The Sudanese Women Sustaining a City in Crisis

AL OBEID, Sudan — At dawn in Al Obeid city, the embattled capital of Sudan’s North Kordofan State whispers replace sleep as women gather in courtyards and alleyways. 

Amna’s hands, guided by soap-making techniques passed down through generations, rhythmically knead ash and oil, while nearby, Ragda coordinates with teenage runners like Abdelqader, mapping the day's perilous “survival routes” through forests to secure flour from nearby governorates.

In Al-Salam district, Fatima quietly collects donations of sugar and oil pooled from household stocks, directing women to sort essentials for displacement shelters based on whispered needs, while Umm Mohamed divides her first batch of kisra (local bread): half for sale, half for the ten families relying on her behind her house.

This intricate choreography of production, distribution, security, and aid, led entirely by women, has transformed the backyards and alleyways of Al Obeid into the defiant pulse of a community refusing to break.

The locals call it the “women’s market.” But "these aren’t just markets," Yosra Al Nil, 29, a former employee at a local civil society organisation and a feminist activist, said. “They’re lifelines. Informal women’s networks providing food, safety, and dignity.”

Since war erupted in April 2023 between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), Al Obeid has become one of central Sudan’s most devastated cities. An ongoing RSF siege has severed trade routes, collapsed the central market and shattered supply chains. Yet women here refuse to surrender.

In this backdrop, Amna Al-Mahi, 45, kneaded her daily batch of soap in the courtyard of her home in the Karima neighborhood. What began a year ago as a modest household venture has since grown into a cooperative sustaining five neighborhoods.

“There’s no security, no police, just our own hands,” said Amna with a weary smile. “The war forced us to depend on ourselves. Men are at the frontlines or displaced. Life won’t wait”.

Fighting between the SAF and RSF has escalated sharply in the Kordofan region, where Al Obeid is based, triggering widespread displacement and cutting off humanitarian access. Intense shelling has deepened an already dire crisis, leaving thousands of civilians trapped without food, water or medical care, according to a May report by the United Nations’ office for Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA).

Women against hunger

Most displaced households in Al Obeid rely on women-led micro-enterprises, according to OCHA reports. Local production of essentials like bread, soap, and juices has surged over the past year, a testament to women rebuilding a neighborhood-based shadow economy. Most women operate without formal shops, selling from doorsteps or back alleys, buoyed by informal community networks.

In the city’s Tayba district, Ragda Al-Haj, 27, runs a tiny kitchen supplying meals to 40 to 60 aid workers and volunteers at displacement centers on a daily basis. The numbers of the workers vary from week to week according to the security situation and number of families in the centers.

“Last year there were plenty of aid workers, humanitarians and volunteers from local organisations, but most of them fled the city after the latest battles and organisations shut their offices in Al Obeid which made our responsibilities bigger,” she said.  

“I fled Ardamta village. I’d never sold anything before the war, but when my family arrived [in Al Obeid] with nothing, I had to learn. The market taught me patience,” she said, ladling lentils into plastic containers. 

Ardamta, a village largely populated by ethnic Masalit — a group that has been repeatedly targeted during the war — was attacked by Janjaweed and RSF soldiers in November 2023. Now in Al Obeid, Ragda depends on locally known “survival routes”: clandestine paths through forests and villages that connect to White Nile State, allowing traders to deliver flour, sugar, and oil.

In Kordofan, active fighting disrupted key roads between Al Obeid and Kadugli (in South Kordofan), and between Al Obeid and Al Fula (in West Kordofan). Humanitarian efforts were further hampered by a decision by South Kordofan authorities to suspend the operations of 30 national NGOs and three international NGOs, according to a UN OCHA report.

“Earnings are slim, but we try to provide what people need: soap, charcoal, onions. Anything to save a household,” said Manal Abdelraouf, 35, a mother of four running a corner-store from her home.

The informal economy can be perilous. Looting plagues outlying districts, and absent police and courts have left women exposed to exploitation. Manal recounts her oil shipment stolen overnight, despite a volunteer neighborhood watchman.

Yosra Al-Nil, the feminist activist, argues women aren’t just traders but “the first line of defense.”

“They feed people, keep markets moving, shelter the displaced, and forge real solidarity. This is state-level work done without state support," she said.

Solidarity networks: Markets of dignity

In Al-Salam district, Fatima Al-Toum, 52, a former teacher, leads cooperatives supplying basics to displacement shelters.

“We formed small groups. Each woman contributed sugar, oil or soap. We distribute by need,” Fatima explained. “These women preserved people’s dignity. Without them, the neighborhood would collapse.”

Youth act as distributors, delivering goods by bike or foot.

“I work with Aunt Fatima,” said 17-year-old Abdelqader, pushing a handcart stacked with bread. “Sometimes I walk to Wad Akufa market and back. It’s exhausting, but we help our people”.

Umm Mohamed, 60, who chose to go by her first name for security concerns, has sold kisra (a flatbread made of sorghum) outside her home for three decades but said business these days is different.

“I once had a small shop. Now I support ten displaced families behind my house. We split kisra between sales and aid,” she said.

Funding Gaps

Sudanese humanitarian experts credit women’s adaptability for the system’s success but warn of its fragility.

“Women created a shadow economy model using simple resources and local networks: donkey carts, home workshops, survival routes. It’s ingenious but unsustainable,” economist Haytham Fathi said, citing World Bank data. “Without political stability, formal funding, legal protection, or credit guarantees, this market will rely on individual grit alone. It can’t form the foundation of a postwar economy.”

Famine Early Warning System Network, a USAID-funded food security watchdog, estimates that 90 percent of working women lack business licenses or records, barring them from loans or government aid.

The siege has also strangled raw material flows and has inflated costs.

“With funding, we could buy more supplies and reach distant neighborhoods,” Amna lamented. “But banks are closed, and NGOs offer no guarantees."

Most initiatives rely on internal savings pools or rotating loans among neighbors, she added, "These are temporary fixes. They can’t scale projects or protect against looting or inflation.”

Women who lost providers to fighting or displacement face extreme vulnerability, Amna explained. Some started from zero; others are former professionals who lost jobs. One small crisis could destroy their work.

Keeping the city alive

Amid the war’s third year, Al Obeid residents wonder if these efforts will yield long-term support.

“To build on this, donors and the state must create policies: direct aid, structural reforms, legal shields,”  Fathi urged. “Local production works but needs financing and infrastructure to evolve from survival to sustainable economy”.

Until then, Al Obeid’s women, feeding nearly 200,000 people, will keep laboring in the shadows, defying siege, hunger, and despair with steely resolve and dwindling means.

“We’re not just selling goods,” Amna concluded. “We’re keeping this city’s soul alive.”