Mutasem Adam (ELP 2022) | Environmental Inspector, Higher Council for Environment, Urban and Rural Promotion, Sudan

In a country exhausted by conflict, where uncertainty has become part of daily life, the natural world still manages to offer quiet signs of resilience. Sudan today faces profound challenges. War has displaced families, broken institutions, and strained communities. The environment, too, is under stress, forests are cut, rivers polluted, and fragile ecosystems pushed to their limits. Yet despite all this, nature has not fallen silent.

Before the current conflict escalated, I was involved in a research project studying biodiversity around urban wetlands and landfill sites in Khartoum. These were far from untouched landscapes, places most people overlook, but even there, life was unfolding. Birds like storks, kites, and other scavengers were adapting, surviving in spaces shaped by human neglect. Observing them reminded me that even where damage runs deep, nature keeps trying to rebuild itself.

Since the war began, most formal environmental work has paused. Offices are shut. Colleagues are scattered. Yet in small ways, the work continues. Notes are still written. Conversations about nature still take place with students and young people. Walking through abandoned or degraded areas still sparks ideas for what might grow there one day.

I’ve met displaced families who, even after losing nearly everything, still protect their small gardens or manage scarce firewood carefully. In rural Sudan, especially in war affected areas, women carry much of the burden of managing land and water. Their knowledge passed from one generation to the next, keeps farms running, water conserved, and households going. They are the quiet guardians of sustainability, even in times of crisis.

I often think about a neem tree my grandmother planted outside our home decades ago. She once told me, “This tree will see things we won’t. One day, someone will rest in its shade.” That tree is still there, battered by drought, but alive. Each time I see it, I feel her message: care for what comes after you, no matter the circumstances.

The idea of a peaceful Sudan, where protecting nature is part of rebuilding the country, feels more urgent than ever. Clean water, fresh air, fertile soil, these are not luxuries. They’re the foundations of recovery. True peace must include them.

Faith, too, plays a role in this journey. Faith in the young people who keep asking good questions. Faith in the land, which is patient, waiting to heal. Faith that even small acts, collecting seeds, sharing knowledge, protecting a tree, can lead to bigger change.

What drives me to keep going isn’t recognition or grand achievements. It’s the simple moments: when a child learns the name of a bird, or a community plants a tree together. These moments remind me that environmental work is about people, their dignity, their health, and their bond with the land.

Despite all the pain and setbacks, I believe Sudan will recover. And when that time comes, we’ll need more than roads and buildings, we’ll need forests restored, rivers cleaned, and the trust between people and nature rebuilt. I see environmental care as part of our collective healing. That belief keeps me moving forward.

On this Earth Day, Sudan’s message to the world is clear: there is still life. There is still beauty. And as long as those exist, there is something worth defending.