Oliver Conway

Throughout the past three years, my phone has mostly been silent.

After I inserted the SIM card, my tears flowed.

When his phone sprang to life, it was pinging with three years of messages.

News of colleagues who died.

A few days ago, a friend called me saying he thought I had died.

Some people had told him that I was in Port Sudan.

So he called me, but he didn't believe it until I called him back by video.

Then he broke down in tears.

Mohamed had been trapped in the western city of Al-Fasher, an epicenter of the war.

From the beginning, communications were very unstable because of the fighting.

But that became a full blackout when the paramilitary rapid support forces laid siege to the city.

In some ways, the silence was almost as deadly as the violence.

He felt suffocated as he watched people, including children, die of hunger, thirst and disease.

He was unable to call and warn others when he saw drones coming.

Once, a shell narrowly missed him, but he lay still for half an hour, clutching his useless phone.

And when the RSF finally took over the city in October last year, the relentless daily trauma exploded into apocalyptic scenes.

The scenes of displacement are indescribable.

It was like the Day of Judgment on earth.

We saw dead children in the streets.

We saw women crying from extreme hunger and thirst.