Digital exile: How remote work is reshaping Sudanese lives in diaspora

The Foundation for Technology and Women (FTF), established by El-Nil, functions with no formal recognition or steady funding, but it has become an informal lifeline for refugee women navigating both displacement and digital work. The curriculum addresses the specific challenges they face, from digital security to avoid harassment that trails them online, to encrypted communication for staying in touch with family, to navigating male-dominated tech spaces in both Sudanese and Ugandan contexts. 

‘When I started working on Upwork, I felt like I could breathe again’, El-Nil said. That sense of relief, she added, is what she now hopes to pass on to others.

Political divisions from Sudan recreate themselves in digital spaces, with refugees facing harassment and threats for their perceived affiliations. El-Nil herself has received death threats via Facebook for her calls to end the war. 

‘The transfer of hatred and polarization from Sudan to the diaspora is not new, but it has worsened after the war’, she observes. Rather than retreating, she has integrated digital self-defense into FTF's training.

‘We use Facebook to spread messages of peace, because it is the most used platform among refugees’, she explains.

The organization's impact extends beyond its 130 direct trainees. FTF has created a model for refugee-led empowerment that challenges traditional aid paradigms. 

‘Every project I complete reminds me that I am a professional, not just a refugee feeling lost’, El-Nil affirms. ‘Remote work is not a solution to all problems, but it is an important alternative door, especially for girls.’

Truth in exile

The digital resistance takes its most dangerous form in journalism. Murtada Ahmed coordinates an underground network of reporters documenting war crimes from Sudan. 

After four arrests and escalating death threats forced him from Omdurman, Ahmed co-founded Droub, an independent platform that has become one of the few reliable sources for information from Sudan's conflict zones.

According to Ahmed, Droub operates like ‘a digital-age resistance newspaper.’ Contributors coordinate through encrypted channels, using Telegram for daily operations and Signal for sensitive sources. 

‘It is a free space. We pay from our own time because we believe in the message’, he tells MO*.

Yet adoption faces significant barriers. 

‘Many people think Bitcoin is linked to crime or that it is a scam’, he acknowledges. ‘This makes it difficult to convince people to use it.’

Sophisticated scams specifically target desperate refugees, with fraudsters posing as aid organizations or employment agencies. The technical knowledge required to safely navigate cryptocurrency markets remains out of reach for many. 

Akasha spends as much time on risk education as technical training, teaching refugees to recognize common scams, secure digital wallets, and convert between digital and local currencies without exposing themselves to fraud or theft. 

‘We explain to them that blockchain is transparent technology, but they must be careful of scams’, he clarifies.

Akasha envisions cryptocurrency enabling new forms of economic organization for displaced populations. Refugees could receive direct payments for digital work without bank accounts. Diaspora communities could support those in camps without paying remittance fees. Smart contracts could enable transparent aid distribution, reducing corruption that diverts resources from intended recipients.

‘If we can build a network of trained users, we can create a parallel digital economy that supports fragile communities’, Akasha says. ‘We hope to integrate them into educational and banking systems.’

Regulatory uncertainty makes many organizations hesitant to engage. The volatility of cryptocurrency markets poses risks for populations that cannot afford losses. The energy requirements of blockchain technology seem incongruous with the basic infrastructure challenges refugees face daily. 

Despite these constraints, Akasha continues building what he sees as essential infrastructure for stateless populations.

Creative production in displacement

Digital tools have also transformed creative industries for refugees. Al-Gaddal Hassan, whose Khartoum studio was destroyed in the war's early days, has rebuilt his filmmaking practice entirely online. Working with team members scattered across four countries, he coordinates productions that would have seemed impossible before digital collaboration tools became ubiquitous.

‘I was living my dream of telling people's stories through my lens’, Hassan tells MO*. ‘But the war took everything.’

In Kampala, Hassan found salvation in remote collaboration, describing how himself and other team members now meet via Zoom and coordinate through Slack. The technical constraints also force constant innovation. Professional cameras gave way to smartphones. Expensive editing suites were replaced by open-source software.

‘Every project reminds me I am still a storyteller’, Hassan says. ‘Every project I complete reminds me that I am still creative.’

Yet sustainability remains precarious. The constant payment delays keep him in ‘constant anxiety’ as he waits for months to receive his money. Additionally, slow internet turns simple file uploads into all-night ordeals that delay project completion and damage professional relationships. 

