After relocating to the Netherlands with her family because of the war, Ghada Nsreldeen, a National Field Coordinator with the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), returned to Sudan in October 2024 to continue supporting the humanitarian response.
When we, you had recently relocated to the Netherlands with your family, working remotely. Where are you today?
Duty called – loudly and unmistakably – and I had to return to Sudan in October 2024 to continue supporting the operation.
Coming back was not easy. I left behind my one and only child, the only light I have in this world, with no family to lean on except her father.
Knowing she is facing a foreign country alone, trying to find her way in a place still so new and unfamiliar, is a quiet ache I carry every day. All I can hold onto is the hope that this distance, this sacrifice, will one day give her a future worthy of everything we’ve endured.
But here in Port Sudan I am in my ways a stranger myself – with no family, no friends, just the weight of my responsibilities and the purpose that brought me back – to help my people.
My dedication has only grown stronger. This city doesn’t feel like home, but Sudan always will.
And it is that love – this unwavering connection to my country and my people – that gives me the strength to keep going, despite the distance, the loneliness, the sacrifices.
Because I know I am contributing at the best I can to this response, and because I see first-hand that our work truly matters. Just like Sudan matters.
Back then, you told us you?remained?hopeful. Do you still hold onto that hope?
Three years into this conflict, I have seen cities deeply scarred and shaken, but I have also seen people rebuild, reopen, restart. I have visited communities in Wad Madani, Senja, and parts of Khartoum after they went through unimaginable loss.
Their resilience is not just inspiring – it is a daily reminder that Sudan’s spirit is not broken. Its people are still standing, still trying, still believing. And because of them, I continue to carry hope.
I hold onto the hope that one day I will leave Port Sudan and return to Khartoum, to the city that raised me and shaped me, and that my family, now scattered across different continents, will finally be back, and our home will feel whole again.
I hold onto the hope of welcoming my mother not into a small temporary studio, but into my home… a real home…where we can finally sit together, laugh together, celebrate her visit with dignity and warmth.
I hold onto the hope of walking my daughter to school every morning, holding her hand, listening to her stories, and waiting for her at the end of the day. That tiny, ordinary routine, something so simple, has now become my biggest dream.
And I still dream of sitting on my beloved balcony in Khartoum again, holding a cup of coffee, breathing in the familiar air of a city that feels like a piece of my soul.
