Juba, the old rival capital, becomes a refuge for thousands of Sudanese fleeing war

On the terrace of a cafe in Juba, Sudanese interior designer Al-Hadi Hussein Ibrahim turned the pages of his portfolio with his slender hands. Dynamically curved exhibition stands, TV studio furniture, model apartments: These images of his past achievements are just about all that remain of his company, Khartoum Advertising, whose workshop was "completely burned down" in the fighting that has been raging since mid-April between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF). "We were among the two or three most famous companies in this field in Sudan," said this frail, bright-eyed 43-year-old, who said he has lost around $140,000 (€125,000) between his destroyed equipment and missing payments caused by the war.

He is now in exile, like the more than 550,000 other Sudanese, who, according to the International Organization for Migration (IOM), mostly headed for Egypt and Chad. But Ibrahim is one of 11,685 people who have opted for South Sudan. Juba is where he is trying to relaunch his career. It's not a completely crazy gamble, despite the country's instability. The Sudanese elites, no matter what camp they belong to, have political and economic networks here. Financial opportunities are a given in this bustling capital. The real estate and mining sectors are booming, and the strong UN presence is a source of contracts.

But for the Sudanese who have fled Khartoum and hope to resume their businesses in Juba, "those who arrive without affiliation need a lot of time to make it here, as market access is not open," warned Edmond Yakani, the director of the NGO Community Empowerment for Progress Organization (CEPO), who is anxious to defend the "economic rights" of Sudanese in exile.

Starting from scratch

Ibrahim arrived in Juba on June 27, "without a penny in his pocket." He was welcomed by Mohamed Abdullah Mohamed, a friend who has lived here since 2010. Ibrahim, who was still discovering the city, was optimistic: "I don't know if I'll get anywhere, but there's so much construction going on in Juba... All it would take is one single opportunity, one single job, to show what I can do and to get going again."

Alnazir Abdurahman Adam, 37, whose printing workshop and artisan store in Khartoum were completely destroyed in the war, also wanted to rebuild the resources that went up in smoke. His losses were estimated at $80,000. "It's going to be very difficult to get back to that level," he confided, accompanied by his friend and business partner Aquila John, a 40-year-old from South Sudan who took him in when he arrived on May 27. Together, they import foodstuffs from Kenya and transport them to the border with Darfur, while also responding to tenders from humanitarian organizations and the oil sector.

The friendship between them was not shaken by the separation of South Sudan from its northern neighbor in 2011, after decades of fratricidal war. Moreover, Adam studied and worked in Juba after independence. Then, in 2016, the fighting that ravaged the capital forced him to return to Khartoum. "I started all over again then, and now I'm doing the same thing here!" he admitted, keeping an eye on his phone: His wife and their first child, born during the conflict, were on the plane to join him.

Soaring rents

Staying with a friend or relative is a piece of luck as rents have soared in Juba. The massive influx of Sudanese and South Sudanese from Khartoum has created a housing shortage, according to Ngor Olingo, the founder of Asunta Property, an online real estate service. According to him, rents have risen "from $1,000 to $1,500 a month for a four-bedroom house," and even up to "$4,000 dollars a month for two-room apartments" in the Tongping district.

Mohamed, a 40-year-old Sudanese man who is employed by a major international organization and who wished to remain anonymous, rented an apartment upon his arrival in Juba for the hefty sum of $2,000 a month. Now, he admitted, he can't afford to continue to stay there and was thinking of moving to Kampala, in Uganda, or Nairobi, in Kenya. Chain-smoking on his terrace, which is overlooked by cranes and buildings under construction, he tried to imagine a future. "I thought I'd only be gone for a week," he said, now aware that the exile will be much longer.

Partner service

"It's going to take 10 years to get out of this war," said Salah Hassan Juma, a 46-year-old journalist who has come to Juba to try to find a job and provide financial support for his family, who is trapped in Wadi Halfa, on the Egyptian border. He is staying with his nephew, who owns an office supplies store, and feels no culture shock: "The food, the culture... I feel at home here!" His arrival in South Sudan was also an opportunity for him to question the "brainwashing" he believed he was subjected to in his youth, when the Islamist regime in Khartoum was at war, from 1983 to 2005, against the South Sudanese rebels led by John Garang.

Like Garang, who died in 2005, Juma and his brothers in exile are still waiting to see the birth of the "new Sudan" they so earnestly desire.

Florence Miettaux^[2]

Translation of an original article published in French on lemonde.fr^[3]; the publisher may only be liable for the French version.

References

1. ^{^} Learn French with Gymglish Thanks to a daily lesson, an original story and a personalized correction, in 15 minutes per day. Try for free (learn-french.lemonde.fr)
2. ^{^} Florence Miettaux (www.bing.com)
3. ^{^} lemonde.fr (lemonde.fr)