Finding joy in the face of war

In a hall in Al-Salam, a neighbourhood in northern Cairo, guests await the bride and groom. Drums and flutes fill the air, and fireworks explode overhead—meant as an expression of joy, for some guests, the sharp bangs take them back to the horrors of the civil war they fled. That war has devastated their country and created one of the world's worst humanitarian crises.

The bride and groom enter the hall. They want to offer guests a moment of joy, even if only a fleeting one. Many of those present have endured personal tragedies.

Mohammed*, the groom, receives the congratulations of his guests. He has lived in Cairo for over twenty years. His wedding was delayed by the war—Salma*, the bride, had to wait in Khartoum for months before she could follow him to Cairo. The wedding is a long-awaited celebration.

A joy that knows no bounds

Most of the guests film on their phones, broadcasting the celebrations live to Sudan so that their relatives who stayed behind can follow along.

According to UN figures, Egypt has taken in more than 1.5 million Sudanese refugees since the outbreak of war in April 2023. Tens of thousands of people have died in Sudan, which the UN says is home to the highest number of internally displaced persons worldwide.

The fervour reaches its peak as singer Amr Omar enters the hall. His voice fills the room with some of Sudan's most beautiful songs. It's a moment of lightness—every worry seems to disappear. 

Amr himself fled to Egypt in 2023 to escape the war. He still vividly remembers the moment when the suffering began. "We were caught up in the fighting in Omdurman. It happened in the middle of Ramadan, right as we were breaking our fast. That's when the flight and displacement began. The celebrations we used to have disappeared."

"I was lucky," he adds. "My brother has been living here for 15 years. When I arrived in Cairo, his networks and contacts helped me a lot. After I received official permission, I resumed my work: I wanted to revive Sudanese celebrations."

He found success quickly. Sudanese refugees increasingly settled in the traditionally poorer working-class neighbourhoods like Al-Malik Faisal in Giza, a district south of Cairo where Amr now lives. The neighbourhood reminds him of Omdurman, a city where Egyptians and Sudanese live together.

"I can't just give up my profession"

Amr's mission was far from easy—the bad news from Sudan kept coming and weighed heavily on him. "On stage, I learned to separate my personal feelings from my work. In times of war, everyone needs a little joy—even if only for brief moments."

On 5 April 2024 the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) attacked the building of the Sudanese Musical Professions Union in Khartoum. It was looted and destroyed and has since come to symbolise the plight of cultural workers in Sudan, many of whom have been killed, displaced or silenced.

With the outbreak of war and the end of public celebrations, musicians' livelihoods have vanished. Many were forced to flee to neighbouring Arab countries to continue their work. Those who stayed face a bleak future. According to the African Centre for Justice and Peace Studies, more than 55 artists were killed between the start of the war and September 2024.

"I can't just give up my profession, no matter how difficult the circumstances," says Amr. "Just like an engineer or a journalist wouldn't." He, too, is a member of the Musicians' Union. "We have families and responsibilities."

The longing to return to Sudan never subsides, though Amr says he has never felt a stranger in Egypt, and has even performed at two Egyptian weddings as a singer. There, he noticed how much Egyptian audiences appreciate Sudanese music.

Like Amr, Youssef Mansour, known by his stage name "Kenan", also ended up in Egypt. One of Sudan's best-known musicians, he endured three months of the war's brutality before managing to escape.

Kenan began his professional music career in 2019, after years as a hobby singer in his hometown of Bahri. By that time, he had already built a large fan base. Then the war brought his rise to an abrupt halt.

Soon after arriving in Cairo, he returned to music. Within a week, he was performing at evening events in cafés popular with the Sudanese community. As emotionally difficult as it is, singing remains his only source of income. "We're all trying to heal our wounds," he says. "Despite the war, people still get married—life doesn't wait."

Challenges in exile

Despite Kenan's efforts to start his life anew in exile, grief still weighs him down. Three times he has received news of young men from his neighbourhood, Al-Hilla, who have died. It hit hard every time.

On one occasion, he received the news during a performance. "It struck like lighting", he says. "But the bride and groom weren't to blame for my pain. I finished the show as planned, then went home to cry."

Kenan finds comfort in singing—a way to breathe again. He is active on social media, regularly sharing clips of his performances, with a repertoire ranging from traditional to modern Sudanese music. "In the years before the war, Sudanese music was going through a real revival and getting widespread support," he says. 

But life as a refugee artist in Egypt is not easy. Like many Sudanese musicians, Kenan faces the challenge of having no legal framework for his work. To perform, he needs an expensive and temporary permit from the Egyptian art authority.

"We hope our situation as refugees will be taken into account," Kenan says. "I'm not asking for all rules to be waived—just for the introduction of a work permit that allows us to pay taxes monthly or annually, in a regular way."

Both Kenan and Amr dream of the day they can once again perform at weddings and celebrations back home. The return of the Musicians' Union, which was able to reopen its doors after the Sudanese army regained control of Khartoum in March 2025, has given them some hope. They share a deep longing for life—and with it, joy—to once again blossom in Sudan.

*Names have been changed at the request of those interviewed.

This text is an edited translation of the Arabic original.