How reconstruction will be Sudan’s next battlefield

Reconstruction in Sudan has begun long before the war has ended, and this timing matters. It matters because the act of rebuilding roads, grids, hospitals, capital districts, is no longer an inevitable post-conflict exercise. It is now a tool of political power, a contest for legitimacy, and a preview of Sudan’s next struggle.

The country is rebuilding in fragments and at different speeds, with Khartoum advancing the fastest, even as Darfur, Kordofan, and the east remain trapped in cycles of siege, displacement, and hunger. Such unevenness is no accident, and some would argue, rather natural. However, it also lays the foundations of a postwar order that risks reproducing the very fractures that has brought Sudan to collapse.

After the Sudanese Armed Forces retook the capital in early 2025, the government launched an aggressive reconstruction drive, promising to fully rehabilitate the city within nine months. Yet the symbolic value of that created an urgency that the rest of Sudan does not enjoy. In just a few months, police stations reopened, ministries returned, debris-clearing campaigns were launched, and nearly 2 million Sudanese were expected to return by year’s end.

Of course, the principle that the capital must rise first is one many governments adopt after conflict. But in Sudan, where more than 80 percent of citizens live outside Khartoum, the choice follows an all-too-familiar logic: centralization at the expense of the periphery. It is a pattern further amplified by the army’s Higher Committee focused almost exclusively on the capital, while governors from impoverished and devastated states travel to Khartoum to pledge support for its revival, despite their own regions receiving little relief.

Inevitably, these spatial politics of reconstruction are already producing a divided country. By mid-2025, parts of Khartoum had restored around one-third of their water supply, reopened markets, and re-established sections of the grid. In Omdurman, neighborhoods began organizing fundraisers to install solar water pumps and rebuild local clinics. But in Al-Fasher, Zamzam camp, Tawila, and other places where hundreds of thousands are trapped, clinics have been destroyed, cholera is spreading, and famine conditions remain constant.

One sector where reconstruction risks are already entrenching inequality is the energy sector. Even before the war, roughly two-thirds of the country lacked electricity access, with Greater Khartoum receiving nearly half of the national supply. With the conflict having destroyed about 40 percent of generation capacity, the focus is now on restoring the “technically easier” grid in the capital, given the demand, pre-existing substations, and politicking that combine to make Khartoum a natural focus.

Elsewhere, however, hybrid solar-diesel plants are failing due to fuel shortages, while mini-grids in rural towns are collapsing due to lack of maintenance. Some communities are even forced to turn to small solar kits, yet these barely power a light bulb or a phone charger. Without stable, uninterrupted electricity, hospitals cannot refrigerate medicines; irrigation pumps cannot run, and some critical government functions may even cease. The result is a widening gap: Some zones rebuild and attract investment, while others slip further into deprivation. In effect, Sudan is creating islands of reconstruction in a sea of abandonment.

Reconstruction is not merely a technical challenge; it is where the next struggles over representation, inclusion, and national identity will be fought. 

Hafed Al-Ghwell

Given such an environment, reconstruction becomes a magnet for population movement. Desperate Sudanese will naturally gravitate toward functioning infrastructure — electricity, water, clinics, schools — just as they flee siege zones, famine corridors, and areas where violence continues. When people return to Khartoum but then send families back to Atbara, or when returnees leave again after new waves of insecurity, it will guarantee that future Sudanese mobility will track the geography of reconstruction, not necessarily ethnicity or political allegiance. Communities that settle in rebuilt corridors may stabilize and generate economic activity, while war-torn areas in Darfur, Kordofan, and the east could face depopulation and neglect.

The uneven recovery carries long-term implications. A Sudan where some states receive new roads, functioning grids, and investment, while others inherit razed villages, mass graves, and hunger, will struggle to build a shared political future. Postwar grievances often revolve around the distribution of power and resources. In Sudan, these divisions were already deep. The war has sharpened them, and reconstruction may harden them further. A rebuilt capital surrounded by marginalization would repeat the governing imbalances that produced multiple rebellions over decades. The next wave of conflict may not be fought over ideology but over access: Access to electricity, water, land, jobs, and public services.

Yet again, the energy sector is already showcasing how easily reconstruction can become exclusionary. New solar projects in Darfur have already underperformed because planners built without local consultation and left communities without training or maintenance tools. Where solar irrigation schemes could transform agriculture, they are stalled by financing gaps and lack of spare parts.

A similar issue emerges in Khartoum’s reconstruction policies. The campaign to remove informal housing, primarily affecting thousands of poor, displaced, or migrant families, is the clearest sign that the capital’s revival is not just about rebuilding. It is also about reengineering the city’s social makeup. The government’s deportation of refugees to other states, accompanied by xenophobic rhetoric, adds another layer. Actions that reveal a vision of reconstruction that privileges some and excludes others. If replicated nationwide, that model will undoubtedly invite backlash.

Yet Sudan is not doomed to an uneven future.

What the war has revealed, through community-led debris clearing, local repair markets, neighborhood solar initiatives, is that Sudanese society still possesses resilience and organizational capacity. However, resilience alone cannot offset structural gaps. A credible national recovery effort would require a different order of priorities: Restoring essential services in war-torn regions, protecting civilians from ongoing violence, and ensuring reconstruction funds do not overwhelmingly flow to the capital at the expense of the periphery.

Sudan cannot afford a lopsided recovery. If Khartoum becomes the face of progress while Darfur, Kordofan, and the east remain locked in emergency conditions, the country will emerge from war with a developmental divide so deep it becomes ungovernable. A future where millions cluster in a rebuilt capital while vast regions remain disconnected from electricity, healthcare, and state presence would create a new political economy of grievance.

Reconstruction is therefore not merely a technical challenge; it is where the next struggles over representation, inclusion, and national identity will be fought. In Sudan, the war’s frontlines may shift, but the contest over who benefits from recovery has already begun. The choices made now, where to build, whom to include, and how to distribute services, will shape whether reconstruction becomes a bridge to a stable future or the trigger for the next conflict.

• Hafed Al-Ghwell is senior fellow and program director at the Stimson Center in Washington and senior fellow at the Center for Conflict and Humanitarian Studies. X: @HafedAlGhwell