“Nowhere feels safe”: Sudanese flee to Libya

16 May 2025

When the war erupted in Sudan between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) in April 2023, it didn’t just take lives—it took away entire futures. For thousands of Sudanese, the choice became heartbreakingly simple: flee or perish. Libya, a country with its own troubled past, became one of the few reachable destinations for those escaping the flame of a prolonged civil war. But what they found there was often not safety but another set of struggles.

Noha*, a mother of three, left her home in Sudan after seven months of brutal conflict. She had hoped to find temporary refuge in Libya but now finds herself contemplating a dangerous voyage across the Mediterranean. “We could drown at sea,” she says. “The smugglers overload the boats. It’s very risky, but maybe it’s the only way to give my children a chance.”

Her story is far from unique; the UN estimates over 240,000 Sudanese are now in Libya since the outbreak of war in April 2023, with some Sudanese sources claiming the number could reach 400,000 by year’s end. Many make the treacherous desert crossing through Sudan’s Darfur region into Libya’s southern territories, using routes notorious for human trafficking and banditry.

Noha recounts paying smugglers thousands of dollars, a sum she could barely afford. “We know the dangers, but living in a war zone is also a risk. At least on the sea, we have hope,” she explained to Ayin. The safer smuggling routes cost upwards of $6,000 per person—money few can gather quickly, especially amid the economic collapse back home.

Noha and her family, like thousands of other Sudanese migrants, had already experienced extreme dangers when travelling from Sudan to Libya, but the austere living conditions in Libya have convinced them to take another travel risk at sea.

From Sudan to Libya

The road to Libya itself is filled with horrors. Jamal*, a 56-year-old former teacher, fled Bahri-Khartoum after an army-allied militia accused his neighbours of supporting the paramilitary RSF. “They executed young men in the streets,” he recounts. “We left everything behind. We just ran without anything.” His family’s escape took them from Khartoum to Omdurman, then across Darfur and into Chad before eventually reaching Libya.

Along the way, they faced robbery, hunger, and the constant fear of capture by soldiers or armed groups. “The truck drivers told us, ‘If someone falls off, we don’t stop; it was that simple.” Since the war began, thousands have followed similar, treacherous routes.

The city of Kufra in southern Libya has become a gateway for Sudanese migrants, either to settle or continue toward the Libyan coast in search of a smuggler’s boat.

In October 2024, armed groups allied with SAF took control of Libya’s main land entry point in the border triangle with Egypt and Sudan. They began turning back migrants from RSF-controlled areas, cutting off the main escape route. The alternative route through Chad is longer and more dangerous. Many now travel from El Geneina, West Darfur State, through the Adré border, then into Libya via the Kouri Bougoudi crossing. There, they face intense heat, scarce water, and the threat of armed robbery.

A Sudanese smuggler, speaking anonymously to Ayin, says he runs two trips a month from Geneina to Sebha in southern Libya. “Twenty people per trip. Some die on the way. Thirst. Accidents. Bandits. We do our best, but this is the desert. It doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

The cost of such journeys has doubled since fighting intensified. What once cost 250,000 Sudanese pounds now goes for over 500,000. “People sell everything to make the trip,” the smuggler adds. “But they still come. Every day.”

Libyan languish 

But even those who reach Libya, despair often follows. Osama, a father of seven, arrived in the northwestern Libyan city of Misrata early in 2024. “We thought things would be better,” he says. “But there’s no work. No money. My mother is sick, and I can’t even afford medicine.” The psychological toll is just as heavy. Many children face bullying in schools, and adults are regularly subjected to xenophobia and exploitation, Sudanese refugees said. “It’s not just the hunger,” Osama says. “It’s the humiliation.”

For many, Libya is not the final stop but a limbo. Tamer*, 26, hoped to find work after fleeing the war. He now toils in a factory under exploitative conditions. “Most of us came illegally,” he told Ayin. “So we have no rights. We work long hours for little pay. Just enough to eat; maybe send a little back home,” he said.

The lack of legal documentation makes these migrants vulnerable to arrest and abuse. Even those with marketable skills, like Salah*, a shop accountant, struggle. “If you don’t have the right papers, it doesn’t matter what you can do,” he explains. “The only way to avoid trouble is to get health and work cards, which are difficult to come by.”

Others, like Ahmed, dream of returning to Sudan. “I was a farmer in Gezira before the RSF came. They looted everything. Now the army has pushed them out. Maybe I can go back and start again,” he adds. “But only if it’s safe. I won’t take my children into another war zone.”

No alternative

Meanwhile, NGOs warn that Sudanese migrants are at heightened risk of trafficking and detention in Libya’s volatile security landscape. “There are children here who haven’t seen a classroom in years,” one aid worker based in Tripoli explains to Ayin. “Whole families are surviving on one meal a day.”

Despite these bleak conditions, Sudanese continue to arrive. The alternative—remaining in a country where they are bombed and civilians’ homes are slaughtered—is simply not an option. For those who survive the desert and the discrimination, the future remains unclear. Some plan to risk the sea, chasing Europe as their last hope. Others hope for peace at home, waiting for the moment they can return.

“Maybe we’ll die in the sea,” Noha says again, her voice steady. “But at least we will have tried to live.”