.svg)
Women
Sudanese women are the main force behind many of their country’s social and political movements and are therefore important agents of change; from the women during the Mahdiya period, whose histories have been mostly omitted, to the women who marched during the 2018 revolution. Through an analogy of building a dwelling, the role will be examined of Sudanese women in their society and the impact their knowledge and actions have on everyday life and how this is recorded over time.
Women
Sudanese women are the main force behind many of their country’s social and political movements and are therefore important agents of change; from the women during the Mahdiya period, whose histories have been mostly omitted, to the women who marched during the 2018 revolution. Through an analogy of building a dwelling, the role will be examined of Sudanese women in their society and the impact their knowledge and actions have on everyday life and how this is recorded over time.
Women
Fatima Mohamed al-Hasan was a vocal advocate for human and women’s rights in Darfur with a passionate interest in Sudanese heritage and handicrafts. In 2010 Fatima was arrested for writing a book in which she likened the abuses at the Iraqi Abu Ghraib prison to what the residents of Kaili and Shatai villages, in southern Darfur, had suffered at the hands of government authorities. She was also briefly detained on accusations of cooperating with the International Criminal Court that was investigating Darfur crimes. Fatima’s strong positions in support of the people of Darfur and in particular its women, earned her a place on numerous delegations to the Darfur peace talks in Doha and Abuja. This representation of Darfur and its women extended to many workshops and conferences she attended locally and abroad. As a result, Fatima, who started her career as a school teacher also occupied several government posts such as the general manager of tourism and heritage at the ministry of social and cultural affairs in South Darfur State, 1994, head of the department of traditional handicrafts at the ministry of economic affairs in 1999 and minister for youth, sport, environment and tourism in 2012.
Alongside her official work, Fatima played a significant role in the voluntary and charitable sectors in Darfur establishing the Mandola House for heritage, culture and arts in 1987, headed the Bakhita charity organisation for women’s development and child protection in South Darfur in 1988, and founded the Women’s Cultural and Sports’ Club in Nyala in 2007. Fatima also presented a radio programme on popular folklore on Radio Nyala that broadcast from southern Darfur.
The preservation and showcasing of cultural heritage and traditional handicrafts was a key part of Fatima’s vision for peaceful coexistence and for unifying warring sides in the Darfur conflict. Her emphasis on heading the language of the popular, traditional and cultural was often emphasised at peace talks as a means of achieving a successful peace process. In 1985, Fatima established the first space dedicated for women at the Darfur Women’s Museum in Nyala. Over the years the museum grew to house thousands of cultural artefacts and host dozens of heritage related events and is thus a fitting legacy for the courageous woman who worked tirelessly for Darfur and who passed away in 2023.
Anyone who knows Sudan will be familiar with the sensory overload that is a Sudanese wedding. The senses are bombarded with colours, smells, tastes, sounds and textures in whichever part of the country you happen to be attending this occasion. It is an organised cacophony the rumbles of which begin rolling weeks before the day itself, rising to a crescendo on the days of the wedding, jirtig and subhiyya. As the excitement fades out gradually over the following days, the slow meticulous post-mortem is performed by the close relatives who have stayed behind, lounging on their angarebs sipping coffee; how well was the wedding organised (or not), who came (or didn’t), and what they were wearing and most importantly, was everyone who came, fed?
While this rollercoaster wave of emotions brought on by this event is an enduring feature of Sudanese weddings, some of the traditions associated with the ceremony have died out or changed over time.
One such change has been what Sudan’s riverain bride, the arous, wears during the subhiyya, the traditional Sudanese ceremony when she dances the sensual ragis al arus. A bare-chested bride, dressed only in a rahat skirt of leather strips attached to a waistband, performing in front of male and female neighbours and relatives was the norm in the early 1900s. Then, the bride was put on display to show that she was unblemished and had firm breasts. By mid-century, the rahat gradually disappeared to be worn under a short dress that covered the arous’ breasts. With the State dictating what women wore from 1983 onwards, and the imposition of Islamic dress codes, the mingling of sexes at weddings was deemed unacceptable and dances were attended only by women folk and the rahat was eventually entirely dropped from the arous’ outfit. More recently, further daring and creative dancing outfits, showing off more of the arous have been making a comeback. This latest version of ragis al arus is strictly guarded by policewomen who confiscate the mobile phones of the female audience to preserve the bride’s modesty and stop the filming and broadcast of her scantily dressed body.
The leather rahat of olden days has gone and the degree to which an arous’ body is on display as she dances, has been changing, influenced by varying fashion trends or as a result of social, political and economic forces. But in the event of a total rupture to everyday life as a result for example, of the current war, how will this most vibrant of Sudanese living heritage be affected? Will the subhiyyah and ragis arous continue to be performed or will they be substituted by another form of cultural expression? And will displaced communities have the knowledge and collective memory to pass down these traditions? These are some of the questions that will only be answered with time. In the meantime, it is up to us to talk about, write and document how we celebrate weddings and to keep remembering all the smells, sounds, colours and tastes of the subhiyya and ragis al arous.
Marriage is one of the most important social events in Sudanese society with a longstanding culture of traditional wedding ceremonies across all regions, each with its specific regional rituals and traditions. Some elements of the traditional wedding ceremony have disappeared and some have evolved. In the past the gat’ al-rahat, subhiyya and jirtig elements of the traditional wedding used to be held over forty days. In more recent times it has been cut down to three days and in some cases, the entire wedding may be over in one day.
