Amir Ali, a 17-year-old Sudanese refugee, faced Moroccan guards on a border strip, his heart pounding from an untreated condition, just one of thousands fleeing Sudan’s brutal conflict who seek refuge in North Africa. A formal asylum law, promised by Morocco more than a decade ago, still has not been implemented, according to the UNHCR, creating a precarious existence for new arrivals. Many, like Ali, risk everything for safety, only to find themselves trapped in a system that offers little security or clear legal pathways.
Ali’s second attempt to cross into Morocco proved successful. After jumping from a bus during a deportation attempt in Algeria and traveling for two weeks on foot, he found himself back at the border. This time, moving under the cloak of darkness, he and his companions walked for seven hours through mountainous terrain, ultimately reaching Oujda, a city in eastern Morocco.
A local charity provided him with three days of shelter, and he sought medical attention for his heart, though specialist care remained out of reach. For the first time since leaving Sudan, he registered with the UN refugee agency, obtaining documentation recognizing him as an asylum seeker. But even with papers, Ali says he does not feel safe.
His journey began over a year earlier in el-Fasher, a city in western Sudan’s Darfur region. War erupted on April 15, 2023, following a power struggle between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF). The fighting quickly spread from the capital, Khartoum, across the country.
One day, while Ali was at a hospital appointment, the war reached el-Fasher. Missiles began to fall. He rushed home, only to find his house reduced to a burning ember.
His parents, six brothers, and a sister had all perished. The surrounding area was also devastated. Everything he had known was gone.
Fleeing the immediate aftermath, Ali was soon stopped by RSF fighters. They are known for human rights abuses, often targeting non-Arab Sudanese. “They ask you your tribe, where you are from,” Ali told Al Jazeera. “They separate you.” He was taken aside, beaten, and had a gun pressed to his head. He was released only after paying a ransom, despite having lost his entire family.
He then traveled through South Sudan and Uganda, but found no work or opportunities in either country. People told him to keep moving: towards Libya, Morocco, or Europe. This advice pushed him deeper into a dangerous migration route.
Ali paid for passage into Libya, crammed into the back of a pickup truck with 16 others, driving through the vast desert at night. This leg of the journey quickly turned into another nightmare. Armed men intercepted their vehicle, kidnapped the group, and forced them to call family members for ransom money.
Those who could not pay were subjected to brutal beatings. “They hit you with anything they have,” Ali recounted. With no family left, Ali had no one to call. He was tortured and became severely weak.
Eventually, the gang released him, realizing they could not extract money from him. Crossing the Mediterranean was too expensive, but he had heard Morocco offered another option, a potential gateway to safety. To reach Morocco, he first had to cross through Algeria.
There, he was imprisoned for attempting an unauthorized border crossing into Morocco. Authorities placed him on a bus, intending to deport him to Niger. On the second night of the journey, Ali made a desperate decision.
He jumped out of the bus window, ran into the darkness, and hid. This time, he managed to cross undetected, reaching Oujda and eventually Rabat, where he now spends his days at the Fondation Orient-Occident, a local organization that supports refugees and asylum seekers. The influx of Sudanese refugees has increased significantly along Morocco’s eastern frontier since the April 2023 war.
Many believe Morocco is a safer alternative to the perilous Mediterranean crossing. The country is a signatory to the 1951 Refugee Convention, a fact often cited by those seeking asylum. However, this formal commitment has not translated into a robust domestic legal framework.
Morocco adopted a National Strategy on Immigration and Asylum in 2013, which outlined plans for a formal asylum law. More than a decade later, that law has still not been implemented, creating a critical gap between international obligations and national practice. “The policy says one thing. The reality says another,” is how many refugees describe the situation.
In practice, the UNHCR registers asylum seekers and determines refugee status based on its international mandate, as Muriel Juramie, the UNHCR’s interim representative in Morocco, explained to Al Jazeera. Moroccan authorities can then issue national refugee cards and residence permits through the Ministry of Interior. However, state support remains limited.
Refugees do not receive accommodation or access to secondary healthcare. Furthermore, fewer than 0.5 percent of registered refugees and asylum seekers have been able to access formal employment, leaving many in a challenging situation. By the end of 2025, the UNHCR had registered 22,370 refugees and asylum seekers in Morocco from 67 different countries, an increase from approximately 18,900 the previous year.
Sudanese nationals accounted for the largest share of new arrivals, with 5,290 registered as of December 2025. This surge in numbers highlights the growing need for a clear, predictable system. Yasmina Filali, president and founder of Fondation Orient-Occident in Rabat, observes the toll this takes. “This is the most hurt community we have ever seen,” she told Al Jazeera. “It’s painful and tragic.
This community is really, really in a bad shape.”
The economic toll extends beyond individual struggles; it impacts entire communities. Without the right to work or access to basic services, refugees cannot contribute meaningfully to the economy or rebuild their lives. For families, this means a constant struggle for food, shelter, and medical care.
