find themselves stateless, voiceless, and exposed. When she attempted to enroll her children in school, she was refused. “The school principal told me there’s no place for Sudanese kids. Another administrator insulted me, saying Sudanese refugees were a burden.”

The trauma extends to children. Nimat Osman, another Sudanese refugee, recounted how her son was assaulted on the way to the mosque. “A Libyan man hit him and called him ‘black’ and a ‘refugee.’” Her younger son was later stabbed by armed men who had tried to recruit him into drug trafficking. “He fought back, so they stabbed him and stole his phone and money,” she said. 

“We just wanted to survive”

In Misrata, Salim El-Tayeb lives with similar dread. He fled the war in Sudan seeking safety, but instead faces random detentions. “Libyan authorities in Tripoli arrest Sudanese, then release us later—but they take our money, our phones, everything,” he told Ayin. “We didn’t come here to take jobs from Libyans. We just wanted to survive.” 

While Misrata offers slightly better job opportunities, he said, the high cost of living makes it nearly impossible to stay. For many, the only escape route is Europe—through treacherous smuggling routes. 

According to Malik al-Dijawi, director of the Sudanese communities’ Voluntary Return and Migration Reduction Organization, the challenges Sudanese face are widespread and severe. “There are many violations—from armed groups and smugglers,” he told Ayin. “Libya is governed by tribal codes, not institutions. When families report their kidnapped sons to authorities, it’s clear those sons are involved in smuggling networks, and the families often disown them.” 

He acknowledge the rise in hate speech. “Some activists organized protests demanding all foreigners leave. But most Libyans treat Sudanese fairly. Still, the reality is harsh—refugees struggle to access education, health services, and work.” 

Minimal support

The Libyan government has made some attempt at integration, al-Dijawi said, but the support remains minimal. “International organisations like the IOM gave some supplies—rugs, cooking pots—and 500 Libyan dinars. But that doesn’t even cover two of the 15 medicines Halima’s husband needs.” 

Some NGOs, including the Libyan Red Crescent and other local partners, have distributed food baskets. Yet critical international support has dried up. “The government shut down some of the NGOs that provided food and essentials,” al-Dijawi said. 

Ayin has previously reported several times on the inhumane conditions facing Sudanese refugees in Libya, where many, after failing to find safety and dignity, are now contemplating the perilous journey across the Mediterranean to Europe.

Surge in Europe migration

As the situation worsens, many Sudanese have turned to migration through Libya, Tunisia, Algeria, Morocco, and Mauritania—heading toward Europe. 

Al-Dijawi noted, “There’s no coordination between Sudanese community initiatives and the Sudanese embassy. Political divisions between Tripoli and eastern Libya makes matters worse.” 

A Libyan migration expert, speaking anonymously for security reasons, told Ayin that they country’s migrant crisis is intertwined with political exploitation. “The Libyan government uses protests against migrants to gain favor with Europe and to manipulate local opinion.” 

The expert added, “Militias claiming to oppose illegal migration are often the same groups involved in human trafficking. They raid migrant areas to appear cooperative with the government.”  As the state control weakens, smuggling flourishes. “Crime is rising because southern Libya has collapsed institutionally. People have lost legitimate income sources and turned to trafficking.” 

Since 2014, the migration expert said, smuggling networks have exploded in scale and profit. “By 2016, trafficking accounted for 5.1% of Libya’s GDP. It’s a billion-dollar industry now.” 

The systems are sophisticated. Migrants now cross borders using hang-gliders and balloons to evade fences and guards between Morocco and Spain. “Sudanese are paying up to $150,000 for a smuggler’s promise to get them to Europe,” the expert added. 

But not all make it. “They face death, desert exhaustion, drowning, hypothermia—and often brutal abuse from smugglers.” 

Libya isn’t a signatory to the 1951 UN Refugee Convention, and does not officially recognise the UNHCR. “There are no legal protections,” the expert concluded. “Sudanese in Libya are at the mercy of armed groups, poverty, and policy games.”  

Egypt

Libya is not the only country where Sudanese refugees face inhumane treatment. Since the war erupted, over two million Sudanese have fled in search of safety—many turning to Egypt as a primary destination. However, Egyptian authorities have made it increasingly difficult for Sudanese to obtain visas, with many forced to pay thousands of dollars in bribes to secure security clearances. This has driven a growing number into the hands of smugglers. Egyptian authorities have launched a broad crackdown on Sudanese asylum seekers, including those holding UNHCR refugee cards. 

In Aswan alone, Ayin discovered at least seven detention centers have been used to hold Sudanese before forcibly deporting them back to war-torn Sudan. 

For thousands of Sudanese refugees, life beyond their homeland has become a new kind of nightmare. Escaping war and devastation, they now encounter racism, detention, and exploitation across borders—from isolation in Libyan hospitals to crackdowns in Egyptian detention centers. Stripped of rights, dignity, and safety, many find themselves trapped between closed borders and deadly smuggling routes, with no clear path to protection or peace.