We’ve all heard of couples who can’t have kids of their own adopting babies. The adopted babies are often orphans, and sometimes they’re abandoned by their own mothers who give them away to escape the social stigma of giving birth out of wedlock (disgusting but factual).
A relative of mine, let’s call her Filana, has been married for 10 years. She and her husband, Filan, have been trying to get pregnant for years but haven’t had any luck. Finally, they decided to adopt a child. Last year, when she asked for my opinion, I was so excited and suggested we go together to the Mygoma Orphanage where she can take one of the kids home with her. I also suggested that we first visit a farm that I used to volunteer at, conveniently located at a walking distance from my house, where the Mygoma kids are often sent to receive hippotherapy. There, I told her, she can meet the children, interact with them and make a final decision whether or not she wants to go through with this. I was certain that one look at these beautiful children will be enough to prompt Filana to take one home with her.
A few weeks later, there was a buzz about Filana and Filan finally adopting a baby girl. As predicted, family members’ reactions ranged between approving and critical. I thought that Filana may have gone to the Mygoma without me, nevertheless I was very thrilled for her and her husband. They were finally going to be happy.
After a few days passed, I met Filana at a family gathering and she introduced me to Filana, Jr., an adorable baby girl she was feeding milk to out of a bottle. She looked too tiny, may have been 1-month old. I started a conversation with her enquiring about her experience.
Me: So, how was it at the orphanage? Your first time, wasn’t it? It must’ve been really emotional for you. It can’t be easy having to choose which child you will end up giving a home to while leaving the rest behind. Picking out one baby out of hundreds, I can’t imagine the agony of it…
Filana: Oh, it wasn’t that bad. I was even luckier than I thought. I didn’t even have to go to this orphanage you always talk about.
Me: I see, did you go to another orphanage?
Filana: Actually, Filana, Jr. is my husband’s niece. Her biological father, Faloon, is my husband’s brother. His wife was pregnant, and they already had three girls. Faloon promised my husband that if his wife delivers a fourth girl this time, he will give her to us. Alhamdulillah, it was a girl and Faloon kept his word. She is ours now.
Me *flabbergasted*: Mabrook ya Hinaya. I mean ya Filana.
I went home that day with three thoughts consuming my head, in addition to the huge “WTF” that accompanied me for days to come.
1) Ordinary people give away their babies now? Perfectly healthy babies who are their own flesh and blood? And for what? For common courtesy? Is this a whole new level of Sudanese hospitality? Did the lady go, “God has blessed me with three little ones already, you need this one more than I do... take my baby, I insist!” Did Faloon tell his brother, “Wallahi as long as I’m alive and breathing, and have a kid to spare, you won’t set foot in that orphanage... take my baby, I insist!”
2) What about the hundreds of babies at the Mygoma Orphanage? What about babies left at the gate of the orphanage and others found on the streets? Do they know how many of the 1,500 abandoned babies every year end up surviving and how many die? Was there a lack in children who needed a home, food and clothing that prompted Filana and her husband to resort to taking a baby who already had a family?
3) What about Filana, Jr.? Won't she resent her parents for giving her away, even if to her own uncle? How confused will her life be, having an uncle for a father and a father for an uncle? How will she explain this to her friends growing up? What about her three sisters, is seeing them once a week the same as growing up with them, playing with them, having them around? How unfair is this to her?
While some of you may think it was Filana’s right to opt for the baby with the less complications and the unstained reputation who will not cause her and her husband any problems in the future given its origin, I, on the other hand, ask you this: when did beggars become choosers? And why is it okay for this to happen? How messed up must our community be to accept for a mother to give her child away to a stranger, and reject for another childless woman dying to become a mother to take in an illegitimate child? Why is the former considered a heroine and the latter a crazy b****? And how messed up must we be to abide by these messed up rules that can in no way be traced to religion?
What we need to do is grow up, stand up for what we believe in and fight these hypocritical laws, instead of robotically following them in order to conform, wanting so badly to be accepted by a society that puts blame on innocent children whose only fault is being born into a cruel, cruel world.
Note to Sudanese unmarried couples having unprotected sex: Either use protection, practice abstinence or move to another country that has more tolerance for illegitimate babies.
Tweet
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Sudan, I love you.. but you're taking a toll on me [3]
During my student years, I came to learn so much about the do’s and dont’s of Sudanese culture, the customs and traditions, the taboos. I found so many things fascinating, others inexplicable... weddings and funerals perplexed me the most.
Why a bride had to take a sip of milk only to squirt it on her groom’s face while dressed in a dazzling red toab, sporting gold pharaoh-like accessories with too many women to count chanting and spraying the bride and groom with a powerful choke-inducing fragrance and diffusing the area with piquant frankincense baffled me.
And why women arrive at funerals with freshly-painted henna on their hands and feet, wearing the most kaleidoscopic toab in their wardrobe, and others conveniently schedule their condolence visitations with meal times, expecting the family of the deceased to serve them food and flavored tea, with some neighbors and distant relatives wailing, screeching and rolling on the floor theatrically in the background and others creating low-frequency ‘eee’ noises in an attempt to express their fake sympathy bemused me as well.
Perhaps what amazed me the most was the widespread sihir (black magic/witchcraft) phenomenon. During my first semester in university, a sheikh came in to give a lecture (I had no idea what it was about but attended anyway). He started off by addressing the large existence of sihir in our community, after which he began reciting a few verses of the Quran. To my astonishment, almost a quarter of the students in the lecture room (mind you it was a spacious room) began screaming, crying, and others laughing… it was weird, and scary. [I later on learned that those who reacted weirdly when the sihir verses were recited were possessed. Needless to say I memorized their faces and made minimal contact with them until graduation. An awkward five years it was.]
Not to scare you with the details, because they actually are pretty scary, but after some time had passed and I had witnessed a series of bizarre events I started believing in this stuff. If you’ve lived in Sudan for some time, you know what I’m talking about. Many cultures (and religions) including the Sudanese, know the ain (evil/envious eye) the mas (satanic possession) and the sihir to exist. I have heard one too many stories on each of the three, many of them if I may add were a tad exaggerated. But yeah, after my incredible fright had been lifted I started attending exorcism sessions with friends and family members where some weird s*** took place. [Those of you who don’t know this, there’s a sheikh/exorcist clinic, for lack of a better word, at every corner in the streets of Khartoum. Some of them are legit and their treatment involves reciting Quran, and others are dajjaleen (fake sheikhs/fake exorcists) who ask you to pronounce a bunch of words backwards, wear odd talismans, place pieces of paper with matrices and unidentified letters on them in weird places and make you sniff some unusual incents.]
So apparently it’s a trend to get sihir done on someone these days (okay these practices date way back) if you hate them, or even love them. There’s the local dajjal who, for a little bit of money, will help you marry that girl you’ve always had a crush on but never gave you the time of day. And that girl you’ve always been envious of, you know, the one with the perfect hair and the perfect boyfriend and the perfect grades. If you’re tired of seeing her lead her perfect little life, you can visit your local dajjal and bring it to an end. [I may be using sarcasm but I’m serious about these things happening, but more on 'black magic in Sudan' later, will be dedicating a whole blog post for that soon. Follow my blog you won't regret it, I will post some very interesting stories that may render you too freaked out to sleep at night.]
Anyway.
