Joy and Concern as Pupils Return to School in Mosul

File photo: An Iraqi boy sits at a desk at a school in Mosul. Dimitar Dilkoff/AFP
File photo: An Iraqi boy sits at a desk at a school in Mosul. Dimitar Dilkoff/AFP
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Joy and Concern as Pupils Return to School in Mosul

File photo: An Iraqi boy sits at a desk at a school in Mosul. Dimitar Dilkoff/AFP
File photo: An Iraqi boy sits at a desk at a school in Mosul. Dimitar Dilkoff/AFP

After three years of forced truancy due to ISIS’ seizure of the Iraqi city of Mosul, teenager Ali Salem waited nervously outside school to sit an English exam.

Before heading out bright and early from a camp for the displaced in Hajj Ali, 60 kilometers away, he had had a last look over lessons that were interrupted in 2014.

"On the evening of June 10, 2014, we heard that ISIS had taken over the city. I had a maths exam the next day but school stopped," Salem told Agence France Presse in front of the gate of the school in west Mosul's Mansour district.

"I'm 18 now and I've lost three years because of ISIS. I'm so glad we're back at school to be able to pass exams because all this will determine the course of my life," he said, with disheveled hair and a schoolbag strapped across his shoulder.

Because of the disruption for the 300,000 pupils in Niniveh province of which Mosul is the capital, the education ministry has decided to set IQ tests for primary schools and general knowledge exams in secondary.

A block of houses away, also in the Mansour district, next to a building toppled by an air strike, another pupil was waiting anxiously to take the same English exam.

"I've forgotten everything, and I've only managed to get a photocopy of one chapter whereas they can question me on the whole book," fretted Mahmud Abdel Nafaa, also 18, as workmen laboured to fix drains and pavements smashed by shelling.

"I'm really happy to be back at school but also worried because if I fail the exams I will be transferred to evening classes," said the young man in a red T-shirt and with black slicked-back hair.

Abdel Nafaa said evening classes were held only twice a week, and they have become mandatory for pupils deemed too old to follow the syllabus.

The new academic year started in early October in the eastern part of the city, from where Iraqi security forces expelled ISIS militants in January.

But classes and exams will not resume in earnest until the start of November in west Mosul, where the battle dragged on until July.

Mosul's education system, with its pre-war tally of 600 schools, has paid a high price for the months-long fight.

Only 210 schools are left standing on the east bank of the Tigris river that runs through the city, and 100 on its west bank.

In his office building with its completely burnt-out ground floor, the director general of the education ministry for Niniveh province faces a mammoth task.

"We're the second line after the armed forces. They liberate, and we have to rehabilitate right after," Wahid Abdel Qader said.

"Already back in January, when the east had barely been liberated, we noted that families were eager for school to restart," he said.

But with bombardments rocking the west, schools in the east waited until May and June to gradually restore classes.

Mohammed Ismail, headmaster of the Zubayda school in east Mosul, said he languished at home for three years.

"In our district, only one school stayed open," under ISIS supervision, he said. 

"Some of my colleagues worked with them,” he said, adding most of the pupils under ISIS were French, Russian and Chechen children of foreign militants.

In the playground of the Zeitoun school overlooking the east bank of the Tigris, six-year-old Yussef Razwan showed off his first reading book. 

"Playing at home is boring. I prefer being here," the little boy in white uniform beamed.



Sudan's Relentless War: A 70-Year Cycle of Conflict


Army chief Abdel Fattah al-Burhan (left) and RSF leader Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as Hemedti, pictured during their alliance to oust Omar al-Bashir in 2019 (AFP)
Army chief Abdel Fattah al-Burhan (left) and RSF leader Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as Hemedti, pictured during their alliance to oust Omar al-Bashir in 2019 (AFP)
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Sudan's Relentless War: A 70-Year Cycle of Conflict


Army chief Abdel Fattah al-Burhan (left) and RSF leader Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as Hemedti, pictured during their alliance to oust Omar al-Bashir in 2019 (AFP)
Army chief Abdel Fattah al-Burhan (left) and RSF leader Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as Hemedti, pictured during their alliance to oust Omar al-Bashir in 2019 (AFP)

While world conflicts dominate headlines, Sudan’s deepening catastrophe is unfolding largely out of sight; a brutal war that has killed tens of thousands, displaced millions, and flattened entire cities and regions.

