Fear, weakness, and resentment. There is nothing I can do; life now appears to me in black and white, with no other colors. There is no luxury of choice. The journey is incredibly difficult and harsh, where you lose the sense of warmth, security, and comfort.

I found myself in a place I did not know, with a language I did not understand. I don’t know if it will be good or bad, nor if it will one day become a home where I feel warmth and reassurance, as I once felt in my old home.

Since the war started in Sudan on April 15, 2023, a massive wave of displacement has begun — the largest in the world today, according to the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR). More than 12 million people have been forced to leave their homes. Around 9.2 million are still moving inside the country, searching for shelter among ruins and fire. Over 4 million have crossed into neighboring countries, running from bombs and death, after two years of war and countless losses, with no names.

I am one of them. I didn’t come to the Netherlands directly from Sudan. My journey began as a photojournalism student at the Danish School of Media and Journalism (DMJX) in Denmark. I was studying and planning to return home. But the war came first and destroyed everything. I no longer have a home to return to or a city waiting for me. When my student residence ended, I had only one choice: to seek asylum. I arrived in the Netherlands with a small bag and a lot of worry, like someone stepping into a room without knowing the way out.

But arriving here was not the end of the journey, it was the beginning of a life in limbo. I now live in an asylum camp, far from the war but still surrounded by its shadows. We Sudanese here live between two times, without certainty or direction. Time doesn’t pass, it just becomes heavy. The process is slow, and waiting repeats itself every day.

In this place, we share rooms and the feeling of being far from home. At night, we talk about houses that were destroyed, people who lost their way, and loved ones we don’t know if they’re still alive. Even though I am new to this camp, I also feel the fear. Like everyone else, I live with the stress of waiting. I ask the same questions: When will the door open? Will we be accepted or sent back? Is there really a new beginning?

Since July 2023, the Netherlands has stopped processing asylum applications from Sudanese people. At that time, I was still studying in Denmark. The files stayed untouched until June 2024, when the Netherlands finally admitted that Sudan is no longer a safe country. But still, not much has changed. We are still here, waiting in long lines, holding onto thin threads of hope, trying to hide our fear under light pillows.

I write this from the heart of the camp. We make tea as we make memories, and we talk about Sudan like it’s a dream we need to hold onto so we don’t lose ourselves. The road ahead is still long, but there is still hope. Maybe one day, this strange country will give us another chance — a delayed life, yes, but a life where we can rebuild what’s left of us.