The refugee experience is different when it becomes your own

Over the past few weeks, I've been telling friends in Australia that my family made it out of Khartoum, Sudan's capital. Everyone cheered; "so glad they made it!". They fled the gruesome intense fighting and made it across the border in one piece. They survived.

Sixty-five days ago, on April 15, people woke up to the sounds of bombs detonating in the heart of Khartoum.

Two factions of the military were warring with one another, and innocent civilians were caught in the crossfire. Over the coming days all we heard were stories of tragedy and loss; people being killed with stray bullets and bombs exploding in people's homes. Ninety per cent of hospitals shut. Electricity gone. Water supply cut. Internet getting botchy. People losing touch with family members. Prisons compromised. Homes looted. Girls raped. Chaos like no one has ever seen in their lifetime.

Over the course of one month, more than 1 million people left their homes to other states in Sudan and by the second month more than half a million people had made it across the borders to neighbouring countries.

As a humanitarian worker, I've spent 15 years working with displaced persons and refugees, being completely aware that anyone can become an asylum seeker on any day, at any time.

But the refugee experience takes on a whole new meaning when it becomes your own.

Thankfully, my family survived the frightening decision to leave their home with nothing but clothes they had on and some nappies for my five-month-old nephew. They witnessed bloated dead bodies on the streets out of Khartoum. Surviving frightening glares of armed men and gunfire. Hope dwindling in long queues and endless nights of waiting in buses in the middle of the desert. The smell of panic and silent tears. They finally arrived in Egypt safely. What more can we ask for?

Since April 15 all my nights have been sleepless and haunted with nightmares. The very real threat that fighting could intensify while I was sleeping and kill a family member kept my eyes wide open, tracing Twitter for the latest updates on fighting in Khartoum. To think about family members who have lost everything - much-loved homes, jobs, heirloom jewellery, savings. Cousins fleeing without obtaining education certificates and no school return date. Uncertainty about where they can live, work, or go to school. How can one even begin to imagine their suffering?

Sudan hasn't had much luck in the media. Manifesting in a lack of government and public interest which means less pressure on the warring factions to negotiate or even exercise caution to protect civilians. It has also meant less resources to support refugees to safety or and back to living their lives.

The UN has called for US$3 billion ($4.4b) to respond to the Sudan crisis but so far has only raised around US$18 million ($26.4m). Simple math means that even if this money was to be purely donated to those displaced, each person would get $26. Imagine fleeing death and losing everything in the process and getting just $26 to help you rebuild your life.

Women and girls often bear the brunt of conflict. Being on the dangerous journey of displacement and settling down in another country without a support system often places them in a heightened state of risk. Next week, I will be in Egypt on deployment to join forces with my dedicated colleagues from Plan Egypt, local partners, and the wider humanitarian community to engage directly with Sudanese refugees and ensure that the voices of girls and women are not overlooked and gender-based needs are accounted for.

In the aftermath of crisis, what refugees truly need extends beyond immediate survival. Critically, at the heart is the restoration of dignity, the healing of deep emotional wounds, and the revival of shattered dreams. Education becomes a lifeline, offering hope for a brighter future. Access to healthcare saves lives and restores well-being and resilience. Protection from harm ensures safety and security on a new foreign land where they have no choice but to settle down.

We sometimes forget that doctors and engineers before a war are still doctors and engineers after becoming refugees. We need to see them for all that they are. Not as a burden to society but part of a better future.

We must not be afraid to speak directly with them and open all doors to refugees not shut them. We need to shift from helping refugees survive to supporting them to thrive in new and challenging settings.

The survival chapter needs to end so refugees can finally start to live their lives.