In a modest classroom in Cairo, a group of Sudanese refugees gathers each evening. Their faces, lined with hardship and hope, glow with determination as they trace unfamiliar letters in their notebooks. They are here to learn Noba Moro, the script of their ancestors, a language that binds them to their homeland even as war and displacement have scattered them across borders.
The literacy class is an initiative of the Bible Society of Sudan, a project born from the need to empower refugees with knowledge and preserve their cultural heritage. Many of these students fled violence, leaving behind homes, families, and futures they had once dreamed of. In Egypt, life is uncertain—jobs are scarce, legal status is fragile, and survival is a daily struggle. Yet, within these walls, something precious is being restored: dignity.
Among them is Asha, a mother of three who never had the chance to go to school back in Sudan. She speaks Noba Moro fluently but had never seen it written. Now, as she traces the letters with her pen, she feels a sense of pride she never imagined.
“I want my children to know who they are, where they come from,” she says, smiling despite the weariness in her eyes. “If I can read and write in our language, I can teach them too.”
The classes are not just about literacy. They are a source of healing, a community where refugees find solace in shared stories, in laughter, in the simple act of learning together. For the younger students, many of whom have grown up in exile, it is a bridge to their roots—a way to reclaim what was nearly lost to war and displacement.
The initiative faces challenges. Funding is tight, classrooms are cramped, and many students juggle work or caregiving responsibilities. But despite the difficulties, the program continues, fueled by the dedication of volunteers and the unbreakable spirit of the students.
As the lesson ends, the teacher writes a phrase on the board: “Hope never fades.” The students read it aloud, their voices strong and full of belief. For them, learning Noba Moro is more than an academic pursuit; it is an act of resistance, a declaration that they will not be erased.
And so, despite the hardships, they press on—one word, one letter, one hope at a time.