In remembrance of Dr. John Garang

I vividly remember the day Dr. John Garang died seven years ago. I was at the university attending a lecture. Upon receiving an urgent phone call, my professor suddenly announced that the lecture was over and that campus was being evacuated. The leader of South Sudan, Dr. John Garang had died after the Ugandan presidential Mi-172 helicopter he was flying in crashed mysteriously. We were advised to go home; chaos had erupted in the streets of Khartoum. 

I was a student in my second year of university. Though I was young and oblivious towards most of what was going on in my country, I held great admiration for this man. I was confused about the war but pleased about the peace agreement he had sought after. 

In a matter of minutes, waves of disarray sparked across campus. As I walked out of the lecture room, I could see smoke from a few kilometres away. I heard gun shots and the sound of glass being shattered. Panic spread amidst the students and moments later, only a few of us remained inside the university. Most of the students drove their cars back home, and there was no one from the administrative staff to make sure we were safe. Ironic; given that I studied at a private university owned by a man who ran it like a tight ship. 

 I tried calling my sisters to make sure they were okay, but the network was down and I couldn’t get through. I tried for hours; the signal never came back until later that night. I knew my parents were probably trying to call me from overseas. They were worried sick; news channels were rife with footage of riots taking place all over the streets of Khartoum. 

There was no way for me to get home. I had no car and there was not one taxi, rickshaw or public transportation bus in sight. All bridges were blocked by angry southerners. The police was absent. Hell had broken loose. 

Those who were left of us had decided to stay together citing that there’s power in numbers. One of the senior students who stayed behind offered to drive us to a friend’s house, located a few minutes from campus. The ride wasn’t easy, we were intercepted a couple of times. On our way there, I saw cars in flames, shattered glass on the floor and a lot of public property destroyed. 

When we finally arrived at the friend’s house, we quickly turned on the news. It was even crazier in other areas. I prayed that my family was fine. Hours later, I was able to get in touch with my sisters. They were all home and safe. My parents were able to reach me and I told them that I was okay. I was told to stay put; returning to my house was not an option as all bridges were blocked until the following morning.

I was puzzled with everything that was happening around me. I wasn’t happy with the street riots, thuggery and looting but I had an understanding of why this was happening. Though Sudan and South Sudan were one country, it certainly didn’t feel like it. It wasn’t easy for my southern compatriots to accept the death of a man like Garang. It was as though their one hope for achieving freedom had been stripped from them. For me and many others like me, accepting his death was a challenge as well. I just wished that on a day like this more people would have known this. 

Dr. John Garang was, and still is known as a great revolutionary. His vision for a “New Sudan” overcame tribal and religious differences and brought the people together in unison. 

In his infinite wisdom, it is this same God that made the Arabs, that made the Nuba, that made the Fur, that made the Dinka, that made the Nubians, that made the Beja, that made the Shuluk, that made the all 500 different ethnic groups in the Sudan. And who is to amend God’s creation? This person; I’d say he is against God! I will WIN this case! ~ Dr. John Garang (1945 – 2005)

I never stop wondering how different things would've been had he still been alive. Would the south still have seceded? Would he had been able to control the damage done by the NCP over the past seven years? Would he had been able to stop the war in Blue Nile and South Kordofan? Would have there been an oil conflict in Heglig?

I know that his legacy lives on; and that we from both Sudans have a responsibility to see it through.

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How half a culture gets lost

Disclaimer: This article was originally published on The Niles.

Who would have thought that the day would come when a country that once prided itself on being Africa’s largest nation, and one of its most diverse regions, would split in half?

Many in the north remain concerned about the fact that Sudan lost 75 percent of its resources when it lost South Sudan. But the loss is about more than this. For countless others, the emotional repercussions of losing half of their culture also remain. It causes an overwhelming melancholy.

On April 9, 2012, a day that some consider a dark one in Sudanese history, the Sudanese government declared the half million South Sudanese citizens residing in Khartoum illegal residents, ordering them to either leave the country or apply for permits to stay.

And over the past year, there’s been a gradual decline in the number of South Sudanese citizens on the streets in Khartoum.

Take the public show on Ghaba Street in Khartoum that usually attracts tourists as well as locals of all ethnic backgrounds. The vendors there, mainly from South Sudan, used to use the wide street to showcase and sell handmade products, playing on their roots and handicrafts, to eke out a living. 

Artisans made products from local materials, such as bamboo and ebony; a lot of the goods on sale at this street were much cheaper than those sold in downtown Khartoum. 

But today, things are very different. Ghaba Street is just an empty expanse. There are no vendors, no artisans, no handicrafts, no shopping tourists, no photographers and no African culture. 

The Southerners have been gone for over a year now and Sudan and many of its people still mourn the departure of a kaleidoscope of religions, dialects, ethnic groups, foods and traditions. They have had to bid farewell to a rich cultural legacy and a colourful, diverse and beautiful era. 

