South Sudanese in Khartoum in fear after attack on church

Muslim Sudanese standing in solidarity with Christian South Sudanese

South Sudanese Christians in Khartoum are living in fear in the wake of a recent church attack by a mob of Muslim extremists. On Saturday April 21, hundreds of angry Sudanese Muslim extremists raided the Gireif West Evangelic Church in Khartoum and vandalized it, looted its possessions, burned its bibles and its outside crop field and knocked down its walls.

 The church complex, where South Sudanese Christians and others from various nationalities attend prayers every weekend, comprises of a church, a clinic, a school and a home for the elderly.

The attack on the church took place one day after South Sudan’s army pulled out of oil-rich Heglig. Sheikh Mohamed Abdelkarim, a well-known imam and preacher in Sudan, is thought to have instigated the church attack given his reputation as an extremist. Neighbourhood residents reported that during the weekly Friday sermon, Abdelkarim, who led the prayer, called on the people to march to the church the following day and demand it be closed down.

Yahia M., the church’s guard, recalled the incident saying “there were hundreds of them chanting ‘no more churches after today’, ransacking the buildings, tearing the walls apart and burning bibles.” His wife expressed her shock at the vast number of women who took part in the vandalism.

Pastor John had a look of sadness in his eyes as he recounted the story. “They told us the land belongs to the people of Gireif West and that we were no longer residents of this country and the land does not belong to us. They went on and on about their rights – and as difficult as it was, we tried to negotiate with them but to no avail. In the end we stood back and watched them destroy the church complex. The police was watching too, and only took action after it was all over.”

On April 9, 2012, a dark day in Sudanese history, all South Sudanese citizens residing in Sudan were officially announced stateless and considered illegal residents by the Sudanese government. Since the declaration of South Sudan’s Independence in July last year, the minority of South Sudanese living in Khartoum have been suffering from harassment and made to feel unwelcome by both the Sudanese locals and the Sudanese government.

The Sudanese authorities have yet to arrest the people responsible for the attack on the church complex. On Sunday April 22, 2012 a group of activists, journalists and regular citizens arrived at the church at noon in response to a Facebook initiative titled “Let’s Clean Up the Gireif West Church”. However, the police denied them entrance to the church despite their constant attempts and pleas to express their solidarity with their fellow South Sudanese brothers and sisters. They were kicked out of the church and in response, they rallied up in the street and held up posters calling against religious strife and extremism and calling for “One Sudan for All” and their constitutionalized freedom of religion.


This article was first published here

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The Violation of Women's Rights in Sudan: In the Name of the Law?

For decades, the women of Sudan have been suffering under article 152 of the penal code, an inhumane, vicious and notorious law first implemented in 1991.

Article 152 of Sudan’s criminal code stipulates that any conduct or clothing in violation of public decency be punished with 40 lashes. The law, which mainly targets women, is vague as to what constitutes indecent clothing, leaving room for the disreputable and abusive Public Order Police to arrest whoever they deem to be dressed inappropriately or committing an act of indecency.

Many women have been arrested under this article. They have been taken from streets, public places, cars or even their homes in some rare cases; they have been ‘caught’ in the same place as partners or friends of the opposite sex without being able to show proof of a recognised, first degree relationship.

The Public Order Police forces are known for patrolling the streets of Khartoum and arresting anyone they deem immoral or in opposition to Islamic values. Sudanese women from various backgrounds, ethnicities, ages and social statuses continue to be harassed by the abusers and executors of Article 152.

Public lashing of women

Incidents invoked by Article 152 often allow for policemen’s ugly side to surface. In this graphic video, an unarmed 16-year old girl is seen being lashed by unmasked policemen for an undisclosed crime. As she howls, the policemen at the Khartoum Police Station are seen laughing and taking a perverse enjoyment in her suffering. The video went viral on YouTube on December 12, 2010 and caused outrage both locally and internationally.

On July 3, 2009, thirteen women were arrested in Khartoum under article 152 of the criminal code for wearing trousers. They were sentenced to ten lashes and bail was set at $100. However, three of the women, including a well-known journalist named Lubna Hussein, refused the punishment and asked for a lawyer and court hearing.

At the hearing, Hussein and the other three women were granted a presidential pardon, but the women refused it. Instead, they challenged the judge to eliminate article 152 of the criminal code.

