In a nation consumed by conflict, where the simple act of providing aid can be a death sentence, a vast underground network of ordinary citizens has emerged as the sole bulwark against total societal collapse. Across Sudan, volunteers operating in extreme secrecy are delivering food, medicine, and critical support to millions, filling the void left by a shattered state and constrained international aid.
These volunteers, part of a grassroots initiative known as Emergency Response Rooms (ERRs), navigate a landscape of profound peril. They move across frontlines controlled by warring factions—the Sudanese Armed Forces and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF)—both of which view humanitarian work with deep suspicion. For these volunteers, anonymity is not just a precaution but a necessity for survival; many keep their activities hidden even from their own families to avoid putting loved ones at risk.
The dangers are stark and ever-present. Volunteers report routine interrogation, arbitrary detention, torture, and execution. More than 145 are believed to have been killed. One volunteer described being arrested and tortured while distributing food, accused of collaborating with external forces. He credits his release not to official channels, but to massive protests by the local community he was serving.
Despite the relentless threats, the network’s ranks continue to swell. To date, an estimated 26,000 volunteers—40% of them women—are active in 96 districts, providing a lifeline in a country where over 21 million people face acute hunger. They have reached more than half of Sudan’s population with meals or assistance, effectively sustaining communities where traditional aid systems have disintegrated.
This very effectiveness, however, has intensified the risks. Analysts note that the deep trust and direct community links cultivated by the ERRs have made them a source of envy and fear for the armed factions. Their neutrality is seen as a threat in a conflict where allegiance is demanded.
Operating with minimal resources, the network faces a severe funding crisis. It runs at a substantial deficit and has received less than 1% of all international aid for Sudan, despite demonstrating an ability to deliver support at a fraction of the cost of larger agencies. Recent cuts have forced the closure of hundreds of community kitchens, and current funds are only projected to last several more months.
The future of this vital civilian apparatus remains uncertain. While there has been international recognition—including a Nobel Peace Prize nomination and pledges for more direct funding from some governments—volunteers say such acknowledgment is valued less for acclaim and more for the potential protection it might afford them in a country where doing good is a lethal occupation.
For now, these volunteers press on, driven by a simple, powerful imperative. As one put it, the goal is not awards or accolades: “We only want to help.” In a nation torn apart, their quiet courage represents not just a humanitarian response, but a profound act of defiance and a foundational hope for any future peace.