This is a significant moment in this war.

It strengthens ties between Ukraine and the US which have been fraying to the point of disintegration.

But will it increase the chances of a diplomatic breakthrough to find peace? Possibly not. Without that, this agreement will have changed little in this pointless grinding war.

But it does give Donald Trump a personal political investment in a conflict he has always seemed to have regarded as someone else’s fault, someone else’s problem and a money pit for US resources.

On the face of it, it is a purely economic agreement.

Ukraine had wanted to tie in explicit guarantees of continuing US military support. The details are scant but they appear to be absent.

But reaching agreement is a considerable diplomatic achievement on both sides.

The negotiations have been painful.

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The idea of a minerals deal was initially proposed by President Zelenskyy but at times he must have regretted it as acrimonious talks threatened to torpedo US support for Ukraine entirely.

It was meant to have been signed in February before the infamous Zelenskyy-Trump-Vance bust up in the Oval Office.

At one point it looked like an act of extortion. Like gangsters running a protection racket, the US seemed to be demanding all Ukraine’s mineral wealth in return for continued support.

But the terms now look less onerous. Most importantly it seems the Trump administration is not asking retrospectively for the return of billions given by the Biden administration, by means of this minerals extraction agreement.

The turning point in negotiations appears to have been the meeting engineered between Mr Trump and Mr Zelenskyy on the sidelines of the Pope’s funeral in Rome on Saturday. Mr Zelenskyy appears to have persuaded Mr Trump it was a deal worth signing.

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The terms are vague and not detailed but the agreement appears to be more of a long term proposal for joint cooperation over Ukraine’s economic future.

America will invest in exploiting Ukraine’s mineral wealth but also share the profits years down the line.

The signing comes at a crucial time for Ukraine. Its forces are losing ground on the battlefield. And Mr Trump’s efforts to broker peace look decidedly one-sided against them.

Falling in line on this deal was essential for Ukrainians. Whether it saves them from President Trump walking away and ending military support for them anyway, is by no means certain.

It was a welcome party of sorts, and it was assembled near arrivals at Heathrow’s Terminal 5.

A few people clutched flowers, others brought presents, while everyone carried a sense of relief.

Two children from Gaza had been given permission to enter Britain for specialist medical care and the pair would arrive on the evening flight from Cairo.

It was a significant moment – the first time UK visas had been granted to children from this war-ravaged enclave – and the product of months of struggle by a small group of British volunteers.

As those in attendance offered up a cheer, a five-year-old called Ghena Abed emerged shyly from behind the security gates. With fluid pressing on her optic nerve, she needs urgent treatment to save the vision in her left eye.

Also in this party was a 12-year-old girl called Rama Qudiah. She is weak and malnourished and suffers from incontinence. Medics think she requires an operation on her bowel.

Her mother, Rana, told us their arrival in Britian “is just a like a dream”.

Her daughter has certainly been fortunate. A small number of children from Gaza have benefited from medical evacuations, with the majority receiving care in countries in the Middle East, Europe, as well as the United States.

In March, the Israelis signed a deal with Jordan which could allow 2,000 children to leave the enclave for treatment of war injuries and conditions like cancer. However, just 29 were allowed to go at first instance.

The process has not been easy

Until now, not a single child from Gaza has entered the UK for medical care since the start of the current conflict, and the process has not been an easy one for the volunteers at Project Pure Hope.

They told Sky News it has taken 17 months to arrange temporary visas for Ghena and Rama.

“A lot of us are health care workers and I think it’s in our DNA that when we see people who are suffering, particularly children, we want to try and do something and that’s what motivated us,” says Dr Farzana Rahman from Project Pure Hope.

When asked why she thinks it has taken so much time to secure their visas, Dr Rahman said: “I don’t know.”

Group argues it has no time to lose to help other children

But it is clear the arrival of children from Gaza is an issue of sensitivity. The British volunteers told us on a number of occasions that all costs would be met by private sources. The children will return to Gaza when the treatment is completed.

