The donkeys of Darfur have become unexpected protagonists of a war that has lasted more than three years. Months ago, when it became known that the Rapid Support Forces had taken the city of Al Fashir, we were mildly shocked because Hameidti’s men resorted to an ancient military technique to do so: the siege. They closed the access to this city with the aim of making the Army surrender and hand over the enclave. If he did not do so, the inhabitants of Al Fashir would perish from hunger and thirst. The subjugation lasted 500 days. “A donkey cart leaving Al Fashir costs more than a new car.” Thus, with crude precision, he titled his information. One could only leave that captivity via the road that leads to the city of Tawila, 60 kilometers away. Two days walking. One on the back of a donkey.
Darfuri donkeys at the center of a fight. The cadence of the chicks’ walking became a way to escape the horror.
In these times when we dedicate more space to Trump’s slaps and verbal slights than to the victims of the bombings he ordered in Iran, the Darfuri donkeys have once again gained prominence. The global rise in fuel prices (World Mission noted a few days ago that Sudanese have come to pay more than four dollars for a liter of diesel) is making obtaining water from underground springs an increasingly expensive activity in Sudan, with what this means: if the cost of pumping skyrockets, the cost of drinking also rises (about 30% since the closure of Hormuz), with a direct impact, above all, on displaced people and refugees due to war (the state of East Darfur alone hosts 189,000 people who have arrived without any resources).
Therefore, when the Darfuris see the carts approaching loaded with canisters of water pulled by donkeys, they begin to calculate how many liters they can buy. If they can get hold of something. The eternal dilemma between possibilities and needs.
And in the middle, the chicks. Those who led the captives of Al Fashir to freedom and those who now carry water for the thirsty people of Darfur.