Hussein spoke to international human rights organisations about the cruelty of the law. She appeared on television shows and interviews wearing the same pair of trousers that got her arrested, asking the viewers to determine themselves where the indecency of her attire lied.

The rape of Safia

On February 13, 2012, Safia Ishaq, a young female artist was gang-raped by three members from the Sudanese National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS) for participating in a mass protest on January 30, 2011.

Two NISS officers arrested Safia as she was on her way to buy art supplies in Khartoum. The men forced her into a van and beat her on the way to the NISS premises where she was detained. During her detention, Safia was beaten, questioned about her activities and subjected to verbal abuse. When one of the officers tried removing her skirt and she tried to stop him, she was beaten unconscious. Her hands were tied with her scarf while three men violated her.

Upon her release, Safia refused to stay silent. She uploaded a video on YouTube where she recalled her experience, subsequently becoming the first Sudanese woman to publicly come out and speak about sexual assault by the security organisation. However, speaking out came at a price and Safia and, to avoid the social stigma, she eventually left for Europe.

Two journalists, Amal Habbani and Saad Eldin Ibrahim, who wrote about Safia’s rape also paid a high price for speaking out and were arrested and imprisoned.

Crackdown on female activists

Female activists over the past months and years have been subjected to intimidation by the NISS and had their homes raided and personal belongings confiscated numerous times.

In late February, NISS officers raided the house of a human rights activist, Nazik Kabalo, and confiscated the hard drive of her computer, her documents and her mobile phone. She was called for questioning and subjected to an interrogation that lasted over eight hours. Kabalo was asked to return the following day for further interrogation, but instead, fearing for her safety, fled Sudan. “They said that if I didn’t cooperate, they will kill me and throw my body away,” she told a non-violent youth opposition movement Girifna (‘We Are Fed Up’).

In March, the Public Order Police shot dead a female activist from the Nuba Mountains who was trying to defend her brother who was being beaten by officers who claimed that he was consuming alcohol. Her death inspired a wave of protests in her neighbourhood.

A couple of weeks later, Jalila Khamis Koko, another female activist from the Nuba Mountains, was arrested from her home in Al Shajara, Khartoum. NISS police forces raided her house and arrested Jalila still in her nightclothes. Her son’s pleas to allow her to cover herself up went ignored. Jalila remains in detention.

Campaigns against violation

There are several campaigns calling on the protection of women’s rights in Sudan, including The National and International Campaign to Eliminate Article 152 of Sudan's Criminal Code. These are bolstered by youth movements such as Girifna which are calling for an end to state-sponsored systematic violence and rape across the country.

This article was first published here

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Sudanese youth revolutionize through art

Khartoon! by Khalid Albaih

Youth in Sudan are looking to art to transform their political frustration into action. They have refused to succumb to hopelessness and apathy and chosen to voice hope and positivity through their artistic messages.

For some, the artistic attempts have landed them international recognition, and even awards. Khalid Albaih, a world-renowned and award-winning Sudanese cartoonist based in Qatar recalled how he became an artist.

“Due to my father’s diplomatic status followed by exile, we lived in the Diaspora most of our lives, surrounded by my father’s politics and ‘conspiracy theories’. My father’s ‘art-less’ lifestyle prompted me to complete my BS in Interior Design with degrees in Islamic Art History and Graphic Design” he said, “Growing up, political cartoons featured on daily newspapers always intrigued me due to their simplistic nature and the risks taken to get a point across…My visual style further explains what is at the very base of the issues we face today. Simple.”

Khartoon! by Khalid Albaih

Albaih tried to publish his work in several local newspapers in Doha and in Sudan in vain. He then turned to the one place all social rejects find solace in – the internet, where he founded his project “Khartoon!”.

Khartoon! by Khalid Albaih

“Art and artists in Sudan are dying due to society’s lack of interest in the arts. The internet is where all the silenced youths turn to, and now with the internet accessible in every Sudanese household, our youth are inspired to showcase their talents online with a ‘we can do it’ attitude,” he opined.

Away from the spotlight, K. Eltinaé writes in a medium that survives more in Arabic today than it does in English. Mixing confessional poetry with a revolutionary beat, his verses address the betrayal, suffocation and rejection of the diaspora of many third culture Sudanese youths who have returned to a country that will never fully embrace them. In 2009, as a teacher at the University of Khartoum, he took the initiative to stage and direct scenes from his debut anthology “Chagrin” into a mime theatrical representation of the poems accompanied by both recorded musical selections and a live chorus line depicting the wiles of relationship-drama.

