Our past is sad, our present is bad, and our future is unknown, so we don’t want to stay here!!
This powerful slogan, held aloft during ongoing protests at the Agadez Humanitarian Center in Niger, captures the despair of the thousands stranded in this so-called “humanitarian” shelter. For over seven years, these refugees—primarily fleeing Sudan’s ongoing violence—have endured neglect, lack of protection, and fear. As they demand their basic rights through peaceful demonstrations, their plight is largely ignored by UNHCR, Nigerien government and the global community
Far from being a sanctuary, the Agadez center has devolved into what many describe as an open-air prison, a containment zone. Refugees fleeing genocide, civil war, and persecution in countries like Sudan, Chad, and Eritrea find themselves stranded in this desolate location with no clear future.
With no end in sight to their suffering, the refugees penned a heartfelt letter to the UNHCR and the international community, pleading for attention and action.
A Desperate Letter to the World
With no end in sight to their suffering, on November 22, 2024, the refugees penned an open letter to the UNHCR and the international community. Their plea is as heartbreaking as it is urgent:
"To the UNHCR and humanitarian organizations. To the concerned parties with human rights,
We are the refugees in the humanitarian Center in Agadez inside the state of Niger, we are addressing you today from the depths of pain and suffering that have extended for many years. For more than seven years, we have been living in this humanitarian Center , where we face a harsh and unbearable environment in the absence of the most basic elements of a decent life. In each season of the year, the conditions change, but the pain and suffering remain the same.
Women, children, and patients live without hope. There is no sufficient treatment for patients who suffer in silence, no education for children who have lost their childhood in the tents, and women who struggle to maintain their families in the absence of security and care.
We are refugees, we fled our countries due to threat and forced displacement and came to Niger to seek safety and security, but in these days we are threatened by CNE officials because of the peaceful protest in which we demand our rights as refugees. Now we are afraid and terrified, so we do not want to stay here and we can not return to our country that is witnessing devastating wars that make returning to it impossible. We fled to Libya in search of safety, but we found ourselves trapped in a more severe situation. We entered its dark prisons and were subjected to the most heinous types of psychological and physical torture.
As the suffering worsened, we came to Niger in search of security and to live in a suitable humane environment, but we found the opposite in Niger. We lived for seven years in a barren and inhumane environment and conditions. It is unfortunate that our country today lives in a spiral of conflicts and disputes that force us to remain in exile. However, life in Agadez Center is no less tragic than the one we fled from. We are stuck between a homeland that cannot be returned to and a humanitarian center that cannot be lived in. The sad thing is that the world sees us but does not hear our Screams , as if we live in the shadows of crises that make headlines, while we are just numbers on waiting lists.
We demand our rights as human beings, our right to treatment, our children's right to education, and our women's right to safety. We ask for nothing more than a decent life that preserves our humanity. Our suffering has been prolonged, and we have begun to feel that the world has forgotten our existence.
We appeal to you to pay attention to our case, to raise our voices to those who can provide assistance. The Agadez Humanitarian Center has become a slow killer, and the situation cannot be postponed. We cannot return to our countries because of the wars, and we cannot stay in this place that robs us of our lives day after day.
So, we, the refugees in Agadez Center , have decided to start demanding our legitimate rights in a peaceful way. This is done through protests inside the humanitarian center and in front of the UNHCR office inside the humanitarian center. It is worth noting that the protests began on Sunday, September 22, 2024, and will continue until our simple demands are met. We do not want to stay here, we deserve to live like every human being.
We hope that , all organizations working in the humanitarian field, and all countries that embrace humanity, will look into our matter, we say it with all weakness and brokenness. We need your urgent support. Do not let us be forgotten, we are human beings, we have the right to a decent life.
With pain and hope, Refugees at the Humanitarian Center in Agadez"
It is evident that the refugees who are stuck in this open air prison labelled as humanitarian shelter have indeed the most terrible and unbearable past from the Darfur genocide to the current Sudanese crisis which started with the ousting of Sudan's former President Omar al-Bashir in the 2019 Sudanese uprising.
Stories from the Shadows
The refugees in Agadez are not faceless victims. They are individuals with harrowing stories of survival, resistance and profound loss.
The Journey of Mo’taz Mokhtar Abkar
Mo’taz Mokhtar Abkar was just 15 when his life was shattered. In 2017, militias stormed his family’s home in Sudan, killing loved ones before his eyes. Fleeing the chaos, Mo’taz escaped to Libya, where his suffering only deepened. Forced to work on a farm under constant abuse and starvation, he faced daily beatings and exploitation.
“I had no money to escape. I had no strength to fight. I was forced to work without food, without rest,” he recounts.
After two years, Mo’taz found work in a car workshop but endured the same brutal conditions, with smoke and toxic fumes damaging his eyesight. Eventually, he escaped with the help of a fellow Sudanese refugee and reached Niger in 2021.
Today, Mo’taz remains trapped in the Agadez Humanitarian Center. “I have lost everything—my parents, my brother, and so many others. I have been here for years, but no one has offered me a solution. I am a refugee, but I feel invisible,” he says. “I do not want to lose my life, too.”
Aboubaker’s Endless Struggle
Aboubaker Al-Siddiq Abkar Yahya’s life has been defined by relentless displacement. From the burning of his hometown in Darfur to the torturous detention camps of Libya, his journey is a testament to human endurance. Despite his degree in economics, Aboubaker’s potential has been squandered by years of confinement in Agadez.
“I came here seeking safety, but I found nothing but suffering,” he explains. His health deteriorates daily, with eye conditions threatening his vision. “If this is what being a refugee means, I don’t know how much longer I can survive.”
Nadia’s Fight for Her Child
For Nadia Ali, safety has always been just out of reach. Pregnant during Sudan’s war, she fled to find medical care, only to face displacement, hunger, and terror. Her newborn child survived the journey to Niger, but Nadia lives in constant fear for her baby’s future.
“I held my child close as bullets flew over our heads,” she recalls. “Now, I look at him and wonder if he will ever know peace.”
The Agadez Humanitarian Center: A Broken Promise
Established in 2017 with funding from the European Union, the Agadez Humanitarian Center was intended as a transit point for refugees awaiting resettlement. Instead, it has become a place where hope goes to die.
Refugees reported the conditions in the camp as follows:
Healthcare: The health clinic operates for only a few hours each day, offering basic care at best. Emergency cases at night often go untreated, with fatal consequences.
Education: Despite promises, there are no schools for the 38% of residents who are children. An entire generation is growing up without knowledge or opportunity.
Living Standards: Overcrowded tents, unsanitary toilets, and limited food supplies make daily life a struggle for survival.
Safety: Refugees report threats and violence from local authorities, with no legal protection.