Even though I hate so many things that exist in Sudan, such as unnecessary funeral traditions that involve wailing, overspending in weddings, smelly black stuff and weak-hearted people who like to harm others using dajal, there’s still so much more to Sudan to be absolutely adored. Sure, each culture has its flaws, Sudan included… but you can’t deny the awesomeness of Sudan (especially when the weather’s under 50 degrees).
I love how we are so hospitable, to a disgusting degree sometimes... I love that our people always come together, even if it’s usually over a plate of fool (large amount of sesame oil served with cooked beans, some onions/tomatoes and a hint of feta cheese) which we love so much… I love that when it’s cloudy outside every leap year we pretend like we live in Paris… I love that we have traditions that no other country does, such as dipping drinking cups in a bucket and scooping some aradaib juice on a Ramadan eve and adding four spoons of sugar to a tiny-sized cup of tea… Most importantly, I love Bish Bish and his sweet dance moves.
So don’t bother yourself with the ugly things, such as sandstorms that render your house and ears dust-ridden, smelly black stuff spat out on every street corner, strangers who cost you two hours of your time because their manhood won't allow them to say 'I don't know' when asked for directions, that relative who only visits during lunch time, your president embarrassing you in front of other nations, that neighbor who wakes you up every morning to mooch off some tea/sugar/milk/you name it, that Egyptian guy who always asks you why Sudanese people are so lazy, your president embarrassing you in front of other nations, the price of meat going up so you switch to fish, the price of oil going up so you can't have fish because boiled fish is gross and instead switch to yogurt with bread, the price of bread going up so you only eat yogurt, the price of oxygen rising by 30% so you hold your breath 30% of the day, your country dividing into two, that old lady who always nags you to get married, sugar-free tea, oil-less fool, your president embarrassing you in front of other nations, hideous overpriced furniture, Sudanese state television. Instead, embrace the beauty that is Sudan, embrace your Sudani-ness... Give a laidback smile and ask that Egyptian guy why his country doesn't have a dancing president (or a president at all).. :)
Tweet
Why a bride had to take a sip of milk only to squirt it on her groom’s face while dressed in a dazzling red toab, sporting gold pharaoh-like accessories with too many women to count chanting and spraying the bride and groom with a powerful choke-inducing fragrance and diffusing the area with piquant frankincense baffled me.
And why women arrive at funerals with freshly-painted henna on their hands and feet, wearing the most kaleidoscopic toab in their wardrobe, and others conveniently schedule their condolence visitations with meal times, expecting the family of the deceased to serve them food and flavored tea, with some neighbors and distant relatives wailing, screeching and rolling on the floor theatrically in the background and others creating low-frequency ‘eee’ noises in an attempt to express their fake sympathy bemused me as well.
Perhaps what amazed me the most was the widespread sihir (black magic/witchcraft) phenomenon. During my first semester in university, a sheikh came in to give a lecture (I had no idea what it was about but attended anyway). He started off by addressing the large existence of sihir in our community, after which he began reciting a few verses of the Quran. To my astonishment, almost a quarter of the students in the lecture room (mind you it was a spacious room) began screaming, crying, and others laughing… it was weird, and scary. [I later on learned that those who reacted weirdly when the sihir verses were recited were possessed. Needless to say I memorized their faces and made minimal contact with them until graduation. An awkward five years it was.]
Not to scare you with the details, because they actually are pretty scary, but after some time had passed and I had witnessed a series of bizarre events I started believing in this stuff. If you’ve lived in Sudan for some time, you know what I’m talking about. Many cultures (and religions) including the Sudanese, know the ain (evil/envious eye) the mas (satanic possession) and the sihir to exist. I have heard one too many stories on each of the three, many of them if I may add were a tad exaggerated. But yeah, after my incredible fright had been lifted I started attending exorcism sessions with friends and family members where some weird s*** took place. [Those of you who don’t know this, there’s a sheikh/exorcist clinic, for lack of a better word, at every corner in the streets of Khartoum. Some of them are legit and their treatment involves reciting Quran, and others are dajjaleen (fake sheikhs/fake exorcists) who ask you to pronounce a bunch of words backwards, wear odd talismans, place pieces of paper with matrices and unidentified letters on them in weird places and make you sniff some unusual incents.]
So apparently it’s a trend to get sihir done on someone these days (okay these practices date way back) if you hate them, or even love them. There’s the local dajjal who, for a little bit of money, will help you marry that girl you’ve always had a crush on but never gave you the time of day. And that girl you’ve always been envious of, you know, the one with the perfect hair and the perfect boyfriend and the perfect grades. If you’re tired of seeing her lead her perfect little life, you can visit your local dajjal and bring it to an end. [I may be using sarcasm but I’m serious about these things happening, but more on 'black magic in Sudan' later, will be dedicating a whole blog post for that soon. Follow my blog you won't regret it, I will post some very interesting stories that may render you too freaked out to sleep at night.]
Anyway.
Even though I hate so many things that exist in Sudan, such as unnecessary funeral traditions that involve wailing, overspending in weddings, smelly black stuff and weak-hearted people who like to harm others using dajal, there’s still so much more to Sudan to be absolutely adored. Sure, each culture has its flaws, Sudan included… but you can’t deny the awesomeness of Sudan (especially when the weather’s under 50 degrees).
I love how we are so hospitable, to a disgusting degree sometimes... I love that our people always come together, even if it’s usually over a plate of fool (large amount of sesame oil served with cooked beans, some onions/tomatoes and a hint of feta cheese) which we love so much… I love that when it’s cloudy outside every leap year we pretend like we live in Paris… I love that we have traditions that no other country does, such as dipping drinking cups in a bucket and scooping some aradaib juice on a Ramadan eve and adding four spoons of sugar to a tiny-sized cup of tea… Most importantly, I love Bish Bish and his sweet dance moves.
So don’t bother yourself with the ugly things, such as sandstorms that render your house and ears dust-ridden, smelly black stuff spat out on every street corner, strangers who cost you two hours of your time because their manhood won't allow them to say 'I don't know' when asked for directions, that relative who only visits during lunch time, your president embarrassing you in front of other nations, that neighbor who wakes you up every morning to mooch off some tea/sugar/milk/you name it, that Egyptian guy who always asks you why Sudanese people are so lazy, your president embarrassing you in front of other nations, the price of meat going up so you switch to fish, the price of oil going up so you can't have fish because boiled fish is gross and instead switch to yogurt with bread, the price of bread going up so you only eat yogurt, the price of oxygen rising by 30% so you hold your breath 30% of the day, your country dividing into two, that old lady who always nags you to get married, sugar-free tea, oil-less fool, your president embarrassing you in front of other nations, hideous overpriced furniture, Sudanese state television. Instead, embrace the beauty that is Sudan, embrace your Sudani-ness... Give a laidback smile and ask that Egyptian guy why his country doesn't have a dancing president (or a president at all).. :)
Tweet
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
At The Heart of Sufism (Part 2): The Influences of Sufism in Sudanese Life
The village of Um Dawan Ban, 40 km from Khartoum, is deemed to be an ideal example of a Sufi region. Over 165 years ago, sheikh al-Ebaid Wad Badur, a Sufi of the al-Qadiriyya order, founded the village and spread the teachings of Sufism to the locals.
According to the city's residents, Wad Badur was travelling with his colleague in order to teach the Quran, when the two men stumbled upon the village, whose inhabitants treated them with great hospitality. It is recorded that upon dreaming that he was setting up a khalwa (solitary retreat) there, Wad Badur set up a khalwa the next day.