By K.Eltinae

“The future of performance art in Khartoum is extremely encouraging in many diverse mediums which have never been focused upon before in Sudan. I am of the opinion, however, that talent should not solely be showcased and catered to Open Mic performances, or any other medium which unconsciously seeks to define art exclusively as something concrete, this kind of pressure on youths to imitate what is commercially ‘popular’ rather than what is sincerely felt or experienced results in a salad of repetition and stunted creative growth, which can be avoided if young artists think outside the box,” he says.

Eltinaé’s sophomore anthology “Vertigo” is scheduled to be published later this year as a series of 21 short films which interweave with the themes of the poems in the Anthology. K.Eltinaé is also currently writing his debut novel, centered in the ideology of ‘groupthink’.

Tartar, a YouTube-based animation studio, was founded by a young talented artist, Amin Bahari, with a mission to promote Sudan, its people, its traditions and culture. Everything Tartar produces is published and shared online, scoring almost 200,000 hits to date.

“Since our first production, you could see how the online Sudanese community positively reacted to such an initiative. The feedback was highly encouraging. People extensively shared the videos on social media websites, downloaded them on their computers and phones and volunteered to help,” Bahari explained, “The internet, unlike TV, offers more interaction with your audience and brings you instant feedback that helps you improve your work and keeps you focused.”

Bahari grew up drawing comic stories and he says media plays a major role in shaping the way people think and act. “I feel sad how such a powerful tool has been poorly utilized in my community, a community that is rich in culture, people and has so much to tell the world… however, all you see when you google Sudan are pictures of wars, famine and hunger,” Bahari said.

Bahari, who is also a medical doctor hopes that as Tartar grows bigger and more people join, share and promote it, it will become less of an animation studio and more of a social movement.

For Mohamed Altoum, a young budding photographer, the camera lens is his means for capturing the beauty of a country that is rich with culture, rituals and traditions. “A picture is worth a thousand words, and a camera can document incredible moments that otherwise go unremembered. Photography is my passion, and I make sure I make use of this passion in social events and activities,” he says.

By Mohamed Altoum

By Mohamed Altoum

Another photographer, Qusai Akoud, was recently awarded the ‘Best Sudanese Photographer’ title. He was inspired to become an artist after the death of his father in late 2007. “I think people like my photos because I tend to capture natural human gestures and normal moments that pass normally without notice but when you see that moment in a photo you get a warm, deep, sweet feeling,” he says. His prediction for the future of art in Sudan is that many talented youths will emerge and showcase their exceptional visions to the world.

As Sudan continues to experience hard political and economical times, with its recent secession from the south, its youth are joining forces; determined to represent it as a beacon of art, talent and inspiration.

This article was first published here

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International Women’s Day in Sudan: Rape, Torture, Detention and Murder

How can a country celebrate International Women’s Day when every year it marks the oppression, harassment and crackdown on the freedom and rights of its women?

From the case of Lubna Hussein who stood for trial for wearing a pair of trousers, to the video of a woman being lashed in public while police officers laughed as she wailed, to the gang-rape of a young activist named Safia Ishaq by security policemen last year, to the trial of journalist Amal Habbani who wrote about Safia’s case... the women of Sudan are suffering, and I believe we're only seeing the tip of the iceberg.

This year, not only are we spending the month of IWD commemorating the anniversary of Safia’s rape, but we are also spending it mourning the death of a woman named Awadiya Ajabna who hails from the Nuba Mountains. Awadiya, who was unarmed, was shot dead in front of her house on March 7, 2012 by the Public Order Police.

A few days before that, NISS had cracked down on a human rights activist named Nazik Kabalo. NISS officers raided her house and confiscated her equipment. They called her in for an 8-hour long interrogation. They used all sorts of intimidation tactics on her and threatened to detain her until the anti-espionage bill is in effect, where she may then be subjected to the death penalty for her communications with the international community. Nazik fled the country. Her activism was directed towards IDPs from the Nuba Mountains.

