Alaa Muntaser

July 12th, 2019

I’m listening to Sudanese songs, as loud as my headset will allow, in a small restaurant, somewhere in N’djamena, when “Azza fi Hawak” comes up. I’ve always loved this song, but hearing it this time was different. All of a sudden, I feel an unexplainable, unstoppable flood of emotions taking over me. I look around, and nobody seems to notice how the girl sitting in the corner of the restaurant, is having an emotional breakdown. Azza, in the song, is Sudan. The song is about pride. About sacrifice. About home. Azza is in all of us. Azza IS all of us. It’s almost as if I was waiting for this song to play, so I can let it all out. I feel the tears running down my face, and there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s nothing I want to do about it. Nobody around me mattered. It was just Azza, and myself.

I remember the last 7 months, and how my life has forever been changed. It was then, in that small restaurant in N’djamena, that I realized I was leaving Azza behind. It was then that I realized I was leaving behind everything and everyone I’ve ever known and loved.

I remember faces from Elqiyada. Women. Men. Children… My brain goes through the faces, and each time another one comes up, my heart aches. I then see Abbas… I see him walking with blood all over his shirt, refusing to fall down. Abbas died on a barricade. He fought until his last breath. His image haunts me. I dream about him at night. I see him every time I think about Elqiyada. I feel like we have let down Abbas, and all our other heroes who have died fighting for our country. Their murderers are still walking freely, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Azza fi Hawak… I think about Abbas… his family… and all the others. Tears are still running down my face. At this point, I make no attempts to stop it, nor do I care about the people in the restaurant…

Azza has never meant so much. I’ve never been prouder or happier to be Sudanese. Leaving it all behind feels like… betrayal. The idea still sounds… surreal.

On January 18, 1985, Mahmoud Mohammed Taha was executed by the government of Gaafar Nimeiri, after being found guilty of apostasy, a crime that was (and still is) punishable by death in Sudan. Taha opposed the notion of applying laws derived from Islamic Sharia, and he called for a secular, democratic Sudan. He believed that the application of Sharia Law would be a distortion of the real Islam, and that it would further the distrust and animosity between the Arab Muslims of Sudan, and the non-Muslim/non-Arab citizens of the country. Indeed, shortly after Nimeiri imposed Sharia law in 1983 and declared Sudan an “Islamic State", Sudan’s Second Civil War broke out, leaving millions of Sudanese dead, and several other millions displaced. Nimeiri was a merciless dictator who made many mistakes, but imposing Sharia Law and and initiating the Islamization of Sudan on the state level, must have been one of his most detrimental ones.

Taha was a true reformist. He was radical for his time. He was fearless. He saw the threat of Sharia Law, and encouraged people to think critically and challenge some of the teachings in Quran. Taha was spiritual, and did not denounce the existence of “God” or “Allah” at any point in his life, but he did strongly believe that a free, democratic and civil society could not exist under the governance of Islamic Rule. His most controversial point of views were the ones about equality between men and women. In countries ruled by Sharia Law, including Sudan, men are allowed to have up to 4 wives. (Quran (4:3) says: "Marry of the women, who seem good to you, two or three or four; and if ye fear that ye cannot do justice to so many then one only or the captives that your right hands possess.” ) Although many Muslim feminists/apologists will defend and justify this degrading custom, Taha called for an end to this practice and believed that it should be made illegal.

The US lifting its decades old sanctions against Sudan has left some Sudanese optimistic and hopeful, some cautious and concerned, but mostly, people are curious. Curious about what it means to have these sanctions lifted and how it will translate into our daily lives. For a lot of us, a Sudan under sanctions is the only Sudan we know.

I think I speak for most youth when I say we’re tired of living in the past. We’re tired of hearing tales and stories about how great our nation used to be. We’re tired of hearing how strong our economy was and how well our grandparents had it.Whether that’s entirely true to begin with, is a topic for another post. I don’t know if it’s an Arab or Muslim or Sudanese thing, but for some reason when confronted with reality, we like to point out our past accomplishments instead of admitting defeat and taking measures to ensure a better future.

Surely, we’re all hoping for some sort of improvement in the country’s living standards, but the reality is, sanctions or no sanctions, unless the government undergoes some drastic political and economical policy reforms, the ease of these sanctions is only going to be another way for the rich to get richer. What we don’t want, is for that gap between the rich and the poor to grow. We don’t want businesses that will only benefit those who are already rich. We don’t want investments that only the wealthiest of the wealthy can take advantage of. What we do want, and hope for, is more opportunities for everyone. And let’s be honest, that’s not America’s responsibility.

What our government has succeeded in doing is making us believe that all of our problems will be solved once these sanctions are lifted. And that’s a lie. Our government has used these sanctions as a scapegoat for its failures and lack of commitment towards improving the situation in the country. People have very high expectations, just not from the government. And this has been the goal all along. Without expectations, there is no responsibility. And without responsibility, there is no accountability. 