They grieve the loss of the vibrant South Sudanese music industry. This includes the lively Zouk Beton music, which was often a highlight of regional festivals of music and dance. 

The past few years have been an emotional roller coaster for the two Sudans. But the good citizens of both countries are hoping that this second, post-secession year will bring an end to their ugly and bitter divorce. They hope it will bring a new era, where somehow the cultures, economies, politics and societies of the two nations can co-exist.

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A month has passed since Usamah was arrested

As I write this, I am fighting back tears as it’s been exactly one month since Usamah Mohamed Ali’s arrest. Usamah, or @simsimt on Twitter is a friend of mine. The last time I saw him, he was featured in a video comment which he recorded for AJStream stating why he plans to take part in the June 30th protests. The last person to see him was his brother, who watched as NISS took him away on June 22, 2012 from the scene of a protest in Burri, Khartoum. 

The last time I spoke to him was on June 21, 2012. It was the same day of my first detention. He called to check up on me. I answered his call even though I was driving back home from the NISS building where I was held for interrogation for five hours. He was so relieved that I’d been released. “I was so worried about you,” he said to me. “I’m glad you’re safe. I’ll let you go now, your family must be really eager to see you.” Before I hung up, I promised to call him later. I never did; I got caught up with endless family matters. We had plans to meet the following day. We never did; he was kidnapped.

Usamah and I met at a tweet-up exactly one year ago. I was very intrigued by the Twitter personality and was anxious to meet Usamah in real life. When I finally met him in the flesh, I was even more intrigued. He is one of the most intellectual people I know. He is soft spoken, kind hearted, generous, charming and always at the heart of the conversation. 

 

On the day of his arrest, he was live tweeting from a protest in Burri. I keep going back to his Twitter timeline; the last words he tweeted were: “You can use my tweets without even mentioning me. Free content advocate here!” His last tweet reflects just the kind of person he is. 

This was at 5.30 PM. When he stopped tweeting, we all started to panic. His phone was on until later that night, but he never answered my calls or messages. His arrest was confirmed by his brother, who was also arrested but released seven hours later. 

I couldn’t believe the news of Usamah’s arrest. When it finally sunk in, I was certain he was going to be released in a matter of hours. But hours became days, days became weeks and now the weeks have turned into a month and he is still detained. 

Usamah is spending his Ramadan days in Kober, a maximum security political prison in Khartoum. His family has yet to see him, though they have requested visitation and are waiting for it to be accepted. 

Why is Usamah still detained? I just want for him to be released. One month in prison is barely a justified punishment for attending a peaceful protest that didn’t even last an hour. 

I am sick to my stomach. I want my friend back. I am disgusted with AJStream. The most they have done was issue a statement about his arrest long after I dedicated numerous tweets to harass them about Usamah’s case. I, along with many others, am holding AJStream accountable for the extension of Usamah’s imprisonment. We have since boycotted AJStream. As an activist, I have urged my fellow Sudanese not to risk their safety for the sake of a network that will stand idly by after contributing to their arrest. I will never forget how they referred to Usamah’s kidnapping as “alleged, pending confirmation from the Sudanese government”; despite his brother’s testimony. 

Sudanese. Loves Sudan and living it. Interested in its politics and history. The rest is icing on the cake.

Freedom to Usamah and the remaining 1,000+ who have sacrificed their freedoms for the sake of a free Sudan.

Usamah risked his own safety and went looking for me in al-Gama’a Street shortly after my disappearance and subsequent arrest on June 21, 2012. He is a hero. I dedicated a post on Global Voices for him and another one is currently in the works. I will stop at nothing and will continue to make noise to highlight his unjust arrest. #FreeUsamah

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When Nightmare Turns Into Reality

In my dream, I was inside a tunnel. The tunnel was jammed with cars, and I was in one of them. I was alone in the taxi, and the driver was frustrated with the heavy traffic. The tunnel seemed endless, and I asked the driver to roll down the windows because I could slowly feel myself running out of breath. My claustrophobia started to kick in, and the long queue of cars both ahead and behind me gave me a strong sense of uneasiness. The windows were now open, but I couldn't feel any air gushing in. I poked my head out of the window in an attempt to find where the tunnel ended… to figure out if freedom was near. The tunnel was a long, endless spiral. I was trapped and there was no way out. Stepping out of the car was not an option; there was no sidewalk inside the tunnel. Death was near; I began preparing myself for it. 

Much like what I went through with my multiple detentions a week or so ago, the trauma I suffered during this dream felt real. While I was waiting for death, my mind took a stroll down memory lane and imagery of friends and loved ones began popping in my head. Soon enough I woke up… and I thanked god for the gift of freedom which I have been blessed with to an extent. Sudan isn't free yet, but at least I am sleeping in my own bed, I thought to myself. I felt tears streaming down my cheeks at the thought of friends and loved ones being held in detention for days now, some even weeks. 

