BBCWarning: This story contains details some may find distressing
A 17-year-old Sudanese girl holds a young child in her arms with a heavy calm that belies her age and the concerns she has for his future.
“This son of mine has no father, no birth certificate and no national number,” Amira, whose name has been changed to protect her identity, tells the BBC.
Looking down at him, she speaks slowly as if still trying to grasp the details of what has happened to her since the civil war erupted in Sudan.
El-Fasher was the army’s last stronghold in the western region of Darfur until it fell to the RSF and allied Arab militias after 18 months last October.
For the tens of thousands of civilians trapped inside the city, it was a nightmare – with constant bombardment, clashes and suffering from a lack of food.
In the end Amira and her family decided to flee early in 2025, desperate to find a safer area.
But as they snuck out on a road south-west of the city, she says she was abducted by three armed men from the RSF and held captive.
“They blindfolded me and took me to the Tabit area south of el-Fasher. I was locked in a room for two months, and every day one of them raped me in turn,” she recounts in a low voice
After weeks in captivity, she discovered she was pregnant and became very sick.
Amira says when the men wanted to get rid of her, they dropped her near the area she had been captured.
It was with the help of other people fleeing el-Fasher that she was taken to receive medical help.
Months later, at a humanitarian hub that was not under RSF control, she gave birth at a hospital run by the International Medical Corps.
There she received some support from a Sudanese aid organisation – the Nada Al-Azhar Foundation for Disaster Prevention and Sustainable Development (Nada).
The group was also able to find her family, who had made it to a camp where hundreds of thousands of people from el-Fasher have sought refuge.
It was a huge relief for them all to be reunited, but the family still face challenges – one being that eight months after giving birth, Amira has been unable to register her son’s birth.
“Even getting a birth notification from the hospital requires information that doesn’t exist,” says Amira, explaining that she is unable to provide any details about the child’s father.
Without this she cannot organise any official recognition of the baby’s legal identity.
“I can’t get him vaccinated, or enrol him in nursery or school,” she says.
“I’m afraid for his future because he isn’t registered at all. My economic situation is very difficult, and I can’t afford his treatment or care. I can’t even go to work for fear of being exposed to violence again.”
According to Nada, Amira’s story is not an isolated case, but part of a reality repeated in areas experiencing conflict across Sudan.
This is because many children are being born in complex circumstances, often without the knowledge of the father – meaning their births cannot be registered, explains Abu Bakr Yousif Yaqoub, Nada’s director of protection programmes.
“Registering a child requires identity information, a national number and a birth certificate. But when the father is absent or unknown, it becomes extremely difficult,” he tells the BBC from el-Fasher.
“The mother is often alone, and sometimes she herself is still a child who needs care, which limits her ability to care for her baby.
“There are also health challenges related to the lack of follow-up on essential vaccinations, which begin at birth and continue through the child’s early years.”
He warns that this situation does not just affect a child’s early years but extends to their future education and as an adult being able to travel or obtain official documents.
It is not easy to obtain data about the number of children that have been born as a result of rape in Sudan.
According to Nada’s director general, Shaza Ahmed, this comes down to social stigma as the true numbers are not recorded.
“Women who experience such assaults do not feel comfortable reporting them,” she tells the BBC, speaking from Port Sudan, an army-held city in the east of Sudan.
“Unfortunately, most of the mothers of these children are themselves children – girls under the age of 18. Therefore, they cannot make the decision to go officially to court or the police, as they need a guardian to accompany them.”
She notes that 90% of the cases recorded by her organisation involve families refusing to allow official reporting of the sexual assaults that led to pregnancy.
“As a Sudanese woman, my greatest fear and concern for children born as a result of rape is that we are facing a whole generation that will live under stigma, danger and fear,” Ahmed says.
“These children will not receive respect from society, their well-being will not be truly protected, and above all, they will not have access to services or their rights.”
For Ahmed they are not being treated as if they are “fully human”, even though Sudanese law does grant all children the right to obtain an identity.
Sudanese lawyer Majida Idris explains that the Child Act of 2010 allows for the registration of children born outside marriage.
But it relies on the mother being willing to file a report that she has been assaulted – because this kick starts the registration process.
Once reported, the case is then referred to social services for documentation, before being sent to the civil registry, where the child is registered under the mother’s name and given a full legal name according to procedures.
However, Idris says that the reality during war is completely different, especially in Darfur, where the ongoing conflict has led to the collapse of civil services and the shutdown of civil registry offices, leaving thousands of children unregistered.
“The absence of documents does not just mean the absence of a piece of paper – it means denying the child access to education, healthcare and legal recognition,” she tells the BBC.
The lawyer says it is imperative to reactivate civil registry offices in accessible areas and intensify legal efforts to ensure children obtain their right to identity and legal recognition.
Amira and her child remain in Darfur – and therefore in administrative limbo.
Her mother admits that the lack of paperwork for her grandson is a worry.
Yet for the moment the family is overwhelmed with gratitude to have found one another again.
Amira has also been offered emotional and psychological support sessions and other advice by Nada – which is a comfort to the family.
“I was so extremely worried until I found her. I hadn’t been eating or drinking,” Amira’s mother told the BBC.
“The reunion was like a miracle from God. To see our daughter back sitting among us is a gift and blessing that could not be thanked enough for.”
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