Sudan Refugees Bring Off-season Tourism to Egypt's Aswan

Around 310,000 people have crossed from Sudan into Egypt since war broke out on April 15 © ASHRAF SHAZLY / AFP
Around 310,000 people have crossed from Sudan into Egypt since war broke out on April 15 © ASHRAF SHAZLY / AFP
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Sudan Refugees Bring Off-season Tourism to Egypt's Aswan

Around 310,000 people have crossed from Sudan into Egypt since war broke out on April 15 © ASHRAF SHAZLY / AFP
Around 310,000 people have crossed from Sudan into Egypt since war broke out on April 15 © ASHRAF SHAZLY / AFP

Thousands fleeing war in Sudan have taken refuge in the Egyptian city of Aswan on the Nile, where families are helping keep the tourism industry afloat far from the horrors they left behind.

"We finally made it to Aswan," said Hisham Ali, 54, who reached Egypt after an odyssey that took his family south of the fighting in Khartoum, before heading over 1,000 kilometres (600 miles) north again to the Egyptian border.

Thousands of people have been stuck there since Egypt tightened its visa rules in July.

"Aswan is beautiful, its people are kind," the former government employee told AFP from a rest house in the popular holiday destination.

During the winter months, the city fills with Egyptian and international travellers -- drawn by the abundance of Pharaonic sites, views of the Nile River and warm weather.

When Sudanese families began arriving in April, the city's many boat captains and business owners were winding down for the low season in the summer heat.

They did not expect an influx of refugees, or the much-needed business they have brought to Egypt's struggling economy.

"I've taken my family for a fun day out, I want them as much as they can to forget the days of war and bombs and air strikes and gun shots," Ali said, as the sound of children playing rang out around him.

Around 310,000 people have crossed from Sudan into Egypt since war broke out on April 15 between the forces of army chief Abdel Fattah al-Burhan and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces, led by his former deputy Mohamed Hamdan Daglo.

"We fled Khartoum three months ago," said Zeinab Ibrahim, 30, after two months of sheltering from constant air strikes, artillery fire and street battles.

"I was pregnant and there were no hospitals left where I could give birth," she told AFP of the situation in Sudan, where 80 percent of hospitals are out of service, according to the United Nations.

After crossing the Egyptian border, many continued the journey north to the capital Cairo, while others like Ali and Ibrahim stayed in Aswan, Egypt's southernmost major city and one of its most popular tourist destinations.

In the middle of an early September heatwave, when many boat captains would have laid anchor in past years, their flat-bottomed vessels weaved through Nile islands instead, blasting music while daring teenagers dove into the water from the upper decks.

Families cooled off from the sweltering heat on a sandy bank where tour guides told visitors to go for a dip in the river between sips of Nubian coffee.

"I've been doing this for five years," said Mahmoud al-Aswany, 19, perched on the deck of his boat.

"Since our Sudanese brothers came from the war, work has started to get better and there's been more work in tourism."

Egypt is currently going through its worst-ever economic crisis, which has devastated purchasing power across the country.

Inflation hit a record high of 39.7 percent in August, and the pound has lost half its value against the US dollar since early last year.

The response to the influx of Sudanese refugees has been mixed. In Cairo, those fleeing the war have complained of housing discrimination, soaring rent prices and racism.

In Aswan, where local Nubian communities have strong historical links across the border, early arrivals were met by volunteers offering hot meals and warm messages of welcome at bus and train stations.

But many arrive from arduous journeys in dire need, only to find limited humanitarian operations. Cairo does not operate refugee camps and insists new arrivals are instead given the right to work and move freely.

Those trying for some reprieve in the Aswan sun are among a million people who have fled across borders, in addition to four million who have been internally displaced within Sudan, according to the United Nations.

The UN expects these numbers to rise further, as the violence shows no signs of abating.

By September, the war had killed at least 7,500 people, according to a conservative estimate from the Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project.



Long Silenced by Fear, Syrians Now Speak about Rampant Torture under Assad

People walk through a corridor of Syria's infamous Saydnaya military prison, just north of Damascus, Syria, on Dec. 9, 2024. (AP)
People walk through a corridor of Syria's infamous Saydnaya military prison, just north of Damascus, Syria, on Dec. 9, 2024. (AP)
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Long Silenced by Fear, Syrians Now Speak about Rampant Torture under Assad

People walk through a corridor of Syria's infamous Saydnaya military prison, just north of Damascus, Syria, on Dec. 9, 2024. (AP)
People walk through a corridor of Syria's infamous Saydnaya military prison, just north of Damascus, Syria, on Dec. 9, 2024. (AP)

Handcuffed and squatting on the floor, Abdullah Zahra saw smoke rising from his cellmate’s flesh as his torturers gave him electric shocks.

Then it was Zahra’s turn. They hanged the 20-year-old university student from his wrists and electrocuted and beat him for two hours. They made his father watch and taunted him about his son’s torment.

That was 2012, and the entire security apparatus of Syria’s then-President Bashar Assad was deployed to crush the protests against his rule.

