Pampering at a psychological cost

As I walked into the beauty salon, I was greeted by a wave of odd smells. A blended scent of henna, hair dye, scrubs, creams and shampoo, sibgha, traditional wax or halawa and a powerful gush of dukhaan among other piquant, inexplicable odours.

I struggled to ignore the smell, and made my way to the counter where a very loud woman was manning the cashier. It took her a few moments to realize that a customer was waiting. Eventually, she did notice me, but failed to restrain herself from yelling at the cleaning lady in my presence. After she was done, she collected my money, gave me a receipt and asked me to wait inside. Something about her made me feel uneasy; perhaps the tone of her voice, or the look of disgust she casually carried around, or the way she was luridly chewing a piece of gum. Either way, I was glad to walk away from her.

The inside of the salon boasted dozens of Sudanese women from all walks of life. Often intrigued by the littlest of things, I couldn’t help but wander off in a daze. Each one of these women had a story; a reason for being here. Three women caught my attention.

The first one was a bride. She couldn’t have been over twenty years of age. Our eyes met for a brief second, and there my mind went again, meandering and contemplating about the circumstances that brought her here. Was she marrying the man of her dreams? Or was this an arranged marriage and she was being forced to marry someone twice her age? Most importantly, was she happy? The blank look her eyes conveyed left me no reassurances. I watched as three women gave her instructions. She obeyed without hesitance.

The second was a girl in her mid-twenties. Her face was shades lighter than her hands, but that wasn’t the only odd thing about her. She peeled some black substance off her eyebrows, after which she washed her face thoroughly using soap. It took me a few minutes to realize that she had her eyebrows tattooed using sibgha, black dye meant for hair and henna. She must have been be oblivious to the fact that it’s a lethal ingredient, I thought to myself, otherwise she wouldn’t have applied it so close to her eyes.

The third was a married woman in her thirties. The henna on her hands and feet was so intricate that it must have taken the henna artist hours to pencil. She was comfortably seated in a angaraib (traditional bed) facing a noisy fan. She seemed to be in a hurry for the henna to dry off, which struck me as odd because she must have been in the salon for hours. Minutes later, my curiosity was remedied. A young woman, possibly her relative, approached her asking how much longer she was going to take, and that they were going to be late for the bika (funeral).

“Ya zaboona,” some lady shouted, addressing me. I snapped back to reality. It was my turn to get my hair done.

Disclaimer: This article was originally posted in the newly-launched website 500 Words Magazine under my column 'Made in Sudan'. If you have a passion for Sudan and for writing, don't hesitate to send your submissions here.

Tweet

The pursuit of answers

Lately I’ve been feeling lost. Where is my life headed? What do I want to do with my life? What does the future have in store for me? I have been relentlessly searching for answers. I think the main reason I still can’t find the answers to these questions is that much of my futuristic plans have been dependent on one thing: witnessing tangible change in my country. The alternative scenario has always been inexcusable and hence, I couldn’t and still can’t picture a future that lacks the change that I yearn for with every ounce of my being.

The question remains; when does one accept the indubitable reality? When is it time to acknowledge that hope is nothing but a sheer mirage?

This country; the regime’s countless human rights violations and atrocities, the state’s economic meltdown, the deterioration of the public sector and, most importantly, the people’s ostensible content with the status quo… until when?

Until when am I supposed to remain optimistic? How many more protests do I have to go to wearing a smile on my face, assuring everyone whose gaze falls on mine that what Safia Ishaq said was true; that things will get better? Most notably, what is a meek, sporadic activist like me expected to do when the real activists of Sudan, the famous and inspirational ones, have given up and raised the white flag?

What was the cause again? I can’t seem to remember what we are fighting for anymore. I have to constantly remind myself.

When I see influential people in the activist community have surrendered, not because the NCP is all strong and mighty, but because the people they are fighting the cause for ­­aren’t moving a muscle, I can’t help but feel frustrated. I then ponder, what is a silly girl like me doing trying to spark change when those who can tangibly make it happen have abandoned all hope?

Honestly, I am tired and worn out. I don’t know how much sanguinity is left in me, but I know my optimism is running thin. I have not given up yet, and I doubt that I will anytime soon, but I need to find some answers in order to maintain my sanity.

I have been so consumed with Sudan and its endless problems that I have lost sight of my own problems, my own life. But how do I shake off this conviction that, if I pursue my own dreams and live my own life outside the walls of “the cause”, I would be abandoning it and giving up on my country?

But is being unhappy really worth it? And how much can I contribute to the cause if I am feeling unmotivated? When is it time to put “the cause” on hold and go on a soul searching journey to find my calling?

Where is my life headed? What do I want to do with my life? What does the future have in store for me?

…where do I find the answers?

Tweet

Sudan: A healthcare system in shambles

Disclaimer: This article was originally posted in the newly-launched website 500 Words Magazine under my column 'Made in Sudan'. If you have a passion for Sudan and for writing, don't hesitate to send your submissions here.

If you were born in Sudan then you most probably have a scar on your left arm. It is the result of a vaccine against tuberculosis that you received as an infant. Initially, I didn’t know why a scar should be left after a vaccination; particularly such a conspicuous one. Naturally, I rushed to blame the incompetent doctors of Sudan and the country’s deteriorating healthcare system. However, I later on discovered that the scar is a perfectly normal reaction to this vaccine. This made me realize that my brain has an automated response when it comes to anything related to the healthcare industry in Sudan.