Now with these sanctions being lifted, something worthy of consideration is, how do we ensure accountability from our government? How do we ensure that the government won’t rely on foreign intervention and private businesses to take on its responsibilities, even more than it’s already been doing? We don’t want our basic needs being met through American or private industries. We want our government to step up and start doing its job. My concern is, that now with the sanctions lifted, there is even less incentive to do so.

Each time my mother is invited to a wedding, or she hears of a friend’s daughter or a family member getting married; we have The Talk. 

The Talk usually starts with questions about my current situation in terms of boys and love. Sudanese mothers never believe there’s no one in your life and for some reason they always assume you’re trying to hide something. So they bring up that guy from work you once casually mentioned in a conversation. Or your friend’s handsome brother who once gave you a ride back home. Or that guy from school you were working with on a group project. Or that guy they once heard you speaking with over the phone 5 years ago (doesn’t matter what the topic of the conversation was, he could be a potential husband).

After going through the list of all the males in your life and being reassured that there is nothing going on with any of them, your mother will then proceed to the second stage of The Talk. In this stage your mother will try to push your buttons to squeeze as much information out of you as possible. Perhaps there is another male in your life that she does not know about. This is when she’ll remind you of that time you went out with your girlfriends to Ozone and came back one hour later than you said you would. It doesn’t matter that it was a high-school reunion and you met with friends you hadn’t seen in years, of course, you must have been with a guy. Or that one time she walked into your room at 1:00am and you were holding your phone and smiling at the screen. It doesn’t matter that you were watching videos of Key and Peele on Youtube, you seemed pleased, so of course you must have been messaging a guy. Or that one time you went out and came back with a new necklace around your neck. It doesn’t matter that it was your birthday and all your friends got you presents that day, it must have been a gift from a guy. In this stage your Sudanese mother will give you the illusion that she’s just trying to have a friendly girl-to-girl chat with you, and she’ll tell you things like “it’s ok you can tell me, you don’t need to be shy.” or “I’m your mother but I’m also your friend, and I just want to know what’s going on so I can give you my advice”. Ladies, DO NOT fall for this. If you somehow even hint at the possibility of having anything to do with a member of the opposite sex that exceeds a friendship, rest assured your mother will NEVER, and I repeat NEVER, let it go. Even simple comments about a guy’s appearance, intelligence or behavior will have him automatically categorized as a potential husband. So if you ever think about mentioning the fact that your friend Mohamed got a new haircut and looked really cute, think again. Or if you ever think about mentioning the fact that your coworker Ali is really nice and always helps you out with work, girl you better check yourself. Stop right there unless you want both Mohamed and Ali to be added to the long list of potential husbands. She will continue to bring up this person whenever the topic of marriage comes up and ask you when he’s going to marry you. She will even talk about potential wedding dates and suggest possible names for her future grandchildren. I have fallen for this trick several times when I was younger, and I still get questions about some guys I used to know 5 years ago.

Now, if you’re still standing firmly on your ground and you still insist that nothing is going on that she should be aware of, this is when things will get heated. On the third stage of The Talk, mothers will do the impossible to break through your wall. This is when the conversation becomes more aggressive, more one sided, accusations will be made, and you should definitely be well prepared to hear some insults about your behaviors and habits that are “getting in the way of you finding a husband”. This is when you’ll hear that you talk too much, and that you scare men away. Or that you don’t talk much, and men find you boring. You’ll hear that you go out too often, and that it has effected your reputation. Or you might hear that you never go out and that you’re too antisocial, you never give people the chance to get to know you. You might even hear that you’re too ambitious and only focused on your future, so men don’t see you as a potential wife because they don’t think you’re fit enough to start a family with. And don’t even try to say that it’s ok to be ambitious and focus on your goals, because that’s a battle you just can’t win. Your mother will simply hit you with a list of all the successful women history has ever known who were happily married with a family while also having a good career. Trust me, anything you say can, and will be, used against you.