With Assad’s fall a month ago, the machinery of death that he ran is starting to come out into the open.

It was systematic and well-organized, growing to more than 100 detention facilities into which tens of thousands disappeared over more than a decade. Torture, sexual violence and mass executions were rampant, according to rights groups and former prisoners.

A blanket of fear kept Syrians silent about their experiences or lost loved ones. But now, everyone is talking. After the insurgents who swept Assad out of power on Dec. 8 opened prisons and detention facilities, crowds swarmed in, searching for answers, bodies of loved ones, and ways to heal.

The Associated Press visited seven of these facilities in Damascus and spoke to nine former detainees. Some details of the accounts by those who spoke to the AP could not be independently confirmed, but they matched past reports by former detainees to human rights groups.

Days after Assad’s fall, Zahra — now 33 — came to visit Branch 215, a detention facility run by military intelligence in Damascus where he was held for two months.

There, he said, he was kept in a windowless underground cell, 4-by-4-meters (yards) and crammed with 100 other inmates. When ventilators were cut off -- either intentionally or because of a power failure -- some suffocated. Men went mad; torture wounds festered. When a cellmate died, they stowed his body next to the cell’s toilet until jailers collected corpses, Zahra said.

“Death was the least bad thing,” he said. “We reached a place where death was easier than staying here for one minute.”

A member of the security forces for the new interim Syrian government stands next to prison cells at the Palestine Branch, a detention facility operated by the General Intelligence Agency during Bashar al-Assad's regime, in Damascus, Syria, on Dec. 14, 2024. (AP)

Assad’s system of repression grew as civil war raged

After he and his father were released, Zahra fled to opposition-held areas. Within a few months, security agents returned and dragged off 13 of his male relatives, including a younger brother and, again, his father.

All were killed. Zahra later recognized their bodies among photos leaked by a defector showing thousands killed in detention. Their bodies were never recovered.

Rights groups estimate at least 150,000 people went missing since anti-government protests began in 2011, most vanishing into detention facilities. Many were killed, either in mass executions or from torture and prison conditions. The exact number remains unknown.

Even before the uprising, Assad had ruled with an iron fist. But as protests turned into a civil war that would last 14 years, Assad expanded his system of repression. New detention facilities run by military, security and intelligence agencies sprung up in security compounds, military airports and under buildings.

At Branch 215, Zahra hoped to find some sign of his lost relatives. But there was nothing. At home, his aunt, Rajaa Zahra, looked at the leaked pictures of her killed children for the first time – something she had long refused to do. She lost four of her six sons in Assad’s crackdowns. Her brother, she said, lost two of his three sons.

“They were hoping to finish off all the young men of the country.”

A site believed to be a mass grave for detainees killed under Bashar al-Assad's rule is visible in Najha, south of Damascus, Syria, on Dec. 17, 2024. (AP)

Syrians were tortured with ‘the tire’ and ‘magic carpet’

The tortures had names. One was called the “magic carpet,” where a detainee was strapped to a hinged wooden plank that bends in half, folding his head to his feet, which were then beaten.

Abdul-Karim Hajeko said he endured this five times. His torturers stomped on his back during interrogations at the Criminal Security branch, and his vertebrae are still broken.

“My screams would go to heaven. Once a doctor came down from the fourth floor (to the ground floor) because of my screams,” he said.

He was also put in “the tire.” His legs were bent inside a car tire as interrogators beat his back and feet. Afterward, they ordered him to kiss the tire and thank it for teaching him “how to behave.”

Many prisoners said the tire was inflicted for rule violations -- like making noise, raising one’s head in front of guards, or praying – or for no reason at all.

Saleh Turki Yahia said a cellmate died nearly every day during the seven months in 2012 he was held at the Palestine Branch, a detention facility run by the General Intelligence Agency. He said he was given electric shocks, hanged from his wrists, beaten on his feet. He lost half his body weight and nearly tore his own skin scratching from scabies.

“They broke us,” he said, breaking into tears as he visited the Palestine Branch. “A whole generation is destroyed.”

Documents are scattered around Branch 215, a detention facility run by Bashar al-Assad's regime, in Damascus, Syria, on Dec. 17, 2024. (AP)

The mounting evidence will be used in trials

Now comes the monumental task of accounting for the missing and compiling evidence that could one day be used to prosecute Assad’s officials, whether by Syrian or international courts.

Hundreds of thousands of documents remain scattered throughout detention facilities. Some seen by the AP included transcripts of phone conversations; intelligence files on activists; and a list of hundreds of prisoners killed in detention. At least 15 mass graves have been identified around Damascus and elsewhere around the country.

A UN body known as the International Impartial and Independent Mechanism has offered to help the new interim administration in collecting, organizing and analyzing all the material. Since 2011, it has been compiling evidence and supporting investigations in over 200 criminal cases against figures in Assad’s government.

Many want answers now.

Officials cannot just declare that the missing are presumed dead, said Wafaa Mustafa, a Syrian journalist, whose father was detained and killed 12 years ago.

“No one gets to tell the families what happened without evidence, without search, without work.”