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Project Pure Hope is not finished, however – group members have drawn up a list of other children they can help, and argue they have no time to lose.

“One of the hardest parts of trying to make progress in this area is that delays cost lives. A number of children have died who we haven’t been able to help and this is an urgent situation and I think for all of us that’s the hardest part,” says Dr Rahman.

The biggest city in the Sahel has been ransacked and left in ruins.

War erupted in Sudan’s capital Khartoum in April 2023 and sent millions searching for safety.

The city was quickly captured by the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) after a power struggle with the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) for total control.

At least 61,000 people were killed from the fighting and siege conditions in Khartoum state alone.

Thousands more were maimed and many remain missing.

The RSF fled Khartoum’s neighbourhoods in caravans carrying the city’s looted treasures as the army closed in and recaptured it after two years of occupation.

The empty streets they left behind are lined with charred, bullet-ridden buildings and robbed store fronts.

The once shiny skyscrapers built along the confluence of the River Nile are now husks of blackened steel.

The neighbourhoods are skeletal. Generational homes are deserted and hollow.

Trenches snake the streets where copper electric cables were ripped out of the ground and pulled out of lampposts now overridden with weeds.

The majority of the 13 million people displaced by this war fled Khartoum. Many left in a rush, assuming it would only take a few weeks for peace to be restored.

My parents were among those millions and in the midst of the abandoned, looted homes is the house where I grew up.

A shell of a home

I have to strain my eyes to see the turn to my house. All the usual markers are gone. There are no gatherings of young people drinking coffee with tea ladies in the leafy shade – just gaping billboard frames that once held up advertisements behind cars of courting couples parked by the Nile.

Our garden is both overgrown and dried to death.

The mango, lemon and jasmine trees carefully planted by my mother and brother have withered.

The Bougainvillea has reached over the pathway and blocked off the main entrance. We go through the small black side door.

Our family car is no longer in the garage, forcing us to walk around it.

It was stolen shortly after my parents evacuated.

The two chairs my mum and dad would sit at the centre of the front lawn are still there, but surrounded by thorny weeds and twisted, bleached vines.

The neighbour’s once lush garden is barren too.

Their tall palm trees at the front of the house have been beheaded – rounding off into a greyish stump instead of lush fronds.

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Everyone in Khartoum is coming back to a game of Russian roulette. Searching out their houses to confirm suspicions of whether it was blasted, burned or punctured with bullets.

Many homes were looted and bruised by nearby combat but some are still standing. Others have been completely destroyed.

The outside of our house looks smooth from the street but has a crack in the base of the front wall visible from up close.

It is likely a bomb fell nearby and shook the house at its base – a reminder of the airstrikes and shelling that my parents and their neighbours fled.

Inside, the damage is choking.

Most of the furniture has been taken except a few lone couches.

The carpets and curtains have been stripped. The electrical panels and wiring pulled out. The appliances, dishes, glasses and spices snatched from the kitchens.

The walls are bare apart from the few items they decided to spare. Ceilings have been punctured and cushions torn open in their hunt for hidden gold.

The walls are marked with the names of RSF troops that came in and out of this house like it was their own.

The home that has been the centre of our life in Sudan is a shell.

Glimmers of hope

The picture of sheer wreckage settles and signs of familiarity come into focus.

A family photo album that is 20 years old.

The rocking chair my mother cradled me and my sister in. My university certificate.

Celebratory snaps of my siblings’ weddings. Books my brother has had since the early nineties.

The painting above my bed that I have pined over during the two years – custom-made and gifted to me for my 24th birthday and signed by my family on the back.

There are signs of dirt and damage on all these items our looters discarded but it is enough.

Evidence of material destruction but a reminder of what we can hope will endure.

The spirit of the people that gathered to laugh, cry and break bread in these rooms.

The hospitality and warmth of a Sudanese home with an open door.

The community and sense of togetherness that can never truly be robbed.

What remains in our hearts and our city is a sign of what will get us through.