Just before the Sudanese people were able to grasp the horrors of these unfortunate and subsequent incidents, another activist from the Nuba Mountains was kidnapped from her home on March 14, 2012. Jalila Khamis Koko is a teacher and an active member of SPLM-N. NISS officers raided her house at 1 am and kidnapped her in front of her son. She was wearing her night clothes and they rejected her 17-year-old son’s pleas to allow her to change or slip into a ‘toab’ to cover herself. Instead, they threatened to shoot him. Jalila was essentially arrested for her ties with Nazik Kabalo, where the two activists were working together to collect funds for IDPs from the Nuba Mountains residing in Khartoum.

Every day in Sudan women’s rights are being violated. The Public Order Law, which was formed as some kind of ‘moral’ law and has its own court, has many loopholes, particularly article 152 which mainly focuses on so-called indecent acts.

Article 152 of the Public Order Law: Obscene and Indecent Acts:

(1) Whoever does in a public place an indecent act or an act contrary to public morals or wears an obscene outfit or contrary to public morals or causing an annoyance to public feelings shall be punished with flogging which may not exceed forty lashes or with fine or with both.

(2) The act shall be contrary to public morals if it is regarded as such according to the standard of the person's religion or the custom of the country where the act takes place.

What it boils down to is that the Public Order Police reserves the right to arrest whomever they consider is committing an indecent act or is wearing indecent clothing. The law as you can see is absolutely vague and has no standards. This leaves plenty of room for police barbarism, as the officers are allowed to act as they please and use their desired methods of punishment on whomever they deem has committed an ‘indecent act’.

What an oxymoron it is that the Public Order Police (who murdered Awadiya Ajabna 10 days ago) claims to be against acts of indecency; given that Jalila Khamis was removed from her own home while dressed in something she would probably be arrested for if she had worn it in public.

The double standards of this current regime is repellent… how much longer are the NISS and Public Order Police going to target women and violate human rights? How much longer will the NCP trade with religion and commit horrible crimes in the name of Islam? Most importantly, how much longer are we going to let them?

Take action.. shed light on these atrocities. Write, blog, tweet, Facebook. Advocate for women in Sudan and raise awareness on the issues they are facing. The times of standing idly by as we watch the NCP ruin our lives are long gone. Be part of the change process.

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Sudan: Can Social Media Unshackle the Press?

The Sudanese government has intensified its repression of the country’s independent media in recent months. Since a new conflict broke out between Sudanese forces and armed opposition groups north of Sudan’s border with the newly-independent South Sudan, the government in Khartoum has led a campaign against the press. News organisations have been raided, copy has been confiscated and many journalists have been arrested. And late last month, the daily newspaper Al-Tayyar became the third this year to be forcibly shut down by Sudanese authorities.

Crackdown on journalism

Reem Shawkat, a Sudanese journalist, explained that newspapers are discouraged from hiring writers known to oppose the regime and write critical pieces.

“There is direct interference in choosing the editor-in-chief of newspapers, especially the independent ones” she said. “Last month, Salah Al Den Awoda was completely sidelined from becoming the editor-in-chief of Al Jareeda newspaper because of his writings and views.”

She continued to describe how the government intervenes by “confiscating issues after publication. [This] puts a lot of pressure on a newspaper in terms of finances, and is bad for its image in the market.”

In 2009, a journalist named Azaz Shami was asked to write a column for Al Akhbar newspaper. In her piece, she questioned the Public Order Law that controls women’s dress code and behaviour, describing the law as being vague, against the core principles of human rights and humiliating. “The article I presented was censored before even going to print” she explained, adding “the Sudanese government fiercely targets all newspapers and journalists who write about such critical topics”.

Shami reported that in 2011 the government loosened the grip on newspaper censorship, allowing her article about a Youtube video of a girl being publicly lashed by a police officer to be published. It seems, however, that this more liberal stance did not last long.

A controlled media environment

The ruling party in Sudan, the National Congress Party (NCP), has been suppressing the media throughout its 22-year reign.

“Oppressive governance and control of media go together hand in hand” explained Nagi S to Think Africa Press. “For a government that came by force and has been ruling by force like the one in Sudan, controlling the media is a necessity.

“For over two decades, the government has been systemically deceiving the trusting Sudanese people, driving the opposition abroad or underground and falsely educating the young. The government knows very well that if the truth starts to go out to the masses then it is the end game for the government, so it will do whatever it can to control what goes through mainstream media.”

