“Ben and I built a beautiful life together,” says Caroline Naktari proudly.Her office in Nairobi, where she works as a Human Resources Officer with OCHA, is dotted with photographs of her family, depicting deep love and happy times together. “I’m a mother of seven – two girls and five boys,” she begins, breaking from a silent, pensive reflection. “Our youngest is just eight years old.” Caroline’s voice is steady, but behind it lies a story of profound love, sacrifice and unimaginable loss.Her husband, Benjamin, was the Head of Field Office for the World Food Programme (WFP) in Sudan. But to Caroline, he was much more than a humanitarian.“Benjamin was, without a doubt, one of the best creations to ever walk this Earth,” she says, her face lighting up briefly with a tender smile. “He was my friend, confidant, buddy, mentor, colleague, big brother, greatest love and devoted husband. He was incredibly kind, selfless, fatherly and grounded in deep conviction.”Benjamin’s work took him to Yabus, one of Sudan’s most remote and challenging locations.  “No international staff stayed more than eight weeks,” Caroline recalls. “But Ben didn’t mind that his ‘bedroom’ had walls and ceilings lined with UNHCR [UN Refugee Agency] bags. He had a nice house back home in Nairobi, but that never impressed him. He was unattached to comfort, drawn instead to purpose.”Benjamin told Caroline that every night before sleeping, he would check his room for reptiles and scorpions. “Yet none of that deterred him,” she says. “His joy came from reviewing M&E [monitoring and evaluation] reports and assessments. I learned so much about WFP just by watching him.”A dedicated professional, Benjamin saw his role not as a job but a calling. “He believed it was a God-given role,” Caroline explains. “No salary could match the sacrifice and danger. He led with humility, compassion and a deep sense of responsibility.”Even during his official Rest and Recuperation (R&R) breaks, Benjamin remained connected to his work. “He was always on his phone – monitoring distributions, logistics; his heart was fully in it. He used to say in Swahili, ‘Hawa ni ndugu zetu’ – these are our brothers and sisters.”Humanitarian work is moving away from the traditional practice of giving handouts to people in need, focusing instead on a more dignified approach. Benjamin was deeply committed to this. “He was proud of WFP’s shift from direct aid to sustainable models, like cash transfers,” Caroline says. “He believed in empowering communities, especially through nutrition and education.”But working in Sudan came with risks. “He often spoke about the toll it took on his health,” Caroline shares. “Even the care packages I sent during his R&R breaks didn’t last – he shared them with colleagues. We were worried. I had arranged to channel half my salary into his account starting January 2026 so he could come home and explore other opportunities.”But that was never to be, as everything changed on 19 December 2024.“He had just completed his handover and was scheduled to travel home the next morning for his late brother’s funeral,” Caroline recounts. “He stepped out of his office to call me – something we had planned an hour earlier. It was in the very act of dialling my number that he was hit by an aerial strike.”Caroline would later learn that the bomb landed just behind him. “The shrapnel tore through his back, shattering his ribs, lungs and heart,” she says. “He stopped breathing within eight minutes. I was part of the postmortem process. It was devastating.” Caroline speaks of her family’s faith and how they were bound together by a solemn family routine, often taking turns to pray for one another at a dedicated time in the evening. It was during such a time that she received the news. “It was his turn to pray for us that evening. We couldn’t reach him on the phone. The notification still feels fresh. I regretted every bit of having him in Sudan.”Every night at 10:38 p.m., Caroline feels the chill: “That was the moment the call came in. That time of night has never been the same.”Losing Benjamin has left a deep void. “It feels like I fell into an endless pit,” Caroline says. “Our 10-year-old son dreads visiting the grave. He always asks if we can bring Daddy back.”To Caroline, Benjamin was more than a husband and father. “We lost our family’s leader, our priest, a mentor, a friend, a confidant. And yes, WFP lost a dedicated colleague.”But Benjamin’s legacy lives on. “My son recently graduated and wore his father’s suit and shoes – to step into his footsteps,” she says with a soft smile.Caroline finds strength in memories and small sentimental items. “I wear his watch and perfume to cherish all the moments. He was a cool guy. We had the best family life, a quality marriage and so much joy.”She also has advice that she’s not shy to share with other families and the humanitarian community: “Value every opportunity God gives you with your loved ones – especially those working