He is believed to have lit a fire inside his newly-established khalwa to help him read the Quran, and arrivals and convoys at night used the fire’s light for guidance. The village was then named Um Dawan Ban (where the light has shown). Nowadays, it is also commonly referred to as the Village of Quran due to the reputation of Wad Badur’s khalwa being a beacon for teaching the Quran.
Sufism and Politics
The Sufi orders in Sudan played significant roles in the country’s social, economic, cultural and political spheres. In some instances, Sufi orders have a history of transforming themselves into political forces.
The Turco-Egyptian invasion of 1820 was motivated by the desire of Muhammad Ali Pasha—the Viceroy of Egypt—to seize control of the wealth of Sudan. At the end of the Funj state’s reign and the beginning of the Turco-Egyptian rule in Sudan in 1821, Sudan entered a new political era. During this era, Sudan was introduced to various Sufi orders with the aid of the Egyptian rulers to give the new reign a religious zest and to guarantee the Sudanese people’s loyalty to Muhammad Ali Pasha. Pasha encouraged many new orders from Egypt to emerge in Sudan including the al-Saadiyya, al-Rahmaniyya, al-Badawiyya and al-Desoqiyya orders. In fact, Pasha’s policy in Sudan was based on strengthening ties between Egypt and Sudan, so he encouraged these orders to spread and take root, believing that religious propaganda is the easiest way to appeal to the masses of Sudan.
In 1881, the Turco-Egyptian regime was overthrown by a religious revolution, instigated by the al-Mahdiyya, who revolted due to harsh economic measures. The Mahdist state ruled Sudan until it was destroyed by an Anglo-Egyptian force in 1898.
Perhaps the strong influence of Sufism in Sudanese life is what prompted most regimes and political powers to exploit it in order to win political battles. In actuality, the emergence of traditional political parties in Sudan is associated with this arrangement, where the Democratic Unionist Party is an offshoot of the al-Mirghaniyya order, and the Ummah Party of the al-Mahdiyya order.
Moreover, the men of Sufi orders in Sudan have been involved in numerous aspects of modern life, and many of them and their children worked in state institutions and some of them even became counselors, ministers and ambassadors. Others excelled in academic life, such as sheikh Hassan al-Fatih Gariballah of the al-Samaniyya order, who went on to earn a professorship and published over 100 scientific papers. Many political leaders in Sudan are Sufis themselves, including several ministers in the present government. Gaafar Nimeiri, Sudan’s president from 1969 to 1985 was a faithful follower of the al-Sammaniya order.
Contemporary versus Traditional Sufis
Amir Ahmad, a self-proclaimed Sufi, does not practice Sufism in the traditional sense within a group or community setting. Instead, he individually meditates, recites zikir and practices the foundational Islamic tenets.
“My attraction to Sufism began when I got fed up of the overly legalistic approach to Islam that's dominant these days. Sufism's focus isn't on suffocating archaic rules. Instead the focus is on spiritual growth and mystical experiences, that are powerful and transformative once you've attained them and learned how to sustain their benefits so you can genuinely become a better person,” said Amir. “Moreover, since these are experiences, you don't have to believe in mysticism based on dogma and blind faith. The knowledge you attain is experiential, and you experience it for yourself,” he added.
On the other hand, Khalid Aboulela has been a follower of the Naqshbandiyya order for over 25 years, and says Sufism answered a lot of questions that seemed to be left unanswered by mainstream Islamic scholars. Khalid said, “As a believer in Allah I could not believe that the Quran was sent simply as a 'rule book'. There was clearly a lot of depth to the Quran. Praying, fasting, paying zakat and hajj just seemed to me, to be scratching the surface. I wanted to dive in, to find the 'pearls'.”
“Sufism allowed for the principle that there were different 'levels of knowledge' and that there was a type of knowledge that increased as our faith and closeness to Allah increased. It was this type of knowledge that they called 'spiritual knowledge', or gnosis in English or ma'rifah in Arabic. I was hooked to that,” he added.
When asked about the practices of the Naqshbandiyya order, Khalid explained that it centers on the follower's relationship with his sheikh through what is known as the rabitah (chain). “The follower is required to develop a rabitah with his sheikh spiritually, so that he is constantly in remembrance of his sheikh and in his presence until he achieves fanaa fil sheikh (annihilation into the sheikh), which leads to annihilation in the Prophet and ultimately annihilation in Allah. This is achieved through several methods including daily meditation in a quiet area in the dark, reciting certain Quranic surahs daily, maintaining the Sunnah in terms of dress and habits as much as possible and weekly zikir,” he clarified.
Khalid also commented on life as a Sufi saying, “Being a Sufi also affects your social life in terms of who you spend time with, who your friends are, and who you keep away from. Mainstream Muslims generally have ideological issues that run contrary to Sufism and that puts us off from participating in many Muslim groups or communities. Sufis tend to be more soft, forgiving and accepting of differences among people including non-Muslims, but we are also a lot less argumentative and tend to shy away from controversial arguments and debates. Some consider us secretive and that’s simply because we do not discuss our beliefs openly.”
Controversy
Amir and Khalid have different approaches to Sufism, but they both, however, agree on one thing: that the waves of criticisms on Sufism and claims that Sufism is a bid’ah (Islamic innovation) are nonsensical.
“The problem with Sufism in its current traditional form, especially in Sudan, is that it has become rife with superstition and excessive reverence of the sheikhs of the order. This obviously isn't because of something that's inherently wrong within Sufism itself, but because of the lack of education. Educated and open-minded Sudanese Sufis don't suffer from the problems you find quite spread amongst your average Sufis,” said Amir.
Regarding the music incorporated in some Sufi zikir sessions, which traditional Islamic scholars find unacceptable, both Amir and Khalid agree that there is nothing wrong with it, noting that the music is uplifting, positive and full of love and passion for God.
Khalid opined that the controversy stems from the use of magic in some Sufi ways and the emergence of false sheikhs. “Unfortunately there’s a tendency to abuse the nature/structure of Sufi orders in that false sheikhs tend to appear regularly in Sudan, which puts a drain on people and gives the real shuyookh (scholars) a bad reputation. It also overlaps with a lot of magic, hocus-pocus in Sudan (as well as in Egypt) with so-called shuyookh claiming to control jinns and pushing fake remedies and fixes to problems. These types are categorically rejected by the true Sufi shuyookh,” he stated.
This article was first published here
According to the city's residents, Wad Badur was travelling with his colleague in order to teach the Quran, when the two men stumbled upon the village, whose inhabitants treated them with great hospitality. It is recorded that upon dreaming that he was setting up a khalwa (solitary retreat) there, Wad Badur set up a khalwa the next day.
He is believed to have lit a fire inside his newly-established khalwa to help him read the Quran, and arrivals and convoys at night used the fire’s light for guidance. The village was then named Um Dawan Ban (where the light has shown). Nowadays, it is also commonly referred to as the Village of Quran due to the reputation of Wad Badur’s khalwa being a beacon for teaching the Quran.
Sufism and Politics
The Sufi orders in Sudan played significant roles in the country’s social, economic, cultural and political spheres. In some instances, Sufi orders have a history of transforming themselves into political forces.
