Under a punishing mid‑morning sun, Souad Abdallah cradles her infant and stares at a freshly opened pit in al‑Baraka square on the eastern fringe of Sudan’s capital.
Moments earlier the hole had served as the hurried grave of her husband – one of hundreds of people buried in playgrounds, traffic islands and vacant lots during Sudan’s two‑year war.
Seven months ago, Abdallah could not risk the sniper fire and checkpoints that ringed Khartoum’s official cemeteries. Today she is handed her husband’s remains in a numbered white body‑bag so he can receive the dignity of a proper burial.
She is not alone. Families gather at the square, pointing out makeshift graves – “my brother lies here... my mother there” – before forensic teams lift 118 bodies and load them onto flat‑bed trucks known locally as dafaar.
The Sudanese war erupted on 15 April 2023 when the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) and the army clashed for control of Khartoum, quickly spreading to its suburbs, notably Omdurman. More than 500 civilians died in the first days and thousands more have been killed since, although no official tally exists.
The army recaptured the capital on 20 May 2025, but the harder task, officials say, is re‑burying thousands of bodies scattered in mass graves, streets and public squares.
“For the next 40 days we expect to move about 7,000 bodies from across Khartoum to public cemeteries,” Dr. Hisham Zein al‑Abideen, the city’s chief forensic pathologist, told Asharq Al-Awsat. He said his teams, working with the Sudanese Red Crescent, have already exhumed and re-interred some 3,500 bodies and located more than 40 mass graves.
One newly discovered site at the International University of Africa in southern Khartoum contains about 7,000 RSF fighters spread over a square‑kilometer area, he added.
Abdallah, a mother of three, recalled to Asharq Al-Awsat how a stray bullet pierced her bedroom window and killed her husband. “We buried him at night, without witnesses and without a wake,” she said. “Today I am saying goodbye again this time with honor.”
Nearby, Khadija Zakaria wept as workers unearthed her sister. “She died of natural causes, but we were barred from the cemetery, so we buried her here,” she said. Her niece and brother‑in‑law were laid in other improvised graves and are also awaiting transfer.
Exhumations can be grim. After finishing at al‑Baraka, the team drives to al‑Fayhaa district, where the returning owner of an abandoned house has reported a desiccated corpse in his living room. Neighbors said it is a Rapid Support Forces (RSF) fighter shot by comrades. In another case, a body is pulled from an irrigation canal and taken straight to a cemetery.
Social media rumors that authorities demand hefty fees for re‑burials are untrue, Dr. Zein al‑Abideen stressed. “Transporting the remains is free. It is completely our responsibility,” he added. The forensic crews rotate in two shifts to cope with the fierce heat.
Asked how they cope with the daily horror, one member smiled wanly over a cup of tea, saying: “We are human. We try to find solutions amid the tragedy. If it were up to us, no family would have to mourn twice.”
Khartoum today is burying bodies – and memories. “We are laying our dead to rest and, with them, part of the pain,” Abdallah said as she left the square, her child asleep on her shoulder. “I buried my husband twice, but we have not forgotten him for a single day. Perhaps now he can finally rest in peace.”