in high-risk duty stations. You never truly know if that ‘goodbye’ might be the final one.”She adds: “I saw Ben off at Terminal 1, full of life and purpose. Four weeks later, I received him at Terminal 2 – the cargo section. No one prepares you for that kind of return. And nothing remains the same after it.”Caroline’s story is just one of many families of humanitarian workers who paid the ultimate price for their dedication to alleviating the suffering of millions of people in need. Last year, more than 380 aid workers were killed in their line of duty around the world, making it the deadliest year on record. But 2025 may be worse – at the time of publishing this story, more than 250 aid workers have been killed. Killing aid workers has become normalized; their deaths rarely make the headlines, even though their work – meant only to save lives and ease suffering – is underfunded, overstretched and literally under attack. Violations of international humanitarian law continue, with every red line crossed meeting with impunity, indifference and hypocrisy. Yet humanitarians do not give up; they still head towards gunfire, checkpoints and danger to deliver aid to people who need it most.This World Humanitarian Day, aid workers are renewing their call for respect for the rules of war, the protection of those who protect humanity and an end to impunity.  FootnotesText: Basma Ourfali and Joshua Mmali. Cover Photo: UNOCHA/ Basma Ourfali

Surrounded by burlap bags and a sea of sand, eight-year-old Sondos describes fleeing Sudan’s war-besieged city of El Fasher with her family, after weeks surviving on only millet.  “Hunger forced us to leave,” said the little girl, speaking from Tawila displacement camp, roughly 75 kilometres away. “Only hunger and bombs,” she added of the shells raining down on North Darfur’s capital.Today, hundreds of thousands of people still trapped in El Fasher face starvation, as the city remains cut off from World Food Programme (WFP) and other humanitarian assistance. The hunger crisis comes one year after famine was first confirmed in the country. Since then the situation, especially in El Fasher, has only gotten worse, as the country’s devastating war grinds on.“Everyone in El Fasher is facing a daily struggle to survive,” said Eric Perdison, WFP’s Regional Director for Eastern and Southern Africa. “People’s coping mechanisms have been completely exhausted by over two years of war.”Sudan’s conflict has created the world’s largest hunger crisis, with around 25 million people - half the country’s population - facing acute hunger, and 3.5 million women and children facing malnutrition..In El Fasher, some residents are reportedly surviving on animal fodder and food waste. And while WFP continues providing digital cash support to roughly a quarter-million people in the city, allowing them to buy the dwindling food left in the markets, the assistance dwarfs the escalating needs - making it imperative to deliver in-kind assistance to address hunger at scale. Sustained access vitalWith trade routes and supply lines into El Fasher blocked, prices have soared, including for staples like flour or sorghum. Community kitchens, set up to feed hungry people, have largely stopped functioning. Many of those who managed to flee describe an escalation of rampant violence, looting and sexual assault in the city.“Without immediate and sustained access,” for humanitarians, Perdison said, “lives will be lost.”Like Sondos and her family, many managing to leave El Fasher have ended up in Tawila. But the camp’s makeshift tents dotting the sand offer little protection from the rainy season now setting in. And for the camp’s roughly 400,000 residents - many of whom arrived with just the clothes on their backs - WFP rations of nutrient-packed high-energy biscuits, sorghum, vegetable oil and salt are often their only sustenance.Another Tawila resident, 47-year-old Mohamed, recounted a harrowing journey: from North Darfur’s famine-hit Zamzam displacement camp, to El Fasher, and finally to Tawila.

People died of thirst along the way, he said. “Many of them were begging for water,” Mohamed added, describing how a single cup was divided among four people. “Each person had to have only one sip, just enough to reach their stomach."Tawila’s displaced count among the more than four million Sudanese WFP supports monthly. Many are located in the hungriest and most conflict-hit parts of the country. We are also supporting more than 600,000 women and children with nutritional supplements.That assistance has made a powerful difference: helping to reduce catastrophic hunger in parts of Central and West Darfur, for instance. But these gains are fragile, while access remains blocked to key hunger hotspots like El Fasher. Food trucks on standby“WFP is ready with trucks full of food assistance to send into El Fasher,” says Corinne Fleischer, WFP’s Director of Supply Chain and Delivery. “We urgently need guarantees of safe passage.”
