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In Doro, a south Sudan refugee camp home to more than 50,000 people, a martial arts training programme is giving power and agency back to young people coping with the trauma of war One stiflingly hot spring day, a 23-year-old Sudanese refugee, Esmail, sits down to tell me about his life in Doro camp, South Sudan. He’s a big name in Doro: Esmail is one of the founders of the martial arts programme, which is the bedrock of activities for more than 250 young residents of the camp. “I began the programme back home; a schoolmate and I wanted to learn how to defend ourselves when the fighting broke out,” he explains. The call to self-defence is not hypothetical. Since April 15, 2023, when fighting erupted between the Sudanese Armed Forces and the Rapid Support Forces, Sudan has become engulfed in what could be described as ‘total war’, conducted with no regard to civilian welfare. Fighting has displaced 8.6 million people from their homes; thousands have been killed in ethnic violence and shelling; and rape as a weapon of war has become rife. As armed forces resort to looting humanitarian aid and foodstu s, Sudan has acquired another moniker: ‘the world’s largest hunger crisis’. The latest data indicates that famine is not a matter of if but when: in the worst case scenario, 40% of Sudan’s inhabitants could face famine this year. Amid this death and destruction, Sudanese civilians flee to neighbouring countries. In a bitter twist of fate, they are often joined by those whom humanitarian actors term ‘returnees’ – refugees who sought refuge in Sudan, once a centre of trade in east Africa, who are now fleeing the fire for the frying pan.
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text TIARA ATAII Doro camp, in north-east South Sudan, is just one such example. The route to Doro is a well-trodden path. This informal settlement of refugees shares a birthday with the Republic of South Sudan itself, which officially gained independence from Sudan in December 2011 after years of conflict: the celebrations of South Sudanese autonomy came hand in hand with continued fighting over the post-secession plans, which displaced around 100,000 people to Doro. Yet, 13 years of humanitarian governance hasn’t bestowed upon the camp any sense of permanence. Located just 14 miles from the border with Sudan, Doro still looks like a transitional centre rather than what has become a de facto home to thousands of displaced Sudanese and South Sudanese people. Sandbags and corrugated iron sheeting (‘CGIs’, in human- itarian talk) litter the camp, covered by plastic sheeting to reinforce their failing structures. Inhabitants of the camp all have different stories but share in the lack of options available to them: many have been there since 2011, and are likely to remain for years to come. Esmail arrived in Doro in 2012, after fleeing fighting in his hometown of Kurmuk in the south-east of Sudan. He’s 23, and sharp, in both senses of the word. When we speak, he’s wearing a vest with a flag of the USA across the chest, two beaded chains that sit plush on his neck, and a ring in the shape of a skull. He’s quick to give me his ideas about the issues in the camp and what young people need. Esmail’s vision 61

In Doro, a south Sudan refugee camp home to more than 50,000 people, a martial arts training programme is giving power and agency back to young people coping with the trauma of war

One stiflingly hot spring day, a 23-year-old Sudanese refugee, Esmail, sits down to tell me about his life in Doro camp, South Sudan. He’s a big name in Doro: Esmail is one of the founders of the martial arts programme, which is the bedrock of activities for more than 250 young residents of the camp. “I began the programme back home; a schoolmate and I wanted to learn how to defend ourselves when the fighting broke out,” he explains.

The call to self-defence is not hypothetical. Since April 15, 2023, when fighting erupted between the Sudanese Armed Forces and the Rapid Support Forces, Sudan has become engulfed in what could be described as ‘total war’, conducted with no regard to civilian welfare. Fighting has displaced 8.6 million people from their homes; thousands have been killed in ethnic violence and shelling; and rape as a weapon of war has become rife. As armed forces resort to looting humanitarian aid and foodstu s, Sudan has acquired another moniker: ‘the world’s largest hunger crisis’. The latest data indicates that famine is not a matter of if but when: in the worst case scenario, 40% of Sudan’s inhabitants could face famine this year.

Amid this death and destruction, Sudanese civilians flee to neighbouring countries. In a bitter twist of fate, they are often joined by those whom humanitarian actors term ‘returnees’ – refugees who sought refuge in Sudan, once a centre of trade in east Africa, who are now fleeing the fire for the frying pan.

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