The Turco-Egyptian invasion of 1820 was motivated by the desire of Muhammad Ali Pasha—the Viceroy of Egypt—to seize control of the wealth of Sudan. At the end of the Funj state’s reign and the beginning of the Turco-Egyptian rule in Sudan in 1821, Sudan entered a new political era. During this era, Sudan was introduced to various Sufi orders with the aid of the Egyptian rulers to give the new reign a religious zest and to guarantee the Sudanese people’s loyalty to Muhammad Ali Pasha. Pasha encouraged many new orders from Egypt to emerge in Sudan including the al-Saadiyya, al-Rahmaniyya, al-Badawiyya and al-Desoqiyya orders. In fact, Pasha’s policy in Sudan was based on strengthening ties between Egypt and Sudan, so he encouraged these orders to spread and take root, believing that religious propaganda is the easiest way to appeal to the masses of Sudan.
In 1881, the Turco-Egyptian regime was overthrown by a religious revolution, instigated by the al-Mahdiyya, who revolted due to harsh economic measures. The Mahdist state ruled Sudan until it was destroyed by an Anglo-Egyptian force in 1898.
Perhaps the strong influence of Sufism in Sudanese life is what prompted most regimes and political powers to exploit it in order to win political battles. In actuality, the emergence of traditional political parties in Sudan is associated with this arrangement, where the Democratic Unionist Party is an offshoot of the al-Mirghaniyya order, and the Ummah Party of the al-Mahdiyya order.
Moreover, the men of Sufi orders in Sudan have been involved in numerous aspects of modern life, and many of them and their children worked in state institutions and some of them even became counselors, ministers and ambassadors. Others excelled in academic life, such as sheikh Hassan al-Fatih Gariballah of the al-Samaniyya order, who went on to earn a professorship and published over 100 scientific papers. Many political leaders in Sudan are Sufis themselves, including several ministers in the present government. Gaafar Nimeiri, Sudan’s president from 1969 to 1985 was a faithful follower of the al-Sammaniya order.
Contemporary versus Traditional Sufis
Amir Ahmad, a self-proclaimed Sufi, does not practice Sufism in the traditional sense within a group or community setting. Instead, he individually meditates, recites zikir and practices the foundational Islamic tenets.
“My attraction to Sufism began when I got fed up of the overly legalistic approach to Islam that's dominant these days. Sufism's focus isn't on suffocating archaic rules. Instead the focus is on spiritual growth and mystical experiences, that are powerful and transformative once you've attained them and learned how to sustain their benefits so you can genuinely become a better person,” said Amir. “Moreover, since these are experiences, you don't have to believe in mysticism based on dogma and blind faith. The knowledge you attain is experiential, and you experience it for yourself,” he added.
On the other hand, Khalid Aboulela has been a follower of the Naqshbandiyya order for over 25 years, and says Sufism answered a lot of questions that seemed to be left unanswered by mainstream Islamic scholars. Khalid said, “As a believer in Allah I could not believe that the Quran was sent simply as a 'rule book'. There was clearly a lot of depth to the Quran. Praying, fasting, paying zakat and hajj just seemed to me, to be scratching the surface. I wanted to dive in, to find the 'pearls'.”
“Sufism allowed for the principle that there were different 'levels of knowledge' and that there was a type of knowledge that increased as our faith and closeness to Allah increased. It was this type of knowledge that they called 'spiritual knowledge', or gnosis in English or ma'rifah in Arabic. I was hooked to that,” he added.
When asked about the practices of the Naqshbandiyya order, Khalid explained that it centers on the follower's relationship with his sheikh through what is known as the rabitah (chain). “The follower is required to develop a rabitah with his sheikh spiritually, so that he is constantly in remembrance of his sheikh and in his presence until he achieves fanaa fil sheikh (annihilation into the sheikh), which leads to annihilation in the Prophet and ultimately annihilation in Allah. This is achieved through several methods including daily meditation in a quiet area in the dark, reciting certain Quranic surahs daily, maintaining the Sunnah in terms of dress and habits as much as possible and weekly zikir,” he clarified.
Khalid also commented on life as a Sufi saying, “Being a Sufi also affects your social life in terms of who you spend time with, who your friends are, and who you keep away from. Mainstream Muslims generally have ideological issues that run contrary to Sufism and that puts us off from participating in many Muslim groups or communities. Sufis tend to be more soft, forgiving and accepting of differences among people including non-Muslims, but we are also a lot less argumentative and tend to shy away from controversial arguments and debates. Some consider us secretive and that’s simply because we do not discuss our beliefs openly.”
Controversy
Amir and Khalid have different approaches to Sufism, but they both, however, agree on one thing: that the waves of criticisms on Sufism and claims that Sufism is a bid’ah (Islamic innovation) are nonsensical.
“The problem with Sufism in its current traditional form, especially in Sudan, is that it has become rife with superstition and excessive reverence of the sheikhs of the order. This obviously isn't because of something that's inherently wrong within Sufism itself, but because of the lack of education. Educated and open-minded Sudanese Sufis don't suffer from the problems you find quite spread amongst your average Sufis,” said Amir.
Regarding the music incorporated in some Sufi zikir sessions, which traditional Islamic scholars find unacceptable, both Amir and Khalid agree that there is nothing wrong with it, noting that the music is uplifting, positive and full of love and passion for God.
Khalid opined that the controversy stems from the use of magic in some Sufi ways and the emergence of false sheikhs. “Unfortunately there’s a tendency to abuse the nature/structure of Sufi orders in that false sheikhs tend to appear regularly in Sudan, which puts a drain on people and gives the real shuyookh (scholars) a bad reputation. It also overlaps with a lot of magic, hocus-pocus in Sudan (as well as in Egypt) with so-called shuyookh claiming to control jinns and pushing fake remedies and fixes to problems. These types are categorically rejected by the true Sufi shuyookh,” he stated.
This article was first published here
Tweet
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Stories from Our Reality: Journey of a Darfurian Woman
He spotted her, wearing her school uniform, standing with a bunch of girls in front of an all girls’ school. To him, they all looked plain... dull, even. But she, on the other hand, stood out ever so elegantly. In all certainty she was the most beautiful young woman he’d ever seen. Even from afar, her big brown eyes were gleaming with splendour, and her dark chocolate skin was the fairest he’d ever laid eyes on. Their eyes met for a split second of majesty… she caught a glimpse of him and gave the most radiant smile, emerging her glistening teeth that to him appeared whiter than pearls, then timidly looked away.
Finally, he gathered the courage to approach her in the midst of the crowd of girls… but this was far from a normal situation. This was not merely the case of a guy approaching a girl whom, after only one glance, knew was the one for him. It was not as simple as a love-at-first-sight scene where the guy expresses his feelings and the girl forces a bashful smile.
In reality, it was a time of war, and he, a 26-year-old Northern Sudanese soldier, has fallen for an 18-year-old Darfurian girl. It was a critical position to say the least, where a state filled with bloodshed, racism and political unrest that suffered from harsh economic measures knew very little about racial tolerance. Yet, even though the chances of something sparking between the two of them were next to nil, the army soldier refused to hold back.
“Marry me,” were the only two words he uttered to her. Her friends, astounded by what had just happened, all turned to see her expression; which was blank. He anticipated for her to articulate something for what he felt was an eternity, but in fact were purely a few moments. Finally, she responded. “Our house is right over there,” she said, pointing at the old brick house just down the end of the road.
Later that night, he made an appearance at the house that she had earlier described. He was welcomed inside and introduced himself as Emad. The old man who invited him in appeared to be the young woman’s father, and Emad did not hesitate to ask for his daughter’s hand almost immediately. He anxiously awaited the response of the old man, only to hear him voice out the name of his future’s wife for the very first time; “It is up to Khadija, my son”.