More than a year into the conflict, some observers question whether the international community has grown weary of Sudan’s seemingly endless cycles of violence. The country has endured nearly seven decades of civil war, and what is happening now is not an exception, but the latest chapter in a bloody history of rebellion and collapse.

The first of Sudan’s modern wars began even before the country gained independence from Britain. In 1955, army officer Joseph Lagu led the southern “Anyanya” rebellion, named after a venomous snake, launching a guerrilla war that would last until 1972.

A peace agreement brokered by the World Council of Churches and Ethiopia’s late Emperor Haile Selassie ended that conflict with the signing of the Addis Ababa Accord.

But peace proved short-lived. In 1983, then-president Jaafar Nimeiry reignited tensions by announcing the imposition of Islamic Sharia law, known as the “September Laws.” The move prompted the rise of the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement (SPLM), led by John Garang, and a renewed southern insurgency that raged for more than two decades, outliving Nimeiry’s regime.

Under Omar al-Bashir, who seized power in a 1989 military coup, the war took on an Islamist tone. His government declared “jihad” and mobilized civilians in support of the fight, but failed to secure a decisive victory.

The conflict eventually gave way to the 2005 Comprehensive Peace Agreement, better known as the Naivasha Agreement, which was brokered in Kenya and granted South Sudan the right to self-determination.

In 2011, more than 95% of South Sudanese voted to break away from Sudan, giving birth to the world’s newest country, the Republic of South Sudan. The secession marked the culmination of decades of war, which began with demands for a federal system and ended in full-scale conflict. The cost: over 2 million lives lost, and a once-unified nation split in two.

But even before South Sudan’s independence became reality, another brutal conflict had erupted in Sudan’s western Darfur region in 2003. Armed rebel groups from the region took up arms against the central government, accusing it of marginalization and neglect. What followed was a ferocious counterinsurgency campaign that drew global condemnation and triggered a major humanitarian crisis.

As violence escalated, the United Nations deployed one of its largest-ever peacekeeping missions, the African Union-United Nations Hybrid Operation in Darfur (UNAMID), in a bid to stem the bloodshed.

Despite multiple peace deals, including the Juba Agreement signed in October 2020 following the ousting of long-time Islamist ruler, Bashir, fighting never truly ceased.

The Darfur war alone left more than 300,000 people dead and millions displaced. The International Criminal Court charged Bashir and several top officials, including Ahmed Haroun and Abdel Raheem Muhammad Hussein, with war crimes and crimes against humanity.

Alongside the southern conflict, yet another war erupted in 2011, this time in the Nuba Mountains of South Kordofan and the Blue Nile region. The fighting was led by Abdelaziz al-Hilu, head of the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement–North (SPLM–N), a group composed largely of northern fighters who had sided with the South during the earlier civil war under John Garang.

The conflict broke out following contested elections marred by allegations of fraud, and Khartoum’s refusal to implement key provisions of the 2005 Naivasha Agreement, particularly those related to “popular consultations” in the two regions. More than a decade later, war still grips both areas, with no lasting resolution in sight.

Then came April 15, 2023. A fresh war exploded, this time in the heart of the capital, Khartoum, pitting the Sudanese Armed Forces against the powerful paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF). Now entering its third year, the conflict shows no signs of abating.

According to international reports, the war has killed more than 150,000 people and displaced around 13 million, the largest internal displacement crisis on the planet. Over 3 million Sudanese have fled to neighboring countries.

Large swathes of the capital lie in ruins, and entire states have been devastated. With Khartoum no longer viable as a seat of power, the government and military leadership have relocated to the Red Sea city of Port Sudan.

Unlike previous wars, Sudan’s current conflict has no real audience. Global pressure on the warring factions has been minimal. Media coverage is sparse. And despite warnings from the United Nations describing the crisis as “the world’s worst humanitarian catastrophe,” Sudan's descent into chaos remains largely ignored by the international community.