However, if you somehow manage to make it through the third stage alive and breathing (with both legs and arms, and neck in place), then congratulations, it’s almost over. You’ve made it through the worst. From here, it gets easier, as your mother is probably tired by now and thinks you’re a hopeless case. Most likely, she’ll just accept her defeat and move on to your younger sister. Some mothers don’t give up though, and after they’ve failed to talk you into it with “sense”, Sudanese mothers will then proceed to use the one thing they know will get on your nerves. On the fourth and last stage of The Talk, they will desperately try to appeal to your emotions, manipulate you, guilt-trip you, and push you to your limits and boundaries. They want you to slip, and say something you will forever regret. Whatever you’re thinking about saying, at this stage the best thing you can do is to be quiet, as talking will usually restart the cycle and get you back to stage one. You don’t want that. If you’ve made it this far, your mother has now probably somehow arrived at the conclusion that you’re just not interested in getting married, that the idea of kids disgusts you and that you’d rather die alone with nine stinky cats then get married. It doesn’t matter what you’ve actually said or what you actually think, at this point they genuinely believe that you just want to be single for the rest of your life and hook up with every random guy you meet, because you’re not responsible or committed enough to settle down. Keep in mind that by now your mother has already made up her mind, so nothing you can say or do will make a difference. She will manipulate your words and sentences, and at this point the goal is not to have a logical or rational conversation, but the goal is to make you look like the devil. She will want you to deny what she’s saying, so remember, don’t fall for it. Here your Sudanese mother will tell you how you’re going against culture, tradition and even religion by choosing not to get married. She’ll tell you that it’s a cruel world out there, and that we all need someone to lean on. She’ll tell you how happy she is with your father and how her life has changed to the better after she met him. Remember, your mother’s emotional manipulation skills are far greater than you could ever imagine, so whatever she says, don’t give in. Finally, your mother will conclude the conversation by telling you that by not getting married, you’re depriving her and your father of the one thing they want most; your happiness. Of course, that’s what this is all about. She’ll talk about life and how fast the clock is ticking, and how she would love to see her grandchildren being born into this world. Sometimes, your mother might even drop a tear or two in this stage, you know, for visual effects. Don’t even think about telling her that she’s only 42 and in great health with a long life ahead of her, because then you’re just asking for it. At this point, you just want to let things die out. The best thing to do now, is to slowly walk away, while she’s wiping off that fake tear on her cheek. This will leave her with two very important messages; 1) that even though the show was quite impressive and well deserving of a standing ovation, you didn’t fall for it, and that 2) you’re not getting married to that guy Khalid that works at your uncle’s firm.

Now my problem with this whole thing is that I’m tired. I’m tired of having this conversation over and over again, and of the fact that a woman’s success is measured by her marital status. It doesn’t matter how many countries you’ve visited or what kind of job or education you have, the first thing people will ask you about after not having seen you for a while, is when you’re getting married. I was recently in America, and something my parents were proudly announcing to everyone in the family was the fact that I met the president of the United States, Mr. Barack Obama and shook his hand. A couple of days ago I ran into a lady that is somehow related to us, and of course, I was happily telling her about my experience. She listened to my story (while checking her phone every once in a while), and after I finished, I kid you not, her first response was “so, did you find yourself a husband while you were there?”. This lady didn’t hear a word I said. The entire time I was talking, she was thinking about whether I was planning on getting married soon. Nothing of what I mentioned had grabbed her attention, or was worthy of her acknowledgment. I’m sorry mister president, even you were not important enough. It just makes me sad that this is the kind of message that is being sent to girls. No matter what we achieve, we’re still not good enough until we find a man to complete us. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have absolutely nothing against the idea of marriage, on the contrary, I think a happy marriage is one of the best things that can happen to anyone. I have a lot of married friends and family whom I admire, respect, and look up to. I love the idea of commitment and stability and having someone you can trust, and I believe as humans that’s what we all want at the end of the day, but I just don’t like how girls are being pressured by society to constantly be preying and hunting for a husband. Girls end up marrying men who have no respect or appreciation for them, just because they’re desperate to get approval. Marrying out of love is a wonderful thing, but marrying out of need, is not.

Growing up in Sudan means constantly having your identity questioned and pulled between an extreme right and an extreme left. One minute you’re African, the other minute you’re Arab. One minute you’re mixed, the other you’re not. When you hang out with your more “African” friends, you like to call yourself African and try extra hard to show your Africanness. When you hang out with your “whiter” friends, you tend to bring up the fact that you grew up in the UAE each time you get the chance to do so, and you make sure not to forget to mention your grand, grand, grandmother of Turkish/Egyptian descent. Because of course, it makes all the difference in the world.

We grow up being fed that we’re half. Half African. Half Arab. Which puts us in a very odd position. We’re too black for the white folks, and we’re too Arab for the black folks. This identity crisis and not knowing where we belong, is something I feel we as Sudanese have created for ourselves. Most countries in Africa have a diverse, mixed community of people with different ethnic, racial and religious backgrounds. Sudan is no different. However, for some reason we’ve managed to allow these differences in skin color, ethnicity and religious beliefs to divide us. Into Northerns and Southerners. Into “Awlad Arab” (people of Arab descent) and into “Abeed” (black slaves). Suddenly, skin color became associated with wealth and social status. Minorities have been and continue to be marginalized because of their skin color and their features. This continues to be an issue that we choose to look away from. Racism is a real problem in Sudan, and nobody admits it. Racism is what caused the war with the South, and then led us to breaking up from being the biggest country in Africa, to being two countries that both suffer from poverty, famine and bad leadership.