Usamah M, activist and social media enthusiast said: “Controlled media does exist and it represents a huge obstacle for journalism and media in Sudan. Sudanese authorities systematically manipulate the laws governing media and publication regulations to control the media and hinder its ability to freely report on the state of affairs in the country. It is now an established practice for a security agent from the NISS to visit every single newspaper at midnight before it goes to print and proofreads its content”.

While repressive, however, political commentator Mustafa Abdelbagi suggests that Sudan is more tolerant to media criticism than most other oligarchic systems in the region.

“They seem to have certain categories of criticism that they deem unacceptable”, he explained. “Disparaging their policies is much more benign than calling for a revolution or for the president to step down. So yes, media is controlled, but that's what one expects from a dictatorial regime. You also get the news outlets which are blatantly pro-government, again, another symptom of a dictatorship. So, technically, it's not that much different from any other tyrannical system in Africa or the Middle East.”

The role of social media

“Social media is gaining ground in Sudan, and its impact has been proved to be extremely significant” Abdelbagi continued. “It has allowed many to express their opinions on political issues without having to worry about the repercussions. Before social media, one would have never imagined that deep-rooted political discourse could take place in a public-like atmosphere.

“It has also given the opportunity for the Sudanese youth to gain access to information that they lack in their country, and enabled interaction between local and international professionals in journalism, IT and many other fields. Not only has it enabled interaction between the sexes, but it has given women a chance to enforce the changes they want to see happen without the consistent condescension that they would usually face.”

Abubakr Abdelaziz, an engineer who lives in the gulf, says social media is still at its infancy. “This is mainly due to the high cost of communications, smart phones, limited middle class, high technological and illiteracy rate in Sudan, etc. Unfortunately social media penetration in Sudan is very limited and I can only see the number of users declining and being used almost exclusively for entertainment and social purposes. Also, with the government’s crackdown on any sort of discontent and criticism I can see that access to uncensored information is becoming more difficult.”

Usamah M., who observed that internet connectivity in Sudan is both relatively high and cheap, took a more cautious view in suggesting that social media does not have much of an impact as of yet. “There are two barriers to wide adoption of social media by the public: technological and linguistic. Computer and internet-illiterate people will probably have problems using social media. English language is still the main language for effective communicating on the internet. The bet is on well-educated, English-fluent Sudanese activists and social media consumers to bridge this gap by constantly reaching out and educating their fellow citizens”.

The future of free speech in Sudan

As long as the current regime stays in power, most predict that there will be little improvement in terms of honest journalism and an unbiased media.

“The current wave of Arab Spring popular uprisings made governments across the region extremely sensitive and paranoid about independence of media” said Usamah. “Sudanese authorities persistently silenced honest reporting on human rights violations in the country. A case in point was the arrest, detention and holding up of kangaroo courts for journalists who reported on an alleged rape case of a female student activist who participated in a protest against rising prices and economic hardship earlier in 2011”.

Abdelbagi said “Sudan is stuck with an archaic media system which uses conventional methods of biased reporting, depending on the poignancy of event. This, unfortunately, will not change due to political issues. Because, primarily, the development of media threatens the system of governance.”

“This regime is staying in power by keeping citizens ignorant and disconnected from each other,” remarked Dalia Haj Omer, a human rights activist. “I don't think this situation will improve under the ruling regime. The only way out, in my opinion, is for citizen journalism to go viral by citizens taking charge and telling their stories locally and internationally.

“It's starting to happen in Sudan; as we saw in the recent events of Khartoum University last December. However, for that to have real impact we need a critical mass of citizens, and Sudan is still far from that. Sudan's challenge is that we are a poor country with high illiteracy rates, low internet penetration and a shrinking middle class...all that is not to our advantage. Given these challenges, we have to find creative ways to bridge the online citizen journalism with on-the-ground citizen journalism.”

This article was first published here

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Darfurian IDPs in Khartoum: A Painful Narrative of a Struggle for Survival

Sudan, Africa’s once-largest nation, has been ravaged by civil war and famine for nearly two decades. In war-torn Darfur, 400,000 civilians have reportedly been killed since the violence erupted in early 2003. Today, almost one third of the population are internally displaced and the killing continues. While many of the survivors flee the violence in their villages and arrive at camps for internally displaced persons (IDP camps), their lives remain in danger. UN studies reveal that even though IDP camps are potentially safer than villages under attack by government-supported Janjaweed, mortality rates are alarmingly higher than the emergency benchmark.