I came to learn at a very early age that in Sudan, medical errors are common and they can hinder the course of someone’s life to the extent of physical disability. As a kid, I was relentless to find out why my aunt walked with a limp. Of course now I realize how insensitive my childhood inquisitiveness was, but at the time I made it my mission to find out what the problem was. Deluded as I was, my juvenile naivety had me convinced that if I knew what was wrong I could subsequently fix it, somehow. When my snooping became too bothersome, my mom finally sat me down to explain my aunt’s condition. She told me that the limp was the consequence of a vaccine gone wrong, and that it cannot be repaired or reversed. She added that it will probably cost my aunt the normalcy of her life. I was baffled. Ultimately, I came to the realization that I can’t fix her. Ironically, here I am eighteen years later, still trying to fix the pieces of my broken country.

When I came to Sudan to do my undergraduate studies, I was optimistic that things within the healthcare realm had changed. Unfortunately, reality struck even before my graduation. I would constantly hear of relatives dying because of overdoses in anaesthesia, the surgeon leaving behind a piece of gauze during the operation, or the nurse forgetting to administer a certain post-operation pill. After graduation, the grass was not at all greener. It was as though I had been seeing the world in blurry mode and I was suddenly handed a pair of sharp-vision glasses.

The healthcare system in Sudan is not only riddled with incompetence, but corruption as well. However, I wish these were its only two problems. Patients die every day because they can’t afford medication or treatment.

Today, health is a commodity that doctors, healthcare professionals, salesmen and businessmen use for trade. I call myself a biomedical engineer, but at the end of the day I am just one of them.

Tweet

South Sudanese in Sudan: A Forced Parting of the Ways

They have lived, studied and worked together for decades, but now, ten months into South Sudan’s independence, Sudanese from both sides of what was once Africa’s largest nation have found themselves at a forced parting of the ways.

On April 8, Sudan’s government revoked southerners’ citizenships, officially announcing them as foreigners and declaring them security threats. With negotiations between the two countries stagnant following clashes over the oil-rich area of Heglig, many southerners are now faced with the threat of statelessness.

The government initially announced May 5 as the deadline for South Sudanese to leave the country. This was not a straightforward possibility for many, however, and earlier this month thousands found themselves stranded in the city of Kosti in White Nile state facing dire living conditions. On May 14 then, the governments of Sudan and South Sudan, in collaboration with International Organisation for Migration, organised a humanitarian airlift which brought hundreds of South Sudanese to Juba via Khartoum.  

The effect on the Sudanese people

Many South Sudanese in Sudan are enraged at their sudden loss of citizenship. Sokhon B, like many, has spent his entire life in Khartoum. It is where he was born, educated, worked and has established strong friendships. “I can’t imagine giving up my life here” he said. “My dad passed away and my mum left for Juba in 2005. I decided to stay. I have only been to Juba once in my life, and it is very different to Khartoum…I went to Juba for work, but everything was so unfamiliar to me. I stayed there for a few weeks, but I missed my friends and my life in Khartoum.”

Aguil L, a South Sudanese activist, similarly explained: “We are all Sudanese. Both sides shouldn’t be forcing citizens to leave. The people have suffered enough and both countries need each other and their citizens working together for a prosperous future. For border areas it would be great – though a dream – to have free movement like they do between Tanzania and Kenya for the Massai. For other areas it should be EU style; citizens should be able to live and work in both countries.”

Some, however, seemed to have taken the news of their deportation with a degree of optimism. William J said: “It will be the onset of a new life for me…All I do here is work, eat and sleep. Even when I try to have some harmless fun by drinking a little I end up spending the night in jail. I don’t want this life anymore”. He continued: “Going to Juba will allow me to enjoy myself and perhaps finally find the woman of my dreams”.  

Growing tension

Over the past two decades, much of Sudan’s media has been promoting tribalism. With the wide distribution of notoriously racist newspapers such as Al-Intibaha, intolerance has grown in the country, driving a wedge between the peoples of the two nations. Such newspapers have been campaigning regularly for the deportation of southerners and reinforcing the Sudanese government’s claims that the presence of southerners in the country poses a security threat.

There has also been violence between different groups in Sudan. On April 21, for example, Mohamed Abdelkarim, a well-known Islamic preacher in Khartoum, called on his followers to destroy a church complex the day after South Sudan pulled out of Heglig. The following day, a mob marched into a church complex, tore down walls, burned bibles, ransacked buildings and looted possessions.

Many Sudanese citizens, however, are highly frustrated at their government’s decision to deport southern Sudanese and see it as an illegitimate move. “It is technically illegal, because citizenship in any country has nothing to do, or should have nothing to do with ethnicity,” remarked political commentator Moez A.

“The fact of the matter is that both countries don’t want to take responsibility for these people because the south does not want more people to take care of, and the north is doing it in an attempt to get back at the southerners for voting for secession,” he said, adding, “the worst part is that the casualties have nothing to do with either government, just poor people trying to survive. They should be given a choice of returning, not forced to return.”

This article was first published here

Tweet