Scarred by war, driven by wish -- Sudanese boy loses family, childhood in country's cruel conflict

The sun lay heavy on the barren outskirts of North Kordofan, thick and unrelenting. Twelve-year-old Wali Al-Din stood in it without complaint, a thin stick resting in his hand, watching over the small herd of sheep that kept his family alive. They wandered in their slow, stubborn way, and he guided them like a man who had done it all his life, Xinhua reported.

At an age when most boys fret over lessons and enjoy video games, Wali had already stepped into the long shadow of adulthood. He eased errant sheep back into line with the calm of an old herder. Now and then, he lifted the hem of his jalabiya to brush the sweat from his neck, the gesture almost weary for someone so small.

The country's brutal civil war and the ensuing humanitarian crisis had squeezed childhood out of him. Six hours a day, he walked behind the animals, thinking mostly of how their safety meant food on the table.

The flock belonged to his uncle, Mohamed Al-Hassan, who took him in after violence blew apart the life he once knew. Al-Hassan sat beside a worn mat near a shelter of sticks and tarp as he spoke of the night that changed his nephew's life.

One night last October, an armed group raided Al-Din's neighborhood. "Bullets poured down on my brother Abdullah's house like a storm," he said. "Abdullah was killed right away. Wali saw it all."

The boy had been crouched behind a sidr tree where he used to play with his sisters, watching his father rush to shield the family. Moments later, gunfire erupted, and his father fell.

Al-Hassan said his nephew stayed blank for hours after witnessing his father's death. The tears came only days later at the burial, quiet and long delayed.

Then, as conditions deteriorated and fears of child recruitment grew, Al-Din fled with several other boys. They walked for days across harsh, empty stretches of land, hiding whenever engines rumbled in the distance. When he finally reached his uncle's home, he carried only a tiny bag with a few clothes and a school notebook pressed thin from use.

"Studying may be the only way I can change my life," he said, eyes still drifting toward the sheep.

Each morning, he takes the flock out, then walks three kilometers to a public school with six battered classrooms. Drone strikes have hit it more than once. One room is open to the sky, a ragged hole marking where a shell came through.

"Al-Din never misses class," said his teacher, Amira Al-Nour. "No matter how tired he looks."

Psychologist Asia Abdel-Mahmoud said Al-Din's story echoes through the region. "Many children have lost their families, partially or even entirely," she said. "They carry a deep emptiness, and poverty forces them into work far too young."

Since April 2023, fighting between the Sudanese army and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces has killed tens of thousands and displaced millions, according to humanitarian agencies. Aid workers say the combination of high casualties, mass displacement, and insufficient assistance has left tens of thousands of children struggling to survive.

As the world marks World Children's Day on Thursday, aid groups note that children like Al-Din remain largely invisible to the outside world. International mediation efforts continue, but there are no signs of a cease-fire, and underfunded aid programs are unable to meet the scale of the crisis. Like millions of Sudanese caught in the conflict, Al-Din has little choice but to endure with the limited means available to him.

When asked what he hoped for, he dragged his stick slowly through the sand, carving a wandering line.

"I want to become a policeman," he said. "To protect people. I don't want any child to see what I saw."