WFP has received clearances from the Humanitarian Aid Commission in Port Sudan for a convoy of humanitarian assistance to proceed to El Fasher. The Rapid Support Forces, who have held the North Darfur capital under siege for over a year, are yet to communicate support for a pause in the fighting to allow humanitarian goods to move into the city.For Tawila’s displaced families, hunger and conflict are closely linked. One mother, Jamila, described how her sister died of starvation earlier this year at Zamzam camp. “The worst thing we faced was hunger and the loss of our brothers and sisters. It’s hard to lose a sibling forever,” she says. “The hunger that also persists until today is very difficult”.Jamila’s family made the journey to Tawila by foot, she said, walking at night with dozens of other families. Fellow Sudanese helped them at water points along the way.WFP assistance has helped as well. 


“I can boil it or mill it and prepare several meals with it,” she says, “to last through the days where we don’t have anything.”WFP requires US$645 million over the next six months to continue emergency food, cash and nutrition assistance in Sudan.WFP’s emergency response in Sudan is made possible through contributions from our donors including the African Development Bank, Andorra, Austria, Belgium, Canada, Croatia, Cyprus, Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, the European Union, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Japan, KS Relief, Kuwait, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Malta, Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum Global Initiatives (MBRGI), Netherlands, Norway, Novo Nordisk Foundation, Saudia Arabia, South Korea, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Ukraine, the United Arab Emirates, the UN Central Emergency Relief Fund, the United Kingdom, and the United States of  America.
 

Young women and men, often bearing the brunt of the nation’s instability, are refusing to surrender their future to the chaos around them.Sudan’s youth have been at the forefront of transformative change throughout the country’s tumultuous journey. From the social movement that ended Omer al-Bashir’s regime in 2019 to non-violent protests resisting the 2021 military takeover, their resolve has been unyielding. Yet, the eruption of fighting between the Sudanese Armed Forces and the Rapid Support Forces in April 2023 has plunged the nation into unprecedented turmoil.The statistics are staggering: millions displaced, infrastructure destroyed, and a humanitarian crisis of immense proportions.“This conflict is not just an armed struggle; it is the destruction of futures,” said Hanna Eltigani Mohamed, Assistant-Secretary General of the Youth Citizen Observer Network, to the UN Security Council in October 2024.Amid these challenges, a Carter Center initiative illustrates both how young people can be empowered and how peacebuilding programmes need to be adaptive.  The Carter Center began work in 2022 as the convening agency for the UN Peacebuilding Fund (PBF)-supported project, “Sudan Youth Citizen Observer Network: Strengthening Youth’s Role as Peacebuilders and Promoters of Civic Space in Sudan’s Transition.”With a total budget of $1.49 million for an initial 18-month period (March 2022 to September 2023), the project aimed to establish a youth-led network to monitor Sudan’s transition to democracy. However, the outbreak of widespread conflict in 2023 necessitated an extension of the project to September 2024, allowing it to adapt to the deteriorating security context and shifting priorities. The project managed to raise millions in additional funds.The project has engaged 18 youth-led organizational partners and 540 civil society organizations (CSOs) to implement activities and participate in advisory bodies.The Carter Center conducted mapping and consultation exercises across all 18 Sudanese states to inform the start-up phase and signed a Memorandum of Understanding with Sudan’s Ministry of Youth and Sports in August 2020. Shortly thereafter, the Carter Center began building the capacity of focal points who would lead the establishment of the Youth Citizen Observer Network (YCON), a coalition of determined youth mobilizing for monitoring and advocacy of peace and democracy amid Sudan’s most dire crisis in recent history.