Just like that, two weeks later Khadija and Emad were married. She moved to Khartoum to live with her husband at the housh, the big family house. It wasn’t very big though, or at least their share of the house wasn’t. Khadija and Emad were crammed in the tiniest room in the house. It was a room that had a very small kitchen with very few utensils, a tiny bathroom, and two metal beds joined together. Khadija didn’t mind the simple life… all she cared about was taking care of her husband.
Little did Khadija know that she was about to embark into the most difficult journey of her life. Dealing with her sister-in-law Nadia, who objected to this marriage from the very beginning, was a daily struggle. Nadia’s disapproval of her brother’s marital union was purely racist-driven. She was ashamed to tell people that a young woman from the West was part of their family, so she kept Khadija isolated in her part of the house and forbade her from engaging in any family activities around the housh. Khadija was patient about all of this, but it was very gruelling for her especially since Emad was always away.
It was manageable for Khadija at first; she would wait for Emad to return home every few months and would then make the best out of it. The little quality time she would spend with him was well worth all the suffering she was forced to endure day to day. Khadija was beginning to get used to how things were, until a few months later she became pregnant. As much as she and her husband were ecstatic about welcoming a new baby into their family, Khadija couldn’t help but worry about their current living arrangements and their financial situation. Emad did not make much money, and with the baby due they would not be able to afford basic things like food and electricity.
Khadija found herself taking matters into her own hands. She started working privately for women around the neighbourhood as a beautician. With her stomach expanding, she still managed to circulate around the area, going door-to-door offering her services to married women. She would wax, scrub and sell her home-made natural face scrubs, and shortly after her business took off.
Initially, Emad was typically not happy about his wife working and occasionally bringing in more money than him. But as life got harder and basic commodities became more expensive, he eventually accepted it. In a week’s time, Khadija would earn more money than her husband does in a month. Things were looking up for the young couple as Khadija’s business bloomed.
After giving birth to Ahmed, the young boy found himself dragged to his mother’s beauty calls at a very small age. She was unable to leave him at the house unattended, and Nadia refused to do any babysitting for her while she worked. Predictably, Nadia was very critical of Khadija’s job, and at times expressed her jealousy in unsubtle ways.
While Nadia thought of Khadija’s job as demeaning, Khadija didn’t care. All she was concerned about was maintaining her customers, who loved her pleasantness and soft-spoken nature and often tipped her well.
Singlehandedly, Khadija was able to support her child and help out her husband. Like any young Darfurian woman with big dreams, she came to Khartoum expecting to lead a normal life away from the depressions of the war and the harsh circumstances back home. Instead, she was met with discrimination, punitive living conditions and desertion. While this may have been enough to shatter the hopes and dreams of any woman in her shoes, Khadija persevered and beat all odds, and did not care for or respond to racism and intolerance, as ‘hate’ was not a word in her vocabulary.
Tweet
Finally, he gathered the courage to approach her in the midst of the crowd of girls… but this was far from a normal situation. This was not merely the case of a guy approaching a girl whom, after only one glance, knew was the one for him. It was not as simple as a love-at-first-sight scene where the guy expresses his feelings and the girl forces a bashful smile.
In reality, it was a time of war, and he, a 26-year-old Northern Sudanese soldier, has fallen for an 18-year-old Darfurian girl. It was a critical position to say the least, where a state filled with bloodshed, racism and political unrest that suffered from harsh economic measures knew very little about racial tolerance. Yet, even though the chances of something sparking between the two of them were next to nil, the army soldier refused to hold back.
“Marry me,” were the only two words he uttered to her. Her friends, astounded by what had just happened, all turned to see her expression; which was blank. He anticipated for her to articulate something for what he felt was an eternity, but in fact were purely a few moments. Finally, she responded. “Our house is right over there,” she said, pointing at the old brick house just down the end of the road.
Later that night, he made an appearance at the house that she had earlier described. He was welcomed inside and introduced himself as Emad. The old man who invited him in appeared to be the young woman’s father, and Emad did not hesitate to ask for his daughter’s hand almost immediately. He anxiously awaited the response of the old man, only to hear him voice out the name of his future’s wife for the very first time; “It is up to Khadija, my son”.
Just like that, two weeks later Khadija and Emad were married. She moved to Khartoum to live with her husband at the housh, the big family house. It wasn’t very big though, or at least their share of the house wasn’t. Khadija and Emad were crammed in the tiniest room in the house. It was a room that had a very small kitchen with very few utensils, a tiny bathroom, and two metal beds joined together. Khadija didn’t mind the simple life… all she cared about was taking care of her husband.
Little did Khadija know that she was about to embark into the most difficult journey of her life. Dealing with her sister-in-law Nadia, who objected to this marriage from the very beginning, was a daily struggle. Nadia’s disapproval of her brother’s marital union was purely racist-driven. She was ashamed to tell people that a young woman from the West was part of their family, so she kept Khadija isolated in her part of the house and forbade her from engaging in any family activities around the housh. Khadija was patient about all of this, but it was very gruelling for her especially since Emad was always away.
It was manageable for Khadija at first; she would wait for Emad to return home every few months and would then make the best out of it. The little quality time she would spend with him was well worth all the suffering she was forced to endure day to day. Khadija was beginning to get used to how things were, until a few months later she became pregnant. As much as she and her husband were ecstatic about welcoming a new baby into their family, Khadija couldn’t help but worry about their current living arrangements and their financial situation. Emad did not make much money, and with the baby due they would not be able to afford basic things like food and electricity.
Khadija found herself taking matters into her own hands. She started working privately for women around the neighbourhood as a beautician. With her stomach expanding, she still managed to circulate around the area, going door-to-door offering her services to married women. She would wax, scrub and sell her home-made natural face scrubs, and shortly after her business took off.
Initially, Emad was typically not happy about his wife working and occasionally bringing in more money than him. But as life got harder and basic commodities became more expensive, he eventually accepted it. In a week’s time, Khadija would earn more money than her husband does in a month. Things were looking up for the young couple as Khadija’s business bloomed.
After giving birth to Ahmed, the young boy found himself dragged to his mother’s beauty calls at a very small age. She was unable to leave him at the house unattended, and Nadia refused to do any babysitting for her while she worked. Predictably, Nadia was very critical of Khadija’s job, and at times expressed her jealousy in unsubtle ways.
While Nadia thought of Khadija’s job as demeaning, Khadija didn’t care. All she was concerned about was maintaining her customers, who loved her pleasantness and soft-spoken nature and often tipped her well.
Singlehandedly, Khadija was able to support her child and help out her husband. Like any young Darfurian woman with big dreams, she came to Khartoum expecting to lead a normal life away from the depressions of the war and the harsh circumstances back home. Instead, she was met with discrimination, punitive living conditions and desertion. While this may have been enough to shatter the hopes and dreams of any woman in her shoes, Khadija persevered and beat all odds, and did not care for or respond to racism and intolerance, as ‘hate’ was not a word in her vocabulary.
Tweet
Friday, October 7, 2011
Sudan, I love you.. but you're taking a toll on me [2]
As I was preparing for my return to Sudan in 2003, I had mixed emotions. I was filled with excitement, intrigue and curiosity, yet I was also a little afraid. I had heard one too many stories from my Sudanese high school friends about women who got lashed for wearing pants (and in some scenarios the women got beaten and raped by the police). Of course I had no idea how authentic these stories were, but given I was about to embark into a new journey in a country I was pretty much alien to, it was best to arrange for my conformation process. I bought a wardrobe full of new clothes–which mainly consisted of long sleeve shirts, long skirts and huge scarfs. I also stocked up on body cream, shampoo, deodorant, hair cream, perfume and other beauty products which I was led to believe were unavailable in Sudan due to the embargo. [I had later on learned that everything was available at the McNimir pharmacy and a tiny little shop in Riyad called Oxygen–but more on that later.]