Beauty, is still associated with skin color. The whiter you are, the more beautiful you are. Girls burn and damage their skin trying to bleach it; to have lighter, fairer skin, which would then allow them to find a husband. Talking about finding a husband, don’t even get me started on marriage in Sudan. Remind me to write a different post about that some other time…

I do realize how migration, colonization and our geographical location has impacted the demographics of my country, but I also realize that we need to move on and start accepting our differences. As a nation we have no way of progressing unless we let go of some traditional and cultural beliefs that keep dragging us down into a cycle of hate, racism and discrimination. We need to change the way we describe and call ourselves and others. We need to stop using some terms that have been associated with racism and slavery, to get out of that mindset. We need to start pointing out injustice when we see it, rather than being bystanders. Because it is not okay, and there is no excuse for it. We need to not only accept being Africans, but we alsp need to embrace it and be proud of it. We’re a diverse African country, but that doesn’t make us any less African. Dividing ourselves into groups based on our racial and ethnic backgrounds only creates a them vs. us mentality.

My Sudan

I was told to tell my story, so that I will try to do.

My story is of my nation, my people, my land and a sky that is bright blue...

I come from a country that is torn. Where babies die, before they’re born. Where mothers morn their children, fathers, brothers, and their unborn.

A country where I’m not African enough because I’m not black enough and where I’m not Arab enough because I’m not white enough. A country that split into half because one side was the wrong shade of black and because one side worshipped Jesus and the other worshiped another almighty god.

They broke up our land, and with it they broke our hearts. Together we were strong, but now we suffer, because we're apart.

I come from a country that is torn. Where people kill each other for money, power and the throne. We’re so used to wars that we don't know how to live in peace. We’re taught not to trust the system, the government or the police. Apparently everybody wants to save us, so we’ve been plagued with hatred, illness and disease.

But if that’s all you know about my country, then let me set things straight. We’re a people who see death everyday, yet we are never afraid.

They tell us we’re poor, but I think we’re quite rich. Not in money of course, but in love, history and culture that is.

They tell us we’re weak, but I think we’re quite strong. And even though I sometimes think god dislikes us, we still carry on... We’ve made it through wars, hunger and thirst, so don’t tell me god is fair, because it seems like we’re cursed.

We’re simple people, we believe in honor, loyalty and respect. We honor our guests and keep our doors open; and our elders we do not neglect.

Life may be hard, but my people always smile. And after every long, painful day, we’ll go sit and have some tea on the Nile.

Talking about the Nile, my country is where the two Niles meet, and even though one is blue and one is white, in perfect harmony they flow and they thrive...

We used to be the Kingdom of Kush, an empire so powerful and strong. I don’t know what happened but somewhere in history, something went wrong. My vision for my people is that one day we can be free. Free of poverty and discrimination, united and maybe… maybe someday we can agree to disagree. We love to speak of diversity. Africa is so big, and it’s so diverse, and we’re all so different. However, is it our diversity that makes us special, or our humanity at the end? But anyway, it seems like being “different” has become the new world trend…  

Our humanity unites us, and not the color of our skin. It shouldn’t matter who you love or which god you believe in!

Telling a religious person that god doesn’t exist is like telling a kid that Santa Claus isn’t real. To both, it feels like the end of the world, yet… it isn’t. It really isn’t... 

It’s like you’ve taken away all the sense of purpose they had for living. Simply put, they have no more reason to be good. Both need something to look forward to. Something to push them into being “better”. Parents tell their kids that if they behave, Santa Claus will  reward them. Religion, does the same thing. It promises you with a hereafter. A life after death where you will be rewarded for your good deeds. Religious people live their lives believing that everything they do (or don’t do) adds or takes away from their “score”. 

I mean, why does it matter if god exists or not? What would you do differently if you knew for a fact that god doesn’t exists and nobody is judging your actions?

If you were told there is no life after death, no bracelets of gold and garments of fine silk, no rivers of flowing wine (ionic eh?). No lofty palaces and pebbles of pearls and sapphire. Would you still be a good person? Do you do good deeds because you believe it’s the right thing, or are you driven by the promise of a luxurious life with plenty of beautiful wives? 

Are you guided by a heart that wants to make a difference, or by the belief that doing certain things will get you into paradise? 

It goes the other way around too. Do you refrain from doing certain things because you’re convinced it’s wrong to do them, or is it again because you want to meet the conditions that will get you into this promised paradise?

If you were told you aren’t being watched, and everything you do is completely up to you. You won’t be rewarded, nor punished. Would you stop helping others and doing good things? Would you start hurting others and doing bad things?