“Through the Youth, Peace, and Security agenda, we have seen that engaging young people is crucial to sustaining peace efforts. Their voices offer unique perspectives, their actions create real change, and their feedback ensures that our policies remain grounded in reality,” said Clementine Nkweta-Salami, UN Resident and Humanitarian Coordinator in Sudan.The first of YCON’s statements and public reports was released in April 2023, immediately following the outbreak of violent conflict in Sudan. By September 2024, YCON had developed a multi-tier project management and reporting structure and assumed full responsibility for training its network of observers.Dr. Guma Kunda Komey, Head of Carter Center Peace Programs in Sudan, said, “The youth in Sudan have continued to be agents of change since the October Revolution in 1964 and throughout the 2019 revolution. They continue to push for a better Sudan, a Sudan that is peaceful and democratic. Today, they are the victims of the war, and therefore, they are again pushing for a peaceful solution to the current crisis in order to be, the beneficiaries of a peaceful Sudan.” When conflict spread across Sudan in 2023, YCON pivoted its focus to monitoring the humanitarian, political, and security situation. Leveraging training from The Carter Center in impartial observer methodology, data collection, verification, reporting, and advocacy, YCON began producing timely, data-driven reports to document the evolving crisis. To date, the network has released 58 reports in both English and Arabic, providing national and international policymakers with credible insights into conflict dynamics. These reports, many of which are also shared on YCON’s social media platforms, have been instrumental in shaping conversations around ceasefires and humanitarian access.This has been no mean feat. The 57 observers collecting data from across Sudan’s 18 states and producing these reports operate in highly insecure conditions, often under the threat of shelling, looting, and other security risks. Many YCON members face the constant prospect of relocation to ensure their safety. Regular electricity and mobile network outages compound the challenges, forcing observers to travel for days just to submit critical information.“The importance of this network lies in the fact that it is the only honest and continuous voice that comes from the middle of the guns and clearly explains the facts on the ground,” shared one YCON observer.In the midst of war, YCON members have become vital links between their communities and the broader national dialogue. Their reports, which include over 100 recommendations, have been recognized internationally and contributed to discussions around ceasefires and peace agreements. Examples of YCON recommendations include the international community “exerting pressure [on Sudanese] authorities to prevent the restriction of freedoms, including the activities of citizens and local civil society organizations.” YCON’s 145 trained observers—including 51 women—operate under constant threats of violence, displacement, and resource constraints. Women, however, have played a vital role in shaping the network’s impact, comprising 46% of YCON’s lead observers.YCON’s advocacy efforts have also yielded results. Over the past year, the network has held 10 advocacy meetings, engaging over 600 colleagues from Sudanese CSOs, resistance committees, and emergency rooms. These meetings have created a platform for grassroots voices to be heard and contributed to shaping dialogue around ceasefires and humanitarian access.Amid these efforts, the mediators’ resilience has become a lifeline for communities. Their contributions include breaking barriers, with women not only participating but leading in decision-making processes that were once inaccessible to them.The success of YCON lies in its structure and values:YCON’s broad youth-led coalition is built on the input of over 7,000 youth groups, fostering solidarity and ensuring diverse perspectives inform its actions. Results revealed a “fragile optimism” for Sudan’s future and youth’s role in it, which informed YCON’s creation with over 500 peer-nominated Sudanese youth-led CSOs.Its field-based observation model has trained over 180 youth observers—including a substantial number of young women—in essential skills such as conflict observation, data collection, and reporting. This has equipped local communities with the tools to monitor conflicts and respond to crises effectively.With support from The Carter Center, YCON is transitioning to autonomy, taking steps to register as an international NGO.The international community has taken notice. YCON’s participation in the UN Security Council in 2024 underscored the pivotal role of Sudanese youth in shaping the country’s future. Hanna Eltigani Mohamed’s words resonate deeply: “Sudan’s youth don’t just seek intervention; we ask for empowerment, true partnership, and the chance to rebuild what conflict and oppression have stolen. We are not just victims—we are agents of change.”As the 20th anniversary of the Youth, Peace, and Security Agenda approaches, YCON offers a powerful example of what youth-led peacebuilding can achieve, even in the most challenging circumstances. Sudan’s young leaders are not just survivors of conflict—they are architects of change, proving that the path to peace is forged through resilience, collaboration, and unwavering hope.

