The Sudan War series is a joint collaboration between the Center for Economic, Legal, and Social Studies and Documentation - Khartoum (CEDEJ-K), Sudan-Norway Academic Cooperation (SNAC) and African Arguments - Debating Ideas. Through a number of themes that explore the intersections of war, displacement, identities and capital, Sudanese researchers, many of whom are themselves displaced, highlight their own experiences, the unique dynamisms within the larger communities affected by war, and readings of their possible futures.
When war broke out in Khartoum in April 2023, the city's population was estimated at nearly 9 million people. Khartoum was not only the political and bureaucratic centre but also the economic hub of the country, housing most of the nation's physical infrastructure, service sector, and a majority of the factories in an industrial sector dominated by the food industry. The fate of this vast population, whose livelihoods were deeply intertwined with the city's formal and informal economic channels, following the overnight disintegration of the city, remains unimaginable.
I trace the dynamics that shaped the livelihood experiences of the millions displaced from Khartoum by focusing on the stories of displaced women in the cottage industries, particularly cottage food production. Cottage industry is understood as home-based, low added-value production of goods such as textiles and processed food, using simple methods and tools. The homebound nature of this industry has historically led to its association with women and the marginalization of its importance as a means of livelihood and self-sufficiency. While traditionally considered a rural endeavour, its urban significance is rising due to the precariousness of communities in the rapidly growing cities of the global South. These cities have an increasing share of economic migrants, conflict, and climate-displaced people turning to a myriad of informal activities.
While detailed regulatory frameworks for cottage industries exist in many contexts, particularly within the food sector, this is not the case in Sudan. Most of these endeavours can be classified within the urban informal economy, based on the common definition of informality. This typically refers to activities that operate with minimal organization, often characterized as production units owned by individuals or family units that are not legally constituted as entities independent of their owners. Currently, it is estimated that approximately 65 percent of total employment in Africa falls within the informal sector.
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Research on urban informality highlights its significant role and deep integration within cities across the global South. It also reveals a diverse range of actors, shedding light on their roles, interactions, and strategies. Furthermore, it uncovers how various groups navigate both opportunities for livelihoods and social advancement, while contending with exploitation and exclusion across multiple domains.
Two stories of displacement: manoeuvring survival
Nadia and Hala[i] both fled the war in Khartoum and took refuge in Port Sudan, Sudan's administrative capital, following the outbreak of armed conflict in Khartoum. Along with their families, they arrived in the city with nothing but hopes for security and a better livelihood. Their passion and experience with cooking led them to start small cottage food businesses - two adventures that took starkly different paths.
Nadia
Nadia, in her late forties, is originally from Khartoum North. After the war broke out, she left the area for a safer one in Eastern Nile locality in Khartoum, then went to Shendi in River Nile state, before arriving in Port Sudan. Nadia has a high school diploma, and she knows how to cook a wide range of foods both traditional and Western. She initially learnt cooking skills from her grandmother and aunt. Later she joined the cooking classes that were organized in the early 2000s by Sayga, a subsidiary of the Sudanese conglomerate Dal Group. The group's concentration of activities in the capital exemplifies the preference of major private players for better-developed urban infrastructure and skilled labour hubs, further exacerbating the hyper-centralization of the Sudanese economy.
When she first arrived in Port Sudan, she had no family or friends and was in financial distress, having borrowed money for her trip from a neighbour. She couldn't rely on the males in the family - her married sister had lost her husband just before the war, and their two brothers, who work for the security forces, rarely communicate as they are involved in the ongoing conflict. Nadia is staying at a centrally located shelter for displaced people, where NGOs and well-to-do business folks provide support such as water, electricity, and, on rare occasions, food supplies.
When she first arrived in Port Sudan, she used to make fresh food at home and sell it at a small restaurant she opened with her sisters. A few days after arriving in Port Sudan with her mother, two sisters, and their kids, she met someone who knew her cousin. He agreed to finance their new restaurant in exchange for a 50/50 profit split. He took them to the market to buy utensils, chairs, and other necessities for the restaurant.
They opened the restaurant downtown. For a while they were offering local cuisine such as foul, falafel, lentils, potato with minced meat, taglia (pound meat and dried okra stew), and other dishes. They prepared more complex meals at home and travelled to the restaurant by rickshaw each morning and evening. They were selling well; however, they found Port Sudan to be very expensive and their revenue was consumed by expenses. "In Khartoum, everything was much cheaper - vegetables, tools, utensils, furniture. We thought Port Sudan, being next to the port, would offer cheaper and better-quality canned and imported food, but we were wrong. It's much more expensive", Nadia explained.
