“We kept saying that this is just a matter of time,” remembers Yousif in an interview with OkayAfrica. “But day after day, and week after week, it’s still the same. The director of Goodbye Julia, Mohamed Kordofani, kept telling me to go to Cairo and apply for a visa to France, so I could celebrate. But how could I leave my family, my hometown and friends, and go somewhere uncertain, not knowing if I can come back?”

She eventually convinced her family to leave and, like thousands of other Sudanese, made the dangerous journey from Khartoum to Dongola, from Dongola to Halfa, from Halfa to Aswan, and from Aswan to Cairo.

Filmmaker and content creator Shehab Satti tells a similar story. His family was stranded at home without water or electricity for over 50 days, clinging to hope that the conflict would end. They eventually moved to a neighboring state, but the war zone expanded.

“We became more concerned about the possibility of the war reaching the new state we had migrated to,” shares Satti. Having left their home behind in June 2023, they only made it to Cairo in January 2024, because one family member’s passport had expired; it took four months to get a new one, followed by four months of waiting for the Egyptian visa.

“I can’t define a particular sensation about this journey,” says Yousif. “I’ve had a passion for acting since my childhood and Sudan doesn’t have a rich filmmaking industry, so sometimes I find myself happy, because I left to follow my dreams. But then, I get a flashback: sitting with my luggage and relatives in a van, crossing the border to somewhere uncertain. And I love Sudan, you know, I really love Sudan.”

​When Yousif and Satti arrived in Cairo, they learned that most Sudanese creatives were struggling to find work, because the Egyptian creative industry is over-saturated, more aggressive, and run through personal relationships.

“The effects of the war and the responsibilities placed on young people have made their artistic activism less visible in favor of seeking financial stability,” says Satti. “However, when they find financial support through grants, they express their ideas and feelings in distinctive and creative artistic works.”

Hadeel Osman, a creative director, cultural manager, and sustainable fashion consultant, shares Satti’s observations about the difficulties of being a Sudanese artist in Egypt. She was on holiday visiting her parents in Cairo when the war broke out, and was forced to stay, unable to say goodbye to her home and country.

Alongside other friends who had also been visiting from Khartoum, Osman helped welcome those who arrived as refugees. “We would meet and create safe spaces for them to let it all out,” she says. “We’d talk about the experience of leaving, remember good moments, or discuss projects that were supposed to happen and now had to be reimagined.”

In August 2023, Osman became the cultural programmer of Goethe-Institut’s Sudan Hub in Cairo, which brought together 50 Sudanese artists, 40 of whom were now in exile. “We organized film screenings and panels, because Sudanese people love to talk,” she jokes. The panels discussed Sudanese identity within displacement, how art can contribute to peacebuilding, and the importance of film.

“Our films show the Sudan that we’ll never see again,” explains Osman. “They have become archival material, whether it’s a documentary or fiction. For example, they show important landmarks of Khartoum that are nearly erased now. ”

Building new lives in Cairo has not been easy. Egypt was suffering from an economic crisis before the outbreak of the war, and property prices have skyrocketed with the arrival of those who had to leave their homes behind in Khartoum. “The contrast between April 2023 and April 2024 is like being in a whole other place,” says Osman. Cairo is not as kind as it used to be when she visited it as a guest, she says. Nairobi, the other major African city Sudanese artists relocated to, has a reputation of being more welcoming.

“Cairo is a beautiful and enchanting city, but it's difficult for it to become the alternative choice for stability,” agrees Satti. “Some view Sudanese people negatively, as if they are the cause of all their economic problems and other accumulations of misconceptions due to their failure to read our reality correctly.” Both Satti and Osman also mention an increase in racism.

Whether they had to brave the journey through the desert, witness it through family and friends, or lost loved ones, every Sudanese has suffered since the beginning of this war. “So many artists came from Sudan to Cairo, and all need support,” says Yousif. “I hate to say this, but when I see Sudanese people in the streets, they are like ghosts. We are in shock and we can’t just move on without dealing with it.”

The Sudan Hub organized a program where Egyptian mentors were paired with Sudanese artists, to help them assimilate into Cairo’s creative scene, but a general lack of awareness forces the Sudanese to explain themselves and their art constantly. “They would have to explain why they’re not able to get out of bed,” says Osman. “The majority [of Egyptians] don’t necessarily get it. And we’ve done as much as we can to translate it. We want to be recognised as equal humans.”

For many Sudanese, moving to Egypt meant balancing the paradox of being in a country that speaks the same language and has similar customs whilst being othered and not receiving the respect they give. “I wish there were more programs and institutions that are willing to take a chance on Sudanese artists,” says Osman. “They’re hardworking and willing to do whatever it takes to create a better living situation for themselves.”