 

“There was a lot of gunfire around where I live,” says 17-year-old Remah as she recalls the wave of violence that swept Al Jazirah state in late 2024. “I was really scared. We didn’t know where we were going. We didn’t have a plan. But my family decided we had to leave immediately.”After fleeing on foot, Remah and her family eventually arrived at the recently established Arab 6 camp in Kassala state, eastern Sudan. The camp is home to an estimated 1,600 families, many of whom walked for days to get here as they fled spiralling conflict back home.Remah is sitting on the floor of a child-friendly space, drawing a young woman with a butterfly fluttering towards her. She sketches the outline of the face and hair quickly, clutching some coloured pencils as she talks. She’s remarkably focused considering the boisterous atmosphere in the tent.“I’ve liked drawing since I was little,” she says. “I like drawing traditional dresses.”Chaos, comfortSalawa, 17, also likes drawing, but gets her inspiration from anime characters she saw on TV before she fled her home with her father and brothers. “But there isn’t any TV here,” she says.One of Salawa’s friends was killed in the fighting and her family house was destroyed. “I don’t know what happened to some of my family,” she says.Salawa has been at Arab 6 for almost three months, but she isn’t sure how long her family will stay. “I feel sad. I don’t know where we’ll go next,” she says. “I miss my home and my friends and my cats.”But she adds that she has made two new friends since she arrived at the site and is happy that she has been able to attend the child-friendly space because she gets a chance to spend some time with people her own age.“And I really like the time we get to draw,” she adds.Giving children somewhere to play allows them to work through feelings such as pain, fear or the loss of a loved one, while being able to still act like a child. Play also gives children a way to express things they are struggling with that they might not yet have the words to fully explain.Child-friendly spaces also provide an opportunity to raise awareness around risks to children as well as somewhere that information can be provided about available services and support. At the spaces in Arab 6 there are two social workers and two psychologists on hand to offer support.Abdullah has been a child-friendly space coordinator here with UNICEF partner CDF since November, and has already noticed a difference among the children attending the spaces. “We’re gradually seeing a positive change in the way the children interact with each other,” Abdullah says. “At first it was difficult with children from so many backgrounds. But now they’re becoming friends.”One of the most visible examples of that change? What the children are drawing. “When the children first arrived at the site, most of them were drawing guns, planes, those things,” he says. Now they rarely do.An estimated 17 million children in Sudan are out of school due to the ongoing conflict, exacerbating an already dire learning crisis. Hundreds of schools across the country are serving as shelters for displaced people, further disrupting the education system. As part of its efforts to help displaced children keep learning, UNICEF supported learning centres in Arab 6 have enrolled almost 1,600 children in classes. Children attend classes six days a week, typically starting at 7 a.m., and study the national curriculum. Taha, 13, has been in Arab 6 since November. He says he has been out of school since the war started but has been excited to be able to take classes at the learning space. “I like being able to take classes here because I really missed studying,” he says. In fact, he’s taking tests in Arabic and maths tomorrow.“I really like studying. I even read and study on my days off,” Taha says. Arabic is his favourite subject, but he says doesn’t like studying English. “It’s so difficult!” he adds with a smile.There are currently 20 teachers at Arab 6 – 13 women and 7 men – all of whom are themselves internally displaced. UNICEF has provided recreational kits and learning materials for the learning spaces. Across the country, UNICEF has worked with partners to provide more than 2.3 million children with formal and non-formal education opportunities. But even as some children have started to return to class, millions more remain out of school. Access to education is about more than the right to learn – schools protect children from physical dangers around them, including abuse and exploitation. They can also provide children with lifesaving food, water and healthcare, while giving children stability and structure to help them cope with the trauma they are experiencing. Without access to schools, the country’s current learning crisis will become a generational catastrophe.Taha says being back in classes has given him a chance to make new friends. “I’ve made a lot since I got here,” he says. “They come from different villages.”But learning is also giving him a chance once again to dream of a better future, and one day to have his own career – one where he can help those around him. “I want to be a doctor,” Taha says. “I want to make sure people get treatment and help people who need it.”