IDP camps in Khartoum

Khartoum, Sudan’s capital is a hotchpotch of wealth and poverty that is veiled with crime and frustration. As the city significantly began expanding over the last three decades, settlements, often unregulated, began forming. A sizeable number of IDPs are living in the camps located in the cities of Khartoum, Khartoum North and Omdurman.

Many migrants and IDPs traditionally use relatives as an entry point into Khartoum, as a means of social protection and support to secure employment. Others settle in unfinished buildings and construction sites. IDPs and poor migrants have concentrated in particular areas throughout Khartoum. Four sites – Wad al-Bashir, Dar al-Salam, Jebel Awlia and Mayo Farm are officially designated as IDP camps, in addition to several unplanned areas which the authorities regard as squatter settlements, such as al-Haj Yousif, Soba, Abu Zeid, al-Fatih City, al-Bugaah and Marzoug.

The raw and intricate history of camps and irregular sites in Khartoum is notably manifested in the names given to these locations by their communities. Examples include ‘Jabarona’ (we were forced to), ‘Karor’ (rubbish), ‘Zagalona’ (they threw us), ‘Duyum Bahri’ (the ghettos/hood of Bahri), ‘Eshash Fellata’ (shanky houses of the fellata, a communal Sudanese term for West African tribes).

The camps are filled with men, women and children from Darfur, South Sudan, Nuba Mountains, South Kordofan, Blue Nile and other parts of Sudan. Lacking education and skills in an alien land with dissimilar culture and religion, IDPs often find it challenging to eke out a living. Constantly fearing relocation and having no consistent income, some of them are forced to resort to criminal activities ranging from petty thefts, boot legging, extortion and at times, violent crimes.

Harsh living conditions

In 2005, a group of IDPs arrived in Khartoum North and set up camp at an abandoned area overlooking the Nile. They made houses out of bamboo sticks, hay and mud, cartons and sugar sacks, and called their new home al-Jazeera (The Island). Much of the settlement is based on improvisation, and the houses are not distributed evenly – each house is adjacent to the other, with little or no spaces in between. 60-year-old Hajja Gisma, an inhabitant of al-Jazeera told her story.

“I came here with my two daughters and their children four years ago after my husband and son-in-law were both killed by the Janjaweed in Darfur. When we first arrived in al-Jazeera, we were told there were hundreds of IDPs who lived here before us but the government forced them out without offering them any sort of compensation. Now, we live in constant fear that the same will happen to us.

“My daughters look after the children during the day while I’m at work. I don’t have a steady job; every day I go door-to-door and ask home owners if they want any cleaning done. Sometimes, I sweep staircases of apartment buildings and get paid a reasonable amount of money, and other times I go back home empty handed. A week can pass by without us having any food on the table, and the children often go to bed starving. If things get really bad, we send the children out to beg for food.

“If the children get sick, we improvise using traditional home remedies like ‘garadh’ (an antibiotic plant commonly used for medical purposes).

We have no electricity or running water, and nor do we have warm clothes or blankets. When winter arrives we freeze through the night, particularly since the Nile is a stone throw away from us. During rainy season, the houses often get flooded and we have to rebuild them using whatever material we can get our hands on.”

‘Disguised discrimination’

Sudan is rife with tribalism and, even though not institutionalized, acts of discrimination are often practiced by the government. Government job hopefuls, national service recruits and average civilians applying for the National identification (ID) number are required to state the name of their tribe in their applications. The root of tribalism in Sudan can be traced back to the pre-independence era when tribal groups (including African and Asian races) found it difficult to coexist and slave trade was prevalent. Additonally, there’s a virtual hierarchy - discrimination is based upon, superiority of tribes on the basis of skin shade or ‘Arabism’.

“Back home, conditions were dire. I managed to flee with my family when I was 16, and I even attended college and graduated,” remarked 23-year-old Narjis.

“I live in a tiny house with my parents and nine siblings. We have two bedrooms with mattresses as the only furniture, a kitchen and a tap-less bathroom. I was my family’s only hope since my dad is ill and my mother is too old to be working. While I was in high school, she worked as a tea seller. After enrolling in college, she stayed home while I simultaneously studied and worked odd jobs to support the family.