Later, they had to limit the menu to foul and falafel, as their daily profit didn't exceed 5,000-6,000 SDG (around US$ 2-2.5 at the time), the same as the cost of a kilogramme of potatoes. "If we increase the prices, our clients can't afford it, and if we reduce the portion, they complain," Nadia clarified. Worse still, many acquaintances from their neighbourhood in Khartoum were nearby, and they offered them meals for free, unable to charge people they knew.
Seeing that the project wasn't making enough profit to share with the funder, they decided to join a revolving fund (Sandog) to pay back the initial amount they borrowed to start the business, around one million Sudanese pounds (around US$ 400). When their mother got sick, they had to use the money saved in Sandog for her treatment. Feeling embarrassed, they communicated with the funder and explained, "We feel the way this partnership is going is not fair to you," and they returned the assets he had bought for them.
Hala
Hala arrived from Khartoum to Port Sudan with her mom and siblings over a year ago, not possessing more than 13,000 pounds (US$ 4.50). She is in her mid-thirties and holds a university degree in Information Technology. A month after arriving, she decided to start a food business. With a passion for cooking and experience of running small businesses in Khartoum, she aimed to offer a unique packaging for catering services, using transparent boxes instead of the common opaque aluminium ones. "I wanted people to say, 'Oh God, this is something very beautiful.' You know the eye eats first," Hala said. She took a very small loan from a friend to buy the necessary ingredients and packaging for only three agashi (grilled pounded meat) plates. She packaged them in transparent boxes and posted them on Facebook. She immediately received orders for 53 boxes and cried with joy.
Since then, Hala's business has been expanding. Initially, she provided catering services for NGO events like workshops and training sessions, which increased after the collapse of state infrastructures, shifting basic services to the humanitarian sector. Her business gradually grew into a well-known, home-based catering brand that serves big and small events, from weddings and personal celebrations to long-term NGO sessions, tourism companies, and daily catering for hospital and company staff.
Her success was further boosted by a grant from a small business incubator, which allowed her to own stakes in a cake factory. The company supported Hala and other female food producers with this grant, while retaining 51 percent ownership of the cake factory. Nevertheless, she is still operating from home with the assistance of four helpers. She orders the necessary equipment from Egypt, and her meticulous packaging ideas are air-shipped regularly from Saudi Arabia and the UAE.
The informal spectrum
Hala's quick integration into local and even regional markets contrasts with Nadia's struggle to maintain modest revenues. Despite Nadia's fortuitous partnership with a willing funder, her relatively larger initial capital, and her longer experience in the food industry, the value generated by her food production couldn't cover her family's basic needs for food or medical treatment for her elderly mother. Nadia's clients struggled with affordability, and the same social network that initially enabled her business came to haunt her. The increasing economic hardship of Nadia's client base not only limited her price range but also strained the traditional balance of social support and reciprocity.
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In response to my question about their interest in finding a formal and stable job, Nadia replied, "No, if I find the tools and finance, I would rather make food. Marginal jobs pay better." While Hala said, "No, business is better than a formal job. I prefer my home-based work; it is very convenient and profitable." Although their answers are similar, their wording - a "marginal job" versus a "business" - reflects the varying cultural capital they carry and the imaginaries it evokes. This imaginary enabled Hala to analyse the catering market of the small city, envision its alternatives, and connect with the appropriate network of clients and suppliers to bring her vision to life.
Their contrasting trajectories highlight the adaptability of informal practices across varying social strata, reflecting their ability to navigate different challenges and opportunities, echoing Ananya Roy's argument that informality is not synonymous with precarity and is not merely a survival strategy for the poor. Rather than being a sector separate from the formal economy, Roy suggests it should be viewed as a "mode of urbanization," characterized by a series of transactions linking different economies and spaces.
Endnote
[i] Pseudonyms are used here.
Debating Ideas reflects the values and editorial ethos of the African Arguments book series, publishing engaged, often radical, scholarship, original and activist writing from within the African continent and beyond. It offers debates and engagements, contexts and controversies, and reviews and responses flowing from the African Arguments books. It is edited and managed by the International African Institute, hosted at SOAS University of London, the owners of the book series of the same name.
Razaz Basheir is a PhD candidate at the African Center for Cities-University of Cape Town and a researcher at ISTinaD center-Khartoum.
