The people rebuild Sudan without government help

COMMUNITY

On a scorching morning in Al-Kalakla, southern Khartoum, Mohammed Rizq stands amongst rubble with notebook in hand, directing dozens of volunteers half his age. The 21-year-old high school student with metalworking training points toward a broken water station, its generator stolen by Rapid Support Forces (RSF) during the paramilitary’s occupation of Sudan’s capital. He divides the group into teams: clear the rubble, salvage usable bricks, dig trenches to repair damaged pipes.

“When I rebuild my neighbourhood, it feels like I am rebuilding my life from the ground up,” Rizq says, standing where his primary school once stood.

Nearly a year after Sudanese forces recaptured Khartoum from RSF control, the capital remains devastated. Humanitarian reports estimate between 60-70% of hospitals, schools, and residential areas are damaged or destroyed.

In May 2024, Sudan’s Prime Minister Kamal Idris toured the wreckage and promised comprehensive reconstruction. “Our top priorities are to restore water and electricity services and secure the capital, and we are working to restore Khartoum as a proud national capital,” he said in a televised speech. The government estimates reconstruction will cost US$700 billion nationally, half required for Khartoum alone.

Well over a year later, those plans are yet to materialise. Not waiting around, the community is filling the vacuum, launching hundreds of grassroots initiatives, rebuilding neighbourhoods, universities and health facilities — all without institutional support.

When Rizq came back to Al-Kalakla last May he found his home in ruins. “I found the walls of my house completely destroyed and the doors looted and stolen, like most of the houses in our neighbourhood,” he says. “I didn’t wait for the government to help us rebuild the house or clean up the area or maintain the water and electricity lines.”

Instead, he collected money from better-off residents and volunteers’ own pockets to buy shovels, brooms and building materials and set about repairing his neighbourhood by hand without bulldozers or specialised equipment. He and his team joined local committees to repair destroyed water and power infrastructure. They faced material shortages and funding gaps but pooled resources, borrowed equipment from neighbours, and salvaged usable materials from the rubble. When a broken water station needed a replacement generator, they sought out and found free alternatives — including carrying dirt by hand when wheelbarrows weren’t available.

This pattern is repeated in at least ten of Khartoum’s neighbourhoods. Communities coordinate across generations: youth provide labour, elders offer expertise, women organise logistics and food preparation, local businesses donate materials. Already, volunteers have rehabilitated dozens of homes and schools without equipment or government support.

In Bouri al-Mahas, residents launched what organisers describe as a most ambitious and comprehensive initiative, addressing one sector completely before moving to the next: water systems; education; housing; community kitchens providing free meals; health facilities; lighting and solar panels. They repaired two schools so they could resume classes, connected water and electricity lines, and established food distribution.

“All of us who live in the area got together, wrote to expatriates from the area, and appealed to generous people to collect donations for reconstruction,” says Ahmed Kamal, the initiative’s media director. “The government did not help us, and we did not expect it to. Today, Bouri Al-Mahas is completely liveable. All basic services are available.”

Fortunately, wealthy regional donors and charities responded to the callout and the Bouri al-Mahas rebuild is getting financial support. It’s meant repair work is being carried out across neighbourhoods, with specialists appointed to lead each locality. They’ve been able to buy water pumps, solar panels, building materials, and kitchen supplies.

Kamal identifies fundraising as the primary challenge. “We continue to give everything we have in the region,” he says, making urgent appeals to individuals and organisations to help sustain operations.

The reconstruction movement’s methods are simple but organised. Volunteers use shovels, hammers, wheelbarrows, and basic carpentry equipment borrowed or purchased through pooled donations. Every stone, pipe, and plank salvaged from rubble is repurposed — nothing is wasted.

Teams have defined responsibilities: debris removal, material collection, repair, food preparation, and communication. Leaders such as Rizq and Arwa emphasise rotation to prevent burnout. Daily tasks are recorded in notebooks tracking progress and ensuring accountability. When professional skills are needed — welding, pipe repair, heavy carpentry — local workers join voluntarily or for minimal pay sourced from student contributions.

WhatsApp groups coordinate schedules while word-of-mouth spreads information where the internet remains unreliable. Publicising work through local media and photos has built credibility and has encouraged more volunteers.

At the University of Khartoum’s Faculty of Pharmacy, students divided into teams on their first workday to clean and restore offices, lecture hall, pharmacy laboratory and courtyard, despite government delays granting permission and a severe funding shortage for cleaning supplies and food. Students funded the cleanup themselves.

At Neelain University’s Faculty of Arts, 25-year-old English Department student Arwa Salah returned to Omdurman in November 2024 expecting to resume her studies. Instead, she found destroyed classrooms. So, she took on a coordinating role for the reconstruction. “Waiting for officials meant losing more years of our lives,” she notes.

Salah divided students into groups: one worked with professional labourers the faculty provided, another cleared debris and swept halls, a third arranged salvaged furniture. She handled administrator liaison and media outreach — a critical task after national television ignored their efforts. She personally contacted a local station until coverage arrived.

Funding is still short. Students have bought cleaning supplies and paid for food and water with modest donations and pocket money. Salah skipped online classes to dedicate full days onsite, often working until dusk before walking many kilometres home through damaged streets. After Al-Khartoum TV covered the first day’s work, others joined and the college was thoroughly cleaned within days.

“Rebuilding these halls means rebuilding our future,” Salah says. The faculty now awaits only a government decision to resume classes.

TOP (left) A tower building that contained medical clinics, grocery stores, residential apartments and offices burnt out by rocket fire in southern Khartoum (Right) Residents working to reconnect water lines in the neighbourhood of Buri Al-Mahss

PHOTOS by Aunnab Elma and Ahmed Kamal

MIDDLE Mohammed Rizq

PHOTO Ahmed Kamal

BOTTOM Volunteers cleaning the courtyard of the Faculty of Arts at Neelain University.

PHOTO Shouqar Abdo

Rebuilding these halls means rebuilding our future. Waiting for officials meant losing more years of our lives.

Arwa Salah

SOURCE