My Real Feeling, by Hayat Mohamed

At Common/Wealth we are fortunate to work with a wide range of people in Cardiff and Bradford, and we benefit enormously from their insights and perspectives. Hayat Mohamed is one of our Sounding Board Members and is part of the Sudanese diaspora in Cardiff. Hayat has written a raw, powerful blog about the conflict in Sudan, called My Real Feeling. Hayat is a teaching assistant at Eastern High and works with the Together Trust and Sudanese Community in East Cardiff, focusing on young people and addressing community needs.

Civil war broke out in Sudan in 2023, between the Sudanese army and a paramilitary group called the RSF. More than 150,000 people have died in the conflict, and 12 million have left their homes. Famine and diseases like cholera have spread in the wake of the conflict. It is believed that the RSF are engaging in war crimes, such as sexual violence, and genocide against the Masalit people and other non-Arab communities. 

Amnesty International have recently said that UK military equipment has been used by the RSF, the group accused of genocide and war crimes in Sudan. It is vital that we don’t look away from what is happening in Sudan, and support the Sudanese members of our community. 

Here is what Hayat’s written about her personal experience:

Since 15 April 2023, I have been trying to hold myself together — to stay strong, steady, and “normal,” the way people have always known me.

I am that woman who has been known as the strong one: the one who can rise above her own pain to carry others; the one who tends to everyone else’s wounds even while her own are still bleeding.

I was the woman who fought for her people, who fought for her country — the one they called a fighter, even though deep inside I am also soft, fragile, and painfully human.

But for nearly three years now, my people — all my people — have been running from place to place, searching desperately for safety. My close family has been uprooted again and again, losing everything: their homes, their wealth, their stability, and even their health. Fear has eaten them slowly. Instability has drained them. Homesickness has hollowed them. The lack of healthcare has made every small illness feel like a death sentence.

It has now been one month since I last had normal contact with my family.
I still send them messages, and they reply — but only briefly, in a way that is not like them at all. Then, suddenly, WhatsApp calls stopped working. No connection. No voices. Only silence.

And inside that silence, my fear began to grow.

I felt something was wrong.

I called my cousin, searching for truth.
His words confirmed what my heart already sensed: the entire village, including my family, is terrified. They do not want me to know how bad things are. They are trying to protect me from their fear.

Then he told me something that broke whatever strength I had left:
three unfamiliar women came to the village asking where my family lives.

What kind of nightmare is this?

In that moment, I felt like I was falling out of my own mind — as if the ground disappeared beneath me. I could not breathe. I could not think. All I could feel was the terror of losing my whole family… after already losing my mother in 2024, and others before and after I left home.

And then the guilt came.

Was I selfish for leaving?
Did I save myself while they stayed in danger?
Was my political voice, my opinions, my fight for justice putting them at risk?

It is a cruel thought, but it lives inside me:
Am I the reason they are being targeted?
Am I the one who failed to protect them?

Sometimes the pain whispers:

“What is the meaning of living safely, securely, alone… when your entire family may be killed?”

What is happening back home is beyond war. It is cruelty without limits.

People are being targeted, silenced, erased — simply for existing, for speaking, for being connected to a cause, a belief, or a voice. They have stripped away all humanity.

And now, I fear that those same people consider me someone who must “feel the pain,” someone they want to reach through my family.

The thought of what they might do makes my body collapse from the inside.

I feel helpless.
I am far away.
I do not know what tomorrow will bring.
I know that my family has no way to escape, no safe place to run to.
I know how aggressive the armed groups are… and how vulnerable my family is.

And I do not know how to forgive myself.

How do I continue living each day in a safe, peaceful country while my family is in danger?

How can I enjoy anything while they are living through terror?

What can we do now?

 

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