Amid the devastation of Sudan’s civil war, the Jebel Marra mountain in Darfur stand as a surreal oasis — a pocket of peace and fertility in a country gripped by famine and fear. Each morning, women wrapped in bright fabrics set out on donkeys, children trailing behind, to tend to fields that defy the crisis engulfing the nation. In this Mediterranean-like climate, the soil yields peanuts, apples, strawberries and the famously juicy oranges once prized across Sudan. Yet, while crops still flourish here, the people who grow them are trapped in isolation.
Across the rest of Sudan, two and a half years of brutal fighting between the army and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) have decimated farms, markets and supply chains. According to the United Nations, nearly 25 million Sudanese — half the population — are facing severe food shortages, with over 600,000 on the brink of famine. But in Jebel Marra, the tragedy is inverted: food is abundant, yet largely inaccessible.
Hafiz Ali, an orange vendor in the mountain town of Golo, says his produce often rots before reaching buyers. “We almost sell them for free,” he laments. The dirt roads are treacherous, and the surrounding insecurity makes transport nearly impossible. The region is controlled by the Sudan Liberation Army–Abdulwahid (SLA-AW), a rebel group that has remained neutral since its early conflict with Khartoum in 2003. For two decades, it has held these “liberated areas,” now surrounded on all sides by warring factions — the RSF to the west, north, and east, and the army to the south.
With roads blocked and markets cut off, traders are forced to sell locally or risk perilous journeys through conflict zones. The market at Tawila, on the edge of SLA-AW territory, has become a refuge for displaced families and farmers trying to sell their surplus. Prices there have plummeted because so many are desperate to offload goods. Some middlemen attempt to smuggle produce into el-Fasher, 130 km away, but the risks are deadly. “A 12-kilometre drive takes a whole day through the mud and mountains,” says Yousif, a fruit vendor. “Now, even that has become dangerous.”
A fragile truce between the Fur ethnic group and Arab nomads has reopened limited trade in certain pockets of Central Darfur. In the SLA-AW-controlled town of Nertiti, markets now operate once a week, bringing together Arab milk sellers and Fur fruit farmers. Yet armed robberies persist, and travel remains unsafe. In RSF-controlled Zalingei, the state capital, traders face frequent harassment at the hands of militias, despite denials of wrongdoing. On market days, the 130 km stretch between Nertiti and Zalingei can host more than two dozen checkpoints — each one demanding payment or negotiation.
Even within the highlands, life is marked by hardship. SLA-AW fighters man their own checkpoints, confiscating goods deemed contraband — even something as harmless as skin-lightening cream. Meanwhile, trucks filled with civilians fleeing bombardments in el-Fasher arrive daily, seeking safety and food. In Golo, classrooms have turned into shelters for displaced families. One woman, a nurse who escaped el-Fasher, now shares a single room with 25 families. “We have no income, no jobs,” she says. “I can farm, but the land belongs to others. We don’t know what to do.”
Around her, children cry from hunger as elderly people lie weak on the floor — a haunting contrast to the abundance of fruit just outside. The oranges that once fed Sudan’s markets now feed the displaced, trapped in the only region where war has not destroyed the fields but has destroyed everything around them.
In Jebel Marra’s emerald hills, the war feels distant yet inescapable. Farmers continue to sow and harvest, clinging to their crops as symbols of endurance. “We’re not part of the war,” says one weary fruit trader. “We just want to sell our oranges.”