I packed my bags and headed to the airport with my entire family–a custom that until this day exists in my family and in every other family that considers itself Sudanese. My mom gave me the most dramatic goodbye; she hugged me for what felt like hours and for some reason I had a sinking feeling that this was the end for me and that I was never going to see my family again. [I was sooner proved wrong because after spending only four months in Sudan I hopped on the first plane back to UAE where again, my whole family was waiting for me at the airport.]
I made it to Khartoum, and though I had lived in one of the most humid cities in the world almost all of my life, I felt death was near after being attacked by a blast of hot air upon stepping out of the airplane. At the airport it seemed like everyone was looking at me funny… and that’s when I realized my tar7a wasn’t on my head and quickly put it back over my head to avoid dirty looks. [Believe it or not, eight years ago it was even worse than it is now.]
I enrolled at what was deemed as an English-medium university; after which I quickly learned it was just figurative speech–what they had really meant but failed to deliver was that the exams were in English (English that was riddled with grammatical and spelling mistakes, but English nonetheless). The language spoken, however, was an interesting breed between English, Sudanese Arabic and a hint of Indian English for some reason. During my five years there, most of my professors had poor English and often said stuff like ‘oben za light’, ‘iggzil sheet’, and ‘home wairk’. I made great friends who taught me the secrets of the shoulder-tar7a… which basically meant I didn’t have to wear the tar7a over my head as long as it was there resting comfortably on my shoulders. To me, this was like finding gold.
(to be continued)
Tweet
I packed my bags and headed to the airport with my entire family–a custom that until this day exists in my family and in every other family that considers itself Sudanese. My mom gave me the most dramatic goodbye; she hugged me for what felt like hours and for some reason I had a sinking feeling that this was the end for me and that I was never going to see my family again. [I was sooner proved wrong because after spending only four months in Sudan I hopped on the first plane back to UAE where again, my whole family was waiting for me at the airport.]
I made it to Khartoum, and though I had lived in one of the most humid cities in the world almost all of my life, I felt death was near after being attacked by a blast of hot air upon stepping out of the airplane. At the airport it seemed like everyone was looking at me funny… and that’s when I realized my tar7a wasn’t on my head and quickly put it back over my head to avoid dirty looks. [Believe it or not, eight years ago it was even worse than it is now.]
I enrolled at what was deemed as an English-medium university; after which I quickly learned it was just figurative speech–what they had really meant but failed to deliver was that the exams were in English (English that was riddled with grammatical and spelling mistakes, but English nonetheless). The language spoken, however, was an interesting breed between English, Sudanese Arabic and a hint of Indian English for some reason. During my five years there, most of my professors had poor English and often said stuff like ‘oben za light’, ‘iggzil sheet’, and ‘home wairk’. I made great friends who taught me the secrets of the shoulder-tar7a… which basically meant I didn’t have to wear the tar7a over my head as long as it was there resting comfortably on my shoulders. To me, this was like finding gold.
(to be continued)
Tweet
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Sudan, I love you.. but you're taking a toll on me [1]
I remember eight years ago when I made the decision to return to Sudan to pursue my college education. My experience with living in Sudan was limited to a 2-month summer vacation almost every year, where visiting the neighbors was as close to being wild and adventurous as I could get. Still, during my childhood years I was fascinated and intrigued by what “Sudan” was; that marvelous, vast and dirt-infested country, home to many rakshas, Ethiopians and amputees that until recently was the largest country in Africa. I constantly bombarded my parents with endless questions about our culture and history, and essentially bored them with my infinite gibberish which I considered as 'ideas to improve Sudan'.
Spending weeks every summer with my family at the big house AKA the housh, I wondered if there was more to Sudan than the family gatherings, social visits, weddings and funerals, feasts and food trays, flavored tea and jabana, mint candy and dandurma, tiny crystal balls of billy for kids, captain Majid biscuits and jersey chocolates, glass-bottled pepsi, resident cats, stray dogs and goats… the list could go on. I loved these things and often marveled at them (except for the funerals of course, that would be just weird), but as I grew up I couldn’t help but question if there was another Sudanese realm which I had no access to.
I wanted to know everything about everything… why did most of the neighbors splash their stinking sewer water on the street? If al-Jack was Sudanese then why does he look so different and why is he ironing our clothes, also what’s up with his name? Why does my grandmother’s face look so weird and missing a significant amount of skin, and why is her lower lip dark blue? Why are the roads filled with so much dirt? Why does the power keep going off for hours everyday? Why is having running water everyday considered a luxury? Why do random people keep asking me about my tribe? Why aren’t my female cousins allowed to wear pants? What’s that smelly black stuff my uncle rolls up in a ball and probably swallows? Why is there no air conditioning or telephones? Why is it so freaking hot?
It took me some time to figure out some of the answers, and funnily enough, a decade later I still muse about the rest…
(to be continued)
Spending weeks every summer with my family at the big house AKA the housh, I wondered if there was more to Sudan than the family gatherings, social visits, weddings and funerals, feasts and food trays, flavored tea and jabana, mint candy and dandurma, tiny crystal balls of billy for kids, captain Majid biscuits and jersey chocolates, glass-bottled pepsi, resident cats, stray dogs and goats… the list could go on. I loved these things and often marveled at them (except for the funerals of course, that would be just weird), but as I grew up I couldn’t help but question if there was another Sudanese realm which I had no access to.
I wanted to know everything about everything… why did most of the neighbors splash their stinking sewer water on the street? If al-Jack was Sudanese then why does he look so different and why is he ironing our clothes, also what’s up with his name? Why does my grandmother’s face look so weird and missing a significant amount of skin, and why is her lower lip dark blue? Why are the roads filled with so much dirt? Why does the power keep going off for hours everyday? Why is having running water everyday considered a luxury? Why do random people keep asking me about my tribe? Why aren’t my female cousins allowed to wear pants? What’s that smelly black stuff my uncle rolls up in a ball and probably swallows? Why is there no air conditioning or telephones? Why is it so freaking hot?
It took me some time to figure out some of the answers, and funnily enough, a decade later I still muse about the rest…
(to be continued)
Tweet
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
At The Heart of Sufism (Part 1): Sufi Orders and Practices in Sudan
There’s a common belief in Sudan, “If a family does not have at least one Sufi member, it’s not Sudanese.” This may indubitably be the case, granted that Sudan has more Sufi Muslims than any other country in the world, and the number is expanding. Sufism is noticeably entrenched in the Sudanese community, and many think of it as a way of life. ‘Zikir’ (exercises of remembrance) and ‘madih nabawi’ (poems in praise of the Prophet) are often heard on the streets, in public buses and taxis, in shops and restaurants, and on local radio stations and television channels. ‘Zikir’ and other Sufi practices form part of the weekly Sufi rituals which bring together Sufis from all walks of life, regardless of class and other differences. Although these rituals are at times lengthy and strenuous, many engage in them with the belief that it is the ultimate form of spiritual worship, which will lead them to draw closer to God and to more fully embrace His divine presence in their lives.
The Emergence of Sufism in Sudan
Many historic accounts suggest that Islam made its impact in Sudan through the activity of Sufi orders. The orders first came to Sudan in the 16th century, and began to expand and take root two centuries later.