During the distressing times that I faced over the past few weeks, I developed my own method of dealing with things. As cheesy as it sounds, I got to know myself better. In fact, for the longest time I thought I was the nervous, panicky type. This was proven last year when my sister was pregnant. My niece decided to arrive in this world two weeks ahead of schedule, so we rushed to the nearest hospital. My sister gave birth while she was in a wheelchair… the baby refused to wait. I saw it happen and I completely flipped. I was pacing around in circles, yelling at the staff, asking them to do something. I cried and I screamed and my own sister had to calm me down. I was only okay after I held my niece in my arms. I knew since that day that I was unfit to deal with stress… until I was proven otherwise. 

Salma Elwardany, an Egyptian journalist for Bloomberg, is not only a friend. She is also family. Whenever she's sick, she calls me and I take her to the hospital. Whenever I'm stressed, I call her and we meet over tea. She offers me valuable advice. We talk about boys, makeup and politics. One day, we went to a protest together at the University of Khartoum. Security officers in civilian clothes intercepted my car while we were in it. They confiscated our phones and her laptop, but I managed a final tweet giving a heads up that we've been stopped. We were kidnapped and taken to NISS offices in Khartoum North. They separated us upon arrival. They held me for 4 hours, and Salma for 5 hours. When they told me I was free to go, I was ordered to cut all ties with Salma. They wouldn’t even let me wait for her. A few days later she was deported. At the airport, they wouldn't let me say goodbye. 

During my first detention, I faced 4 hours of emotional abuse. One interrogator said to me: "Take a good look at the window, this will be the last time you ever see the sun." Another told me that I was going to be transferred to women's prison without anyone as much as looking at my file. That's how dangerous they deemed me to be. 

When Salma got deported, I was having one of the worst days of my life. It was a very hot day and I was tense and frazzled. I slept unusually early that night, until my dad woke me up at midnight. He said to me, very calmly: "NISS is here to search the house." I woke up and got dressed quickly. I had anticipated something of this sort; Girifna members are always targeted. There were about 15 men in my living room; at least 2 of them were armed. They jumped the wall to my house after knocking heavily for a few minutes and waking up the neighbors. They searched my room and turned it upside down. They confiscated my phone, my sister's phone, my laptop and my sister's laptop, among other irrelevant items such as CDs, an electronic diary and a video tape. "Get ready," one guy told me, "you're coming with us." My dad was very cool and collected. In my mom's eyes, I could see worry and heartache. My sisters were terrorized; the youngest had tears in her eyes. My aunt was there as well, she was strong. I was instructed to pack a change of clothes because I was going to spend the night in prison. My sisters helped me find my toothbrush and my things. I told my family not to worry, that I was going to be fine. My dad insisted on coming along, he told them I have no brothers. They let him. I hugged my mom, my aunt and my sisters. I told them that I am strong, and they should be too. We made it to the NISS building in Khartoum North. For three hours they interrogated me. My dad looked tired. They told me that they spared me for the night and summoned me again the next morning. I got home and my family breathed a temporary sigh of relief. 

The next morning my dad and I headed to the NISS offices again. We spent 11 hours there. I boycotted their food and water after one officer referred to me as a "communist who does not deserve to be served any food or water". I asked them to bring my dad some food because he is diabetic. They offered him some yoghurt. By the time I got home I had low blood pressure. Still, I couldn't eat because they had summoned me again the next day after 11 hours of ruthless investigation; where I was threatened, blackmailed, insulted, emotionally abused and psychologically tortured. They had my laptop and they told me they had access to all my photos; and that they would use them if they sensed I'm causing any trouble. I was also told that they could easily make me lose my job. "You have nice pictures on your phone", one guy said to me. "You have a lot of fans," he added. The same guy was browsing through the photos on my laptop. He saw a picture of me and my best friend hugging. He then asked me if I was a lesbian.

The third day was the last of it. I was interrogated again for two hours this time. They made me sign a statement pledging that I will not take part in any Girifna activities, citing that if I do, I will be subjected to trial under the security law. They made my dad sign the same statement. They gave me back my phone and other items, but said that they will keep the two laptops for "further investigation". I claimed them back a short while ago.

Ever since the spark of the Sudanese revolution three weeks ago, the NISS has gone on a wild campaign illegally arresting and kidnapping protesters, activists, journalists, lawyers and even law-abiding citizens. To date, thousands have been reported detained by the NISS while only a few, like myself, have been released. Their families have not heard from them and they are being denied access to lawyers. No one knows what they are going through. In this article by Yousif Elmahdi, the disturbing circumstances of NISS detention are described in frustrating detail. 

Among those still detained for weeks are Boshi, who was also arrested earlier this year, Usamah Ali, a prominent citizen journalist and a Twitter microcelebrity, Girifna members Mohamed Izzelden and Rashida Shamseldin and many, many others. They are all at risk of torture. They have sacrificed their freedoms for the sake of a free Sudan. 

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