From the moment Sudan's paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) took over the capital of North Darfur, El Fasher after subjecting it to a suffocating siege lasting more than 500 days accounts of the atrocities they were feared to be committing began to follow in quick succession: cases of mass executions, sexual violence, torture, and kidnappings. Most of the testimonies came from those who left the city and managed to reach a safe place from which to recount what they had witnessed.
When I visited the king of Bukumu, Mwami Butsitsi Kahembe IV Isaac, he was dressed in a crisp white caftan, with the skin of a leopard killed by his great-grandfather slung over his shoulders. A crown of matching fur sat on his head, and an ivory-tipped scepter announced his rank. The surroundings were less elegant. The king told me ruefully that his ancestral palace had been destroyed thirty years ago by combatants from the Hutu tribe,
Reading this description, my eyes hung on the charged word "rubble." I learned from White Bird's Executive Director Graham Cole during his curtain speech that I could expect this story to relate to themes of nostalgia and relationship - an interpersonal and psychological "rubble" of sorts, albeit with contemporary geopolitical connotations of war, genocide, and displacement that I found hard to shake.
The building's residents evacuated themselves prior to the arrival of firefighters at 9:32 p.m., authorities said. When the firefighters arrived, they saw smoke coming from a condo on the second floor of a three-story building. Water was also flowing from two sprinkler heads. Firefighters used thermal imaging to make sure that the fire did not spread, authorities said. The firefighters also shut off the sprinkler heads and carried out salvage operations to remove excess water from the building and prevent further property damage.
"Ancestral Home," a quilted work by mother-son duo Mik and May Gaspay, is on display at the Redwood City Art Kiosk, 2208 Broadway St., through Jan. 4, 2026. The installation centers on their family's home in Enrile, The Philippines, which was destroyed by a typhoon. Through cutting, stitching and layering, the Gaspays reconstruct the house as both a personal and collective monument that honors family histories while reflecting on broader experiences of home and displacement.
Sadiq was able to convince the RSF fighters who are fighting the regular army known as the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) to allow his family and his brother's family to flee town. They were among nearly 39,000 people uprooted from the vast Kordofan region due to a sharp uptick in violence between October 26 and November 9, according to the United Nations.
Hundreds of patients and staff massacred at a hospital; unarmed men of fighting age separated and shot at close range; civilians trying to flee stripped of their belongings and extorted for ransom; perpetrators filming much of the violence themselves. The reports of atrocities that have emerged from the Sudanese city of El Fasher since it fell to the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces last weekend follow a familiar pattern.
Rents are too high, homeownership feels out of reach, and too many families are being pushed out of the communities that raised them. Over the past three years, we've expanded affordable homeownership, funded more housing vouchers, and saved 114 units in East Boston from speculation which kept hundreds of neighbors in their homes. But the work isn't finished. I'll continue pushing for innovative housing solutions that build for the inclusion of all families while strengthening community voices in every stage of development.
Abubakr Ahmed was ready to die on the soil he had fought so hard to defend from Sudan's paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF). For 550 days, he fought as a member of the popular resistance, a neighbourhood group formed to help the army and aligned armed groups protect el-Fasher from the RSF, their rival in the two-and-a-half-year civil war. The besieged city was the last army stronghold in the sprawling region of Darfur, until it fell on October 26.
I was in a five-storey building, she explained , speaking from a centre for the displaced in nearby Kharkiv. I don't know whether it was a Russian missile or bomb that hit the building but it started a fire, and when the flames reached my floor, I was stuck because the door was damaged and I couldn't escape. The Ukrainian military, she said, saved her life.
Now working with MSF in Ireland, Mughessib recently reflected on what it means to leave everything behind: You have nothing but your clothes, a mobile phone, a charger, and some money. You're not allowed to take souvenirs of Palestine. Not even sand. When you cross the border, you realise you've lost everything ... My soul is there. My memories are there. My cat is there.
During fighting between Israel and Hezbollah, Nouhad was forced to flee her home in southern Lebanon. While others speak of loss and destruction, the 81-year-old speaks of her beloved olive grove her life's work and a symbol of resilience amid the chaos. But when the Israeli military rains down white phosphorus, burning her beloved trees, she must confront the unbearable truth of losing not just her land, but a part of herself.