There are as many as a dozen Sufi orders in Sudan. While some are restricted to Sudan, others are widespread in Africa and the Middle East. Several orders are derivatives of older orders, and were established by men who made major or minor alterations to the practices of the orders to which they had formerly been linked.
Sufi orders reached all parts of Sudan until, according to some commentators, they reached about five main orders and several secondary ones. The most common ones are al-Qadiriyya with its multiple branches, al-Samaniyya, al-Shazaliyya, al-Tijaniyya, al-Mirghaniyya (al-Khatmiyya), al-Mikashfiyya, al-Majzoubiyya, al-Burhaniyya, al-Idrisiyya-al-Ahmadiya, al-Rashidiyya, al-Ismailiyya, al-Mahdiyya (al-Ansar) and the Naqshbandiyya.
Sufi Orders in Sudan
1) Al-Qadiriyya Order: Al-Qadiriyya is the most widespread and popular order in Sudan. It was founded by Abdelqadir al-Jilani in Baghdad, in the 12th century and was introduced to Sudan by sheikh Tajeldin al-Buhari at the beginning of the Funj state (a loose confederation of sultanates and dependent tribal chieftaincies drawn together under the suzerainty of the Kingdom of in southern Nubia in 1504).
2) Al-Samaniyya Order: A branch of the al-Qadiriyya order, the al-Samaniyya order was founded by sheikh al-Samani who is now buried in Medina. The order emerged in Sudan during the early decades of the Funj state via al-Sayed Ahmed al-Tayeb Wad al-Bashir.
3) Al-Shazaliyya Order: Founded by Imam Abu Hassan al-Shazali, the teachings of al-Shazaliyya order spread in Sudan before the reign of the Funj state, through Sheikh Khojali Abdelrahman.
4) Al-Tijaniyya Order: This order was established by Sheikh Ahmed al-Tijani in Morocco. It eventually penetrated Sudan in the mid-19th century via the western Sahel. It reached Northern Sudan, particularly the city of Berber, by the end of the Turkish reign through Sheikh Ahmed Mukhtar. It also spread in Darfur, west of Sudan.
5) Al-Mirghaniyya Order: Also referred to as al-Khatmiyya, the al-Mirghaniyya order is derived from both the Naqshbandiyya and the al-Shazaliyya orders. It was established in the early 19th century by Mohamed Othman al-Mirghani and settled in Sudan by the end of the Funj state’s reign through al-Sayed Ali Mirghani. The order originates from Sheikh Ahmed Bin Idris, a religious teacher in Mecca who sent his student Mirghani, to Sudan to spread the teachings of Islam. This order was well-received by political parties in Sudan and played a major role in the political history of the country.
The Sheikh, the Massiad and the Khalwa
In Sufism, a sheikh, a master or a ‘wali-Allah’ is believed to be divinely-guided and incapable of sin. An early Sufi sheikh, named Abu Yazid Al Bistami, is frequently quoted as saying, “He who has no sheikh, his sheikh is shaytan (the devil)”. This is a common belief among Sufis who condemn and harshly criticize self-proclaimed Sufis who do not belong to a specific order and do not follow a particular sheikh. No different from Sufis of other nationalities, Sudanese Sufis believe the sheikh acts as an intermediary between them and God.
The ‘massiad’, (the home of the sheikh of the order), and the ‘khalwa’ (which translates to solitude) where the Quran is memorized and the secrets of the order are learned, are the centers of the order. Each order has its own hierarchy with the sheikh at the top of the pyramid, usually followed by his successors. At the ‘khalwa’, the elite of dervishes or ‘hairan’ (followers) completely devote themselves to the order, and isolate themselves from the outside world for the sake of learning the secrets of the order, under the guidance of their sheikh.
Sufi Rituals and Celebrations
Zikir (remembrance) represents the essence of Sufi practices. Some historic accounts suggest that Sudanese Sufi orders introduced distinctive African elements (that are not present in other Sufi countries) in to zikir rituals of Sudan.
The ‘zikir’ exercises include reciting prayers and passages of the Quran and repeating the names or attributes of God while performing physical movements. Each order’s ‘zikir’ varies from the other according to the modus operandi established by the founder. Singing and dancing are also incorporated, and the outcome of an exercise, which may extend to hours, is often a state of ecstatic abandon.
Sufi rituals of the al-Samaniyya order, one of the largest orders in Sudan, are performed for hours every Friday. The al-Samaniyya followers meet during Friday prayers, all of them dressed in white ‘jellabiyas’ (traditional male garments) with leather belts across their chests, denoting their dedication to the order. The ritual, held at the al-Samaniyya mosque and led by sheikh Mohamed al-Tayeb, marks the presence of dozens of male followers lined up in a highly organized fashion, chanting the words ‘la ilaha illa Allah’ (there is no god but Allah) while the women join in upstairs.
While some Sudanese people choose to gain religious zeal through the al-Samaniyya order’s somewhat orthodox ‘zikir’ practices, others tend to lean towards non-traditional Sufi rituals that, on the surface, may seem more fun, entertaining and appealing. The Hamad al-Neel cemetery—a vast, dun-colored cemetery in Omdurman—is the headquarters of the al-Qadiriya order in Sudan and was founded by sheikh Hamad al-Neel, who is buried at a nearby mosque. The expanse serves as an attraction for tourists and photographers due to the nature of the order’s rituals, which combine African heritage, dance, music and colorful attire.
On Friday at 5 pm, the cemetery fills up with people of all ages, ethnicities and walks of life who come to be a part of the rituals, while tea sellers and pamphlet vendors surround the area around the tomb site. The dervishes are dressed in red and green, patchwork, leopard-prints or flowing white ‘jellabiyas’ and ‘immas’ (turbans). Some sport dreadlocks, amulets and talismans, and others don on colorful hats and enormous strings of prayer beads. Standing barefoot above the sand and under the heat of a sizzling sun, a few men pick up the rhythm on their ‘tambours’ (drums) and chant ‘zikr’ melodically while the crowd swells palpably, grooving to the rhythm. A fragrance of rich and distinctive frankincense fills up the atmosphere.
As they sing harmoniously, the dervishes build up into a ritual frenzy and other followers crouch, bob and pump their arms in synchronization with the chants. Some spin in trances, some freestyle and some dance side-by-side in large circles. As sundown approaches, the dervishes reach a final sustained and jubilant tempo then stop for prayers. Lying flat on the ground in a reverie-like state, some of them embrace what they refer to as spiritual ecstasy.
Remembering the Prophet (PBUH)—the Sufi way
One of the largest gatherings in Sudan is the annual celebration of ‘al-Mawlid al-Nabawi’ (the Prophet’s birthday). Celebrated by Muslim countries around the world and marked as an official holiday in many of them, the ‘Mawlid’ in Sudan is commemorated in a festive ambience and involves ‘zikir’, ‘madih’, drumming sessions and other forms of performances.
The open-air venues are decorated with lights, floors are furnished with prayer rugs and Sufi flags are positioned all around the area. From children who enjoy the assorted sweets and candy in the shapes of brides and knights in horses, to adults who sip sweet tea and engage in the Sufi ceremonials, to travelers, tourists and photographers who attend to experience the local religious carnival, the ‘Mawlid’ is attended by people from all ages, orders and ethnicities. The ‘Mawlid’ even welcomes non-Sufis, who are often present in large numbers. The richer members of the community donate food, and the less fortunate mingle with the rest, enjoy free meals, juice and tea, and join in the chants.