What this actually means for your family is a life of uncertainty, where a simple illness can become a catastrophe, and a stable home remains a distant dream. Rachid Chakri, also from Fondation Orient-Occident, highlights the systemic issues. “Refugees arriving in Morocco today face a system that is not designed to protect them over the medium or long term,” Chakri stated. “Many will spend years in legal precarity — registered but undocumented, present but unintegrated, visible to the state primarily as a migration management challenge rather than as rights-holders.”
Behind the diplomatic language lies a grim reality for many. Hind Benminoum, a psychologist working with refugees at Fondation Orient-Occident, describes the severe physical and psychological trauma many new arrivals carry. “They are in a very bad way. Sometimes, we have to refer them to hospital,” she said, noting that many arrive with broken bones, injured hands, or even lost eyes.
When asked about the specific horrors people endure on their journey, Benminoum paused, visibly distressed. “I can’t even talk about it,” she said. “I’m reminded of their stories. It’s very bad. They’ve passed through unimaginable situations: rape, torture, slavery.
They are treated like animals because they are deprived of their liberty.”
This vulnerability is exacerbated by external pressures. Human Rights Watch reported that European governments, along with Spain, have spent years deepening partnerships with countries of origin and transit to prevent people from reaching Europe. This policy effectively pushes the burden of migration management onto North African nations, often at the expense of refugee protection.
The consequence for people like Ali is a tightening of borders and increased risks of pushbacks, even within countries that are supposed to offer refuge. Aid workers, the UNHCR, and refugees themselves have consistently reported police pushbacks over borders along Ali’s route through Africa. Ali knows people who were registered with UNHCR and still ended up being moved by authorities. “Documents did not help,” he said.
UNHCR, for its part, stated that its certificates and refugee cards should protect holders from removal and are generally recognized by authorities. Where individual reports suggest otherwise, the agency intervenes directly. However, Aurelia Donnard of Mixed Migration Info told Al Jazeera that even traveling to appointments or official offices can carry risks if people are stopped on the way.
The protections that do exist have become harder to reach due to a major humanitarian funding crisis in 2025, which forced UNHCR to reduce its operations and staff in Morocco, as in other regions. This reduction affects the speed of registration, access to cash assistance, psychosocial and medical support, and the ability to monitor protection in areas where refugees are present, according to Juramie. This particularly impacts new arrivals like the Sudanese.
The longer someone remains half-documented, or waits for a procedure to move forward, the more exposed they are to arrest or removal. Ali, who once hoped to attend university, now completes a short course in elderly care and works as an unpaid intern. His heart condition often makes even this difficult.
Resettlement, often seen as the only real way out for many refugees, feels distant. In 2025, UNHCR submitted only around 100 cases to resettlement countries, mainly in North America and Europe, which are increasingly resistant to allowing refugees in. So Ali waits, for a decision that may never come, living with the constant fear of being picked up by police and sent south.
His health deteriorates. “My health is going from bad to worse,” he said. “Sometimes, I can’t breathe well. Sometimes, my heart starts beating very fast, and there is pain. It just becomes normal.”
--- Why It Matters ---
The ongoing delay in Morocco’s asylum law means thousands of individuals fleeing conflict and persecution face immense legal and physical vulnerability. For working families, this translates into an inability to secure formal employment, access essential healthcare beyond primary care, or find stable housing. The lack of clarity creates an environment where basic human rights are inconsistently applied, leaving people dependent on overstretched aid organizations rather than state protections.
This situation impacts not only the refugees themselves but also the communities hosting them, straining resources and creating long-term social challenges. The gap between policy and reality affects everyone. --- Key Takeaways --- - Morocco's promised asylum law, outlined in 2013, remains unimplemented, creating legal insecurity for refugees. - The UNHCR manages refugee registration and status determination in Morocco by default, not through explicit national law. - Sudanese refugees, accounting for the largest share of new arrivals, face limited state support, including no accommodation, secondary healthcare, or formal employment access. - Humanitarian funding cuts have reduced UNHCR's capacity, further exposing vulnerable refugees to risks like arrest and pushbacks. What happens next depends largely on political will.
The UNHCR continues to call for the adoption of a comprehensive national asylum law in Morocco, arguing it would bring clarity and consistency to procedures and formally codify refugee rights. Observers will watch for any movement on this legislative front. Meanwhile, the funding challenges for humanitarian organizations persist, directly impacting their ability to provide critical services.
For refugees like Ali, the immediate future involves a daily struggle against illness and uncertainty, hoping for specialist medical care that remains out of reach without resettlement, and living with the constant dread of being forcibly moved south, away from any semblance of safety. The world waits to see if Morocco will bridge the gap between its international commitments and the lived reality of those seeking protection within its borders.
Key Takeaways
— - Morocco's promised asylum law, outlined in 2013, remains unimplemented, creating legal insecurity for refugees.
— - The UNHCR manages refugee registration and status determination in Morocco by default, not through explicit national law.
— - Sudanese refugees, accounting for the largest share of new arrivals, face limited state support, including no accommodation, secondary healthcare, or formal employment access.
— - Humanitarian funding cuts have reduced UNHCR's capacity, further exposing vulnerable refugees to risks like arrest and pushbacks.
Source: Al Jazeera