“Upon graduation, I was eager to look for a job with a steady income so I can fulfil my dream of providing my family with a better life. I’ve been searching for a job for two years now, and am back to doing odd jobs. I sell peanuts and candy, while my mom is back at her old job. At the end of each month, we both hand in almost all of our salary to the owner of the grocery shop next to our house because we buy our groceries on credit.

“Even though I’m qualified with a degree in education, no one wants to hire me because of my ethnic background. They take one look at my last name and my application is immediately rejected. I fled a region of war that’s sparked by tribalism, but here I am again, in the capital, face-to-face with it once again,” she recounted.

Munzoul Assal, Associate Professor of Social Anthropology and the director of Graduates Affairs at the University of Khartoum has recently published a case study on urbanization and vulnerability in Sudan. He noted that from the very start, the government has been preventing Darfurian IDPs from settling in official camps, adding that the way the government looks at the Darfur situation is very discouraging.

“For Darfurian IDPs, this has great implications on their living conditions. If they lack recognized housing, NGOs can’t locate them and provide them with healthcare and other services. As for employment, hundreds of thousands of Sudanese civilians are jobless, so it makes sense that IDPs are in a more precarious situation, especially the males. They have virtually no chance of getting jobs.There’s a high level of discrimination that can’t be tackled in a concrete way, the whole system is based on favouritism and corruption. Even though the law prohibits all sources of discrimination, officials duck behind formal procedures and subject people to discrimination,” commented Assal.

Deprived of aid and marginalized

In 2009, after the International Criminal Court issued a warrant of arrest for Sudanese president Omar al-Bashir, charging him with crimes of genocide and crimes against humanity; the al Bashir’s National Congress Party (NCP) expelled 13 of the world’s most distinguished humanitarian organizations in Darfur in retaliation. These organizations were providing the IDPs with water, food, medicine, health services and other essential life-saving materials, and their expulsion marked a big rift in the IDPs lives.

Additionally, IDP Camps in Darfur have witnessed an increasing spread of HIV/AIDS due to the lack of proper health education and training along with prevalent gender violence. With the Janjaweed militias incessantly patrolling around the camps of Darfur, IDPs remained imprisoned and unable to look for work for fear of being arrested or harassed.

After the expulsion of the aid agencies, local NGOs found themselves faced with the challenge of acting as a replacement for the IDPs. However, their lack of funding and the hurdles they often encounter make these local aid agencies ill equipped and in no way a match for the ones that the government deported.

“After the Doha Peace Agreement, Darfurian IDPs became more marginalized than ever. People started to forget about them. Today, nobody knows what they’re going through,” said Munzoul.

This article was first published here

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Take my baby, I insist!

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.

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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).. :)

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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

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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.

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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)

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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)

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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.

Photo: Ayman Elkhidir

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

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Refugees in Eastern Sudan: On a Transitory Route to Freedom

Over the past 40 years, thousands of refugees from Eritrea and Ethiopia have been flocking in to Eastern Sudan – a region where the Taka Mountains with their rocky, majestic peaks are located. Fleeing grim political, economic and social conditions, they stream every month into neighboring Sudan, which is known for its open-door policy on refugees.
With most camps located in Eastern Sudan, most refugees opt to settle in camps situated in the state of Kassala, while some relocate to Khartoum in pursuit of employment and better opportunities. For many of them, Eastern Sudan is merely the first among many stops in a lengthy migration process and is no more than a transitory route to freedom.

The First Arrivals and the New Influx

Up until 2004, Sudan hosted over one million refugees who came during the First Eritrean Civil War in the 1970’s. Over the years, many of the displaced Eritreans either returned to their homelands, or moved on to other neighboring countries. Those who were left behind or chose to remain – numbering around 60,000 refugees, with 60% of them being children – re-built their lives in refugee camps and successfully integrated into the surrounding community. Their integration came naturally as they share the same background as the Sudanese locals, speak the same language and practice the same religion – Islam. Along with their children, who were born in Eastern Sudan, these refugees consider themselves to be authentic Sudanese.

Since 2005, another wave of refugees have been introduced to the region. The Shegerab Refugee Camp, often referred to as ‘Little Eritrea’, is a camp that sits at the end of an unpaved road in Eastern Sudan, and receives 1,600 to 1,800 new arrivals every month. The majority of these new arrivals are young and educated Eritreans, Ethiopians as well as Somalis between the age of 18-25 who flee military regimes and consider Sudan their launching pad towards a new life.

