Pampering at a psychological cost

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The pursuit of answers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…where do I find the answers?

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Sudan: A healthcare system in shambles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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South Sudanese in Sudan: A Forced Parting of the Ways

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

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

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

The effect on the Sudanese people

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

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

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

Growing tension

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

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

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

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

This article was first published here

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NCP's Article 146: Stoning women to death since 1991

A couple of days ago I read that a 15-year-old girl has been sentenced to “death by stoning” for allegedly committing adultery and consequently admitting her guilt. The report, forwarded to me from a credible source, cited that a Sudanese judge found the female minor, Intisar, guilty of committing adultery and sentenced her to death by stoning – a sentence which apparently comes in accordance with Article 146 of the Sudanese criminal law. 

The report stated: 

Intisar Sharif Abdalla was accused of having a relationship and becoming pregnant by a man that wasn’t her husband. Initially she and the man with whom she was accused both denied this. Her lawyer, only able to access her after the judgement was made, understands that following her initial denial she was beaten up and tortured repeatedly by her brother. She then changed her statement and confessed to adultery. Based on this evidence she was taken to court and the Judge, Sami Ibrahim Shabo of Ombada General Criminal Court, Khartoum state, sentenced her to stoning after one court session and in the absence of legal representation in court. 

The woman in question is understood to be a minor, between 15 and 17 years old. She is understood to be deeply traumatized and is without access to suitable psycho-social support. Her new-born child is also with her in prison. Her co-accused maintained his statement in denying adultery and has subsequently not been convicted. 

I was trying my best to absorb this shocking piece of news, and to come to terms with the fact that the atrocities of the NCP against women have recently been vigorously extending into Khartoum, the capital, meaning that things are now probably a million times worse in Darfur, the Nuba Mountains and the numerous regions of NCP-inflicted conflict where documentations of human rights violations are nil to rare. 

As I tried to wrap my brain around this nightmare of a situation, expecting to feel rage, sadness and disgust, all my initial thoughts and feelings were severely interrupted after witnessing the reactions of people within my community. Not only did they not condemn it, they supported the stoning sentence. I felt as though the NCP has taken us on a journey back to medieval times. 

In Iran, a woman is half-buried before she is stoned to death

Having lived and worked in Sudan for quite some time now, and with my involvement in many political activities, I had convinced myself in the past that the people’s overwhelming silence against the NCP’s oppression is not necessarily due to their support of the NCP, nor is it due to their acceptance of the countless human rights violations taking place in their own land… rather it is the fruit of their fear; fear of the NCP, fear of instability, fear of inconvenience. Some don’t want their lives to be disrupted, others are afraid to advocate for their fellow brethren… in all cases I made peace with that and relentlessly defended them whenever the argument “the Sudanese people are apathetic and no revolution will come to Sudan” came up, citing that 23 years of brainwashing is not easily reversed. 

However, with Intisar’s stoning sentence, and the opinion of mainstreamers (as someone on Twitter pointed out to me) leaning towards backing Article 146, namely because the young girl allegedly confessed or because she deserves the sentence since she brought it onto herself, I came to another conviction – that sometimes, in certain cases, it’s better to be apathetic towards your own people’s struggles. 

I was, and still am, unable to fathom how people who refer to themselves as Muslims can condone such an act of brutality. I pictured it many, many times in my head… a woman, 15-year-old girl to be exact, standing in the middle of an expanse, the cries of her baby ringing in her ears, standing helplessly as stones are being thrown at her, disfiguring her face and body, ultimately leading to her death. Not only does this act not relate to Islam in any way, shape or form, but the mere thought of it is gag inducing. 

I choose to believe one thing – that Islam is a religion of love, mercy and compassion. The Prophet himself, PBUH, called on the gentle treatment of women… how could he have simultaneously promoted such a callous law? I don’t wish to delve into the validity of such a ruling in Islamic teachings, I simply find it ludicrous and will not waste my time searching for proof of its existence or lack thereof. The only proof I need lies within my own spirituality. 

When I think about this poor girl possibly being stoned to death, my blood boils with rage, and I can’t help but think… what about the prevalent rape and torture cases across the Sudanese states? The illegal political detentions? The instutionalized racism and tribalism? The displacement of civilians? The victims of war? They all go unpunished, just like that? And no one condemns them, even? Okay, what about her partner in crime? Is he off the hook because his brother didn't beat a confession out of him? Does this mean that as long as you don't confess it, it doesn't count and you can't die for it? If she is going to die for committing adultery, shouldn't the scenario be her stoning alongside her co-accused, or no stoning at all? Or is stoning only convenient and acceptable when the recipient is a female?

It seems convenient to many people in my community to only condemn acts of scandalous magnitudes; such as consensual sex (or adultery if you will), and to only target the female counterpart – as though she gave birth to a baby by having sex with herself.. If that’s not the case, then shouldn’t at least half of Khartoum be lashed, stoned, beaten or arrested for violating one form of moral law or the other? If we are all playing god here, why doesn’t everyone fess up to their crimes, or scandalous deeds, and await their very own lashing and stoning sentences? Isn’t this the point, to “become pure and relieve sins”? Or do the sins of only certain people count? Perhaps no one else has had consensual sex in Sudan, and everyone is pious and sinless?

I guess dictatorship yields dictatorship. The NCP’s efforts to turn the people of Sudan into heartless dictators under the umbrella of religion, just like their ruling party, seem to have come to fruition. If a mute conscience is a silent devil, then let us all go back to the time when mainstreamers were silent devils… they certainly are considered the lesser of two evils. 

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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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