While each Sufi order has its own distinct style, all are, to an extent, similar in terms of their impeccable hospitality, generosity and provoking a mood of spiritual joyousness among the masses.
This article was first published here
The Emergence of Sufism in Sudan
Many historic accounts suggest that Islam made its impact in Sudan through the activity of Sufi orders. The orders first came to Sudan in the 16th century, and began to expand and take root two centuries later.
There are as many as a dozen Sufi orders in Sudan. While some are restricted to Sudan, others are widespread in Africa and the Middle East. Several orders are derivatives of older orders, and were established by men who made major or minor alterations to the practices of the orders to which they had formerly been linked.
Sufi orders reached all parts of Sudan until, according to some commentators, they reached about five main orders and several secondary ones. The most common ones are al-Qadiriyya with its multiple branches, al-Samaniyya, al-Shazaliyya, al-Tijaniyya, al-Mirghaniyya (al-Khatmiyya), al-Mikashfiyya, al-Majzoubiyya, al-Burhaniyya, al-Idrisiyya-al-Ahmadiya, al-Rashidiyya, al-Ismailiyya, al-Mahdiyya (al-Ansar) and the Naqshbandiyya.
Sufi Orders in Sudan
1) Al-Qadiriyya Order: Al-Qadiriyya is the most widespread and popular order in Sudan. It was founded by Abdelqadir al-Jilani in Baghdad, in the 12th century and was introduced to Sudan by sheikh Tajeldin al-Buhari at the beginning of the Funj state (a loose confederation of sultanates and dependent tribal chieftaincies drawn together under the suzerainty of the Kingdom of in southern Nubia in 1504).
2) Al-Samaniyya Order: A branch of the al-Qadiriyya order, the al-Samaniyya order was founded by sheikh al-Samani who is now buried in Medina. The order emerged in Sudan during the early decades of the Funj state via al-Sayed Ahmed al-Tayeb Wad al-Bashir.
3) Al-Shazaliyya Order: Founded by Imam Abu Hassan al-Shazali, the teachings of al-Shazaliyya order spread in Sudan before the reign of the Funj state, through Sheikh Khojali Abdelrahman.
4) Al-Tijaniyya Order: This order was established by Sheikh Ahmed al-Tijani in Morocco. It eventually penetrated Sudan in the mid-19th century via the western Sahel. It reached Northern Sudan, particularly the city of Berber, by the end of the Turkish reign through Sheikh Ahmed Mukhtar. It also spread in Darfur, west of Sudan.
5) Al-Mirghaniyya Order: Also referred to as al-Khatmiyya, the al-Mirghaniyya order is derived from both the Naqshbandiyya and the al-Shazaliyya orders. It was established in the early 19th century by Mohamed Othman al-Mirghani and settled in Sudan by the end of the Funj state’s reign through al-Sayed Ali Mirghani. The order originates from Sheikh Ahmed Bin Idris, a religious teacher in Mecca who sent his student Mirghani, to Sudan to spread the teachings of Islam. This order was well-received by political parties in Sudan and played a major role in the political history of the country.
The Sheikh, the Massiad and the Khalwa
In Sufism, a sheikh, a master or a ‘wali-Allah’ is believed to be divinely-guided and incapable of sin. An early Sufi sheikh, named Abu Yazid Al Bistami, is frequently quoted as saying, “He who has no sheikh, his sheikh is shaytan (the devil)”. This is a common belief among Sufis who condemn and harshly criticize self-proclaimed Sufis who do not belong to a specific order and do not follow a particular sheikh. No different from Sufis of other nationalities, Sudanese Sufis believe the sheikh acts as an intermediary between them and God.
The ‘massiad’, (the home of the sheikh of the order), and the ‘khalwa’ (which translates to solitude) where the Quran is memorized and the secrets of the order are learned, are the centers of the order. Each order has its own hierarchy with the sheikh at the top of the pyramid, usually followed by his successors. At the ‘khalwa’, the elite of dervishes or ‘hairan’ (followers) completely devote themselves to the order, and isolate themselves from the outside world for the sake of learning the secrets of the order, under the guidance of their sheikh.
Sufi Rituals and Celebrations
Zikir (remembrance) represents the essence of Sufi practices. Some historic accounts suggest that Sudanese Sufi orders introduced distinctive African elements (that are not present in other Sufi countries) in to zikir rituals of Sudan.
Sufi rituals of the al-Samaniyya order, one of the largest orders in Sudan, are performed for hours every Friday. The al-Samaniyya followers meet during Friday prayers, all of them dressed in white ‘jellabiyas’ (traditional male garments) with leather belts across their chests, denoting their dedication to the order. The ritual, held at the al-Samaniyya mosque and led by sheikh Mohamed al-Tayeb, marks the presence of dozens of male followers lined up in a highly organized fashion, chanting the words ‘la ilaha illa Allah’ (there is no god but Allah) while the women join in upstairs.
While some Sudanese people choose to gain religious zeal through the al-Samaniyya order’s somewhat orthodox ‘zikir’ practices, others tend to lean towards non-traditional Sufi rituals that, on the surface, may seem more fun, entertaining and appealing. The Hamad al-Neel cemetery—a vast, dun-colored cemetery in Omdurman—is the headquarters of the al-Qadiriya order in Sudan and was founded by sheikh Hamad al-Neel, who is buried at a nearby mosque. The expanse serves as an attraction for tourists and photographers due to the nature of the order’s rituals, which combine African heritage, dance, music and colorful attire.
On Friday at 5 pm, the cemetery fills up with people of all ages, ethnicities and walks of life who come to be a part of the rituals, while tea sellers and pamphlet vendors surround the area around the tomb site. The dervishes are dressed in red and green, patchwork, leopard-prints or flowing white ‘jellabiyas’ and ‘immas’ (turbans). Some sport dreadlocks, amulets and talismans, and others don on colorful hats and enormous strings of prayer beads. Standing barefoot above the sand and under the heat of a sizzling sun, a few men pick up the rhythm on their ‘tambours’ (drums) and chant ‘zikr’ melodically while the crowd swells palpably, grooving to the rhythm. A fragrance of rich and distinctive frankincense fills up the atmosphere.
 |
| Photo: Ayman Elkhidir |
Remembering the Prophet (PBUH)—the Sufi way
One of the largest gatherings in Sudan is the annual celebration of ‘al-Mawlid al-Nabawi’ (the Prophet’s birthday). Celebrated by Muslim countries around the world and marked as an official holiday in many of them, the ‘Mawlid’ in Sudan is commemorated in a festive ambience and involves ‘zikir’, ‘madih’, drumming sessions and other forms of performances.
The open-air venues are decorated with lights, floors are furnished with prayer rugs and Sufi flags are positioned all around the area. From children who enjoy the assorted sweets and candy in the shapes of brides and knights in horses, to adults who sip sweet tea and engage in the Sufi ceremonials, to travelers, tourists and photographers who attend to experience the local religious carnival, the ‘Mawlid’ is attended by people from all ages, orders and ethnicities. The ‘Mawlid’ even welcomes non-Sufis, who are often present in large numbers. The richer members of the community donate food, and the less fortunate mingle with the rest, enjoy free meals, juice and tea, and join in the chants.
While each Sufi order has its own distinct style, all are, to an extent, similar in terms of their impeccable hospitality, generosity and provoking a mood of spiritual joyousness among the masses.
This article was first published here
Tweet
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)