‘Uploading a video can take hours’, he says with frustration. ‘The absence of professional equipment limits the projects I can bid for.’ While the unpredictability of freelance schedules affects his personal life, making him feel as if he lives inside his screen.

‘We learned how to think of alternatives in war onditions’, Hassan tells MO*.

He envisions a digital production hub that would formalize these informal collaborations – shared equipment libraries accessible to refugee creators, training programs in digital production techniques, and distribution partnerships with international platforms. 

‘If you give us the tools, we can tell our stories to the world’, he says enthusiastically.

Similarly, Maher Gouda has transformed his logistics expertise into digital coordination work. The 32-year-old refugee, who now moves between Addis Ababa and Kampala, works remotely for a virtual travel agency after fleeing Khartoum in July 2023. 

‘I left everything behind – my home, my work, my dreams’, Gouda tells MO*.

Using WhatsApp and electronic payment platforms like Payoneer, Gouda has coordinated services for over 8,000 cases, mostly young families and displaced women seeking shelter and employment opportunities. The work provides both income and purpose, connecting refugees with essential services during emergencies.

‘Sometimes I wait hours to get stable internet’, Gouda says. ‘Banking restrictions also complicate money transfers, and the uncertainty of refugee status procedures deepens the psychological toll.’

Despite these challenges, Gouda sees potential in digital solutions. 

‘The internet made me feel I can make a difference’, he says. ‘We need better internet and training in digital skills to empower more refugees.’

Mental health across screens

The digital transformation extends to essential services typically requiring physical presence. Mona Al-Amin, a psychiatrist who fled Khartoum when the war made her work impossible, now provides mental health support entirely through digital platforms. Operating free virtual clinics via WhatsApp and Zoom, she serves refugee communities across East Africa who would otherwise have no access to mental health care.

‘I felt like I was losing my identity as a doctor’, Al-Amin tells MO*. ‘Online allows me to reach patients in remote areas and reduces expensive travel costs.’

Through her virtual sessions, Al-Amin follows up on cases of anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder, with women and children forming the majority of her patients. ‘People have lost their homes and their sense of security. I try to restore hope to them.’

In refugee settings, the challenges of digital psychiatry often outpace those in more stable environments. Al-Amin frequently contends with weak networks that cut therapy sessions short, sometimes mid-conversation. Privacy is another obstacle. Many clients rely on shared or outdated devices, making it difficult to speak openly during sessions and limiting the depth of care she can provide. Medical limitations prove equally challenging. 

‘We lack analyses and examinations, and this makes the diagnosis incomplete’, she explains. ‘Complex conditions requiring physical examination or hospitalization remain beyond reach.’

Medication access poses yet another barrier. Al-Amin often finds that prescriptions go unfilled, either because the drugs are unavailable locally or because patients simply cannot afford them, rendering treatment plans ineffective before they begin.

Despite limitations, demand overwhelms capacity. Al-Amin sees 40-50 patients weekly, with waiting lists extending months. The conditions she treats, PTSD, depression, anxiety, affect enormous percentages of refugee populations but receive minimal attention in traditional humanitarian responses. 

‘We try to bridge the gap, but the challenges come from lack of resources’, she says.‘It is not the best solution, but it ensures continuity of care’, Al-Amin affirms. 

Research indicates that refugees receiving mental health support show improved physical health outcomes, greater economic productivity, and better family functioning. Yet mental health remains dramatically underfunded in humanitarian responses, receiving less than one percent of health budgets despite affecting majority of refugee populations. 

‘If the internet is strong and devices are available, we can save more lives’, Al-Amin insists, emphasizing that online psychological support restores patients' sense of control in a turbulent world. 

Psychologist Haifa Hamad sees remote work as a vital coping mechanism. For many refugees, it restores a sense of control. But while digital work reflects the community’s resilience, she cautions that it is no substitute for systemic support. Infrastructure gaps and limited access to equipment still undermine its potential.

Lasting change, she argues, requires more than connectivity. Legal frameworks must evolve to recognize digital labor as legitimate employment. Financial systems need to accommodate those without formal documentation. Education should focus on preparing displaced people for digital economies rather than traditional jobs that may never return. And social protection systems must expand to cover workers operating outside conventional employment.

‘We are not just refugees. We are professionals, we are creators, we are builders of something new’, Mohamed insists as the final video call draws to a close, the connection flickering but holding. ‘The war took our country, but it cannot take our skills, our creativity, our determination to build again’.