From Subsidies to Support: The Rise and Pause of Sudan’s Nationwide Cash Transfer Plan

Sudan's Family Support Program emerged from one of the deepest crises in the country's modern history. Years of conflict, sanctions, and economic mismanagement had left Sudan impoverished and unequal. After South Sudan's secession in 2011 stripped away most oil revenues, inflation surged, public finances collapsed, and poverty spread rapidly. By the time mass protests ended Omar al-Bashir's rule in 2019, more than 60 percent of Sudanese lived below the poverty line, with women, displaced people, and residents of regions like Darfur and Blue Nile suffering the most. The transitional government that followed faced a stark dilemma: reform the economy or risk total collapse, knowing that reform itself would raise prices and deepen hardship.

Cash as the human face of reform

Economic reform moved fast. Fuel subsidies were removed, the exchange rate was unified, and fiscal discipline was restored with backing from the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, the International Development Association, and operational support from the World Food Programme. But reforms brought immediate pain. To soften the shock, the government launched the Sudan Family Support Program (SFSP), a large-scale cash transfer designed to replace hidden subsidies with direct support to families. Instead of narrowly targeting the poorest, a difficult task in a country without a strong social registry, the program aimed to reach about 80 percent of the population. Each person was entitled to a modest monthly payment of US$5, small but meaningful in a time of soaring prices and shrinking incomes.

Reaching people in fragile conditions

Delivering cash in a fragile, conflict-affected country was a massive challenge. Millions of Sudanese lacked national identification, cutting them off from formal services. Roads were poor, institutions were weak, and trust in government was limited. The SFSP responded with flexibility. Mobile registration units traveled to remote and insecure areas using satellite connections. Temporary IDs allowed people without documents to enroll while pursuing formal registration. "One-stop shop" centers were set up so citizens could register for cash transfers, apply for national IDs, submit complaints, and even receive COVID-19 vaccinations in a single visit. These centers became rare, visible points of contact between the state and communities that had long felt abandoned.

How payments and trust were built

Payments followed a hybrid approach. Where digital services existed, beneficiaries received money through mobile wallets, banks, or microfinance institutions. Where they did not, cash was delivered manually through post offices, Zakat structures, or humanitarian channels. This ensured wide coverage while gradually expanding financial inclusion. Communication was treated as just as important as payments. In a low-trust environment, the program relied on radio dramas, folk songs, community theater, and local languages to explain how it worked. Grassroots committees and youth groups supported outreach and monitored delivery through the Zimam community governance model, helping reduce rumors, resolve disputes, and build a sense of ownership among citizens.

Big gains, sudden pause, lasting lessons

In less than a year, the SFSP reached more than 8.7 million people across 14 states. Women made up half of all beneficiaries, and over a third of households were headed by women. Beyond cash, millions of people were registered in national systems, payment platforms were strengthened, and grievance mechanisms were established. Then came a sharp reversal. The October 2021 military coup froze donor support and halted payments just as conflict and economic hardship worsened. For many families, the loss of cash was devastating. Yet the systems built by the SFSP did not disappear. Registries, payment infrastructure, and delivery platforms were reused by later emergency programs, proving that even short-lived initiatives can leave lasting foundations.

The report tells a story of ambition, limits, and learning. It shows that large-scale cash transfers can work even in fragile states if they are simple, inclusive, and adaptable. At the same time, it highlights a hard truth: without political stability and resilient financing, social programs remain vulnerable. In Sudan, hope arrived briefly as a small monthly payment. Its deeper legacy lies in demonstrating that, even amid crisis, governments can still find ways to reach their people, and be ready to do so again when conditions allow.