The rest come from the Eritrean Highlands and are Christians who do not speak Arabic and do not share the same background as the Sudanese people – and hence they do not encounter the same ease of integration as the first arrivals. They face difficulties blending in with the community, and shortly after their arrival they cross over to other countries like Egypt, the Middle East, Israel and Europe in a quest for acceptance and better opportunities.

Until recently, most of the refugees were young students and national service escapees. More recently, refugees include teachers, soldiers, civil servants, army commanders and professionals of all ages. Each one of them has horrific story to relate – stories of arrest, torture, witnessing the death of others, fear and escape. Not only are these stories brought into the camps, but sometimes the same realities are repeated too with arrests, robbery, rape, violence and harsh living conditions all featuring in the daily lives in the camp.

The UNHCR and the Refugee Commission

For the last 40 years, UNHCR – the UN refugee agency - has been funding and providing most of the basic requirements at the refugee camps, including facilities such water, sanitation, schools, clinics and shelter.

“For the past 40 years, Sudan has been kind to refugees with its open-door policy. What we, the UNHCR do is step up our efforts together with the Sudanese Refugee Commission to grant refugees citizenship. Many of them have been living in Sudan for decades and their children were born here... they feel Sudanese, they behave Sudanese, they should be identified as Sudanese,” said Felix Ross, a Senior Protection Officer at the UNHCR in Kassala speaking to “Islamonline”.

“We believe refugees contribute a lot to the economy of Sudan. They often work as waiters and drivers, and the women take up jobs as housemaids. They are part of the economy here, and a lot of them are young, intelligent and educated,” he added.

Compared to that of exercising one’s right of return, Sudanization it seems is the better alternative. Refugees who flee in order to escape National Service (i.e. military service which is mandatory on men and women), and political repression are often subjected to imprisonment, life imprisonment and may even face death upon their return. The UNHCR and the Sudanese government have expressed the view that the penalty accorded to returnees is unproportional to the act and identify it as a human rights violation; and therefore acknowledge their status as refugees.

Another phenomenon that has been on the rise lately is the abduction of refugees, who cross over to Khartoum. These abductions are carried out by smugglers who are heavily armed criminal groups, who often abduct the refugees and demand ransoms ranging from $1,000 to $10,000 from the refugees’ relatives. Hostages are mistreated, beaten and threatened, and the women are raped. They are also often killed.

“We see such cases 20-30 times a month, but we believe we only see the tip of the iceberg” said Ross to “Islamonline” and added, “It has become an industry for these criminal groups to make a lot of money out of these abductions, and we are trying our best to combat them”.

In addition to UNHCR, the Sudanese Refugee Commission offers numerous services to refugees. Funded by the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), it provides them with aid such as medical assistance and scholarship programs.

In the capital

In the capital Khartoum, thousands of refugees are packed into the popular neighborhoods of Al-Daim, Al-Gireif and Al-Sahafa. They do odd jobs and many of the young women make a living, cleaning houses.

Abdelrahman drives an amjaad (local rental cab) around Khartoum to make ends meet. “I came from Eritrea 10 years ago because I didn’t want to enroll in the army. If the government allowed us to continue our education and have jobs I would never have left. I do okay in Khartoum and there’s a large community of Eritreans here, but I’m just waiting for the arrival of a new regime in Eritrea so I can go back and see my family. I miss them,” Abdelrahman said to “Islamonline”.

F.A. was a police officer in Ethiopia, but he fled to Sudan in 1995 due to problems with the regime. He is now living and working in Khartoum. “I have a good job and a good life compared to other refugees. I consider myself very lucky. I went into exile because of the military regime in my country. Ethiopia claims to be a peaceful and democratic country, it does not even recognize that there are so many Ethiopian refugees around the world,” he told “Islamonline”.

“Generally I feel protected, but I feel the Sudanese people are the ones protecting me and my people, not the government, not the UNHCR or any other organization. Sudan is my home, I feel very comfortable here even though it is very difficult for me to be away from my family. It has been 16 years since I left, and I am waiting for an opportunity to arise for me to go back. If I return now, I will be considered a political criminal and will be persecuted for deserting the military,” he remarked.

This article was first published on IslamOnline.net

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