Matchmaking used to be the prerogative of people other than the bride and groom; 'The girl is to wed to her paternal cousin,’ was a common saying adhered to by many Sudanese. As girls and young women of marrying age were not allowed to leave the home, matchmakers often went around families suggesting suitable alliances. Once a match was made, men from the groom’s family would visit the bride’s family and officially ask for her hand in marriage, a request sealed with the recitation of the fatiha verse of the Quran. This is followed by golat al-khayr, women from the groom’s family go the bride’s home bearing gifts and spend the evening eating and drinking a lavish meal, a chance for the families to get to know each other more.
Once a date is set for the wedding, the groom presents the bride with her shela or dowry which consists of clothes, perfumes and jewellery. Next begins the lengthy wedding preparations and the bride succumbs to being confined at home or al-habsa. In the past, this time of isolation was used by the bride to sew and embroider furnishings for her future home; bed sheets, and handmade items of clothing for her fiancé. Preparing and furnishing the newlywed’s house was the task of the bride’s father, to signify the status of his daughter. The bride's mother prepared the various covers and kitchen staples, from cooking utensils to traditional ingredients like dried meat sharmut, onions and weka, dried okra powder. The bride would be plumped up and beautified for her wedding. Dukkhan the perfumed smoke bath the bride sits on regularly before the wedding was supervised by a woman who met certain criteria; she had to be a close relative and happy in her life and thus a good omen for the bride, protecting her against marital problems or divorce.
As the wedding approaches, a henna party is organised for the groom when a paste of henna mixed with pungent mahlabiyya or surratiyya oil is spread over his hands and feet. A large bashari style porcelain dish, known as abu najma, the star, and hilaal azrag, blue crescent, holds the henna mixture with lit candles stuck into it. Sweets, dates, sugar and salt, symbolising the steadfastness of marriage in the face of the ups and downs of life, and al-tayman incense, to ward off the evil eye, are all present on the large henna tray. One of the older wedding customs involved guests contributing a sum of money towards the wedding costs during the henna party and was known as al-shobash (is this right?) A friend or relative of the groom would start the ritual by pledging a sum of money, gold or livestock with the rest of the family and friends – men and women – then competing to outdo the rest. The person who collected the money and announced the sum paid by each person was usually a well-known local figure with a sense of humour. The custom has been replaced by the Kashif, a list of names and their cash contributions towards the wedding.
Two feasts are organised to celebrate the marriage; the groom’s family organises one as part of the henna party while the bride’s family organises one after the religious marriage ceremony, agid, performed at the bride’s house or the local mosque. Lunch, formally known as ‘the wedding feast’, is organised at the bride’s house. A procession, sera, of the groom’s party would make its way to the bride’s house with the groom at the head riding an adorned horse and wielding a sword, accompanied by his family and friends. A long time ago, the sera was made on foot, with the head of the family at the front and women beating drums and singing traditional sera songs and ululating men dancing, and incense lit all along the way. Before reaching the bride’s home, the procession would visit the graves and shrines of suffi men to receive their blessing for a happy married life. At the bride’s house, the groom’s procession would be welcomed by another crowd drumming and sprayed with water. 'Welcome, whether you come with a pound coin or an ounce of gold' the bride’s mother would say welcoming her guests. Once dinner is consumed, the bride is revealed in her full beauty, preceded by incense and ululates and heralded by her sisters and friends. Elder women give her to the groom in a ritual when the newlyweds are instructed on the sanctity of marriage and the importance of respecting each other.
In the past the bride wore a white tob with her face was covered in the distinctive silk garmasis fabric which the groom would remove so he and his family could see her face, possibly for the first time. Then the ritual of gat’ al-rahat was performed in which the thick thread tied around the bride’s waist at her engagement was cut by the groom. Sweets were tied to it so it was tossed to the young ladies as a good omen for the non-married, and afterwards the groom paid a sum of money to the lady who gave him the rahat to pass on to the bride’s mother for the last of the rituals, the bridal dance. The dance was the most anticipated event. The bride would perform scores of dances and would play a game with the groom whereby she would try to drop to the ground and avoid being caught by the groom, thus scoring a ‘goal.’
The jartig is the most important and most distinctively Sudanese part of the wedding performed to bring good luck, fertility, happiness and protection for the newlyweds. The word jartig itself is thought to come from the ancient Meroitic word qortig, qor meaning king and tig to make, i.e., make a kind.
The final part of a wedding is the ruhul when the bride moves to her new home accompanied by a large crowd singing and ululates. Two women remained with the newlyweds for a week to help serve her and the guests coming to congratulate the couple.
Griselda and children
Visual artist Griselda El Tayeb MBE, travelled to Sudan in the early 1950s accompanying her husband, the eminent scholar of Arabic and Islamic Studies, Abdallah El Tayeb. The couple were returning in order for Abdallah to take up a teaching position after completing his Phd in London. During her life in Sudan, Griselda herself took up various teaching positions specialising in art and drafting school curricula on the topic. Art and painting thus formed an important part of Griselda’s life and she would draw and paint most of the places she visited and many of the people she saw. As such, much of her artwork has become a valuable record of bygone times and disappearing heritage in particular in relation to traditional Sudanese attire. Throughout her life Griselda always encouraged everyone around her to get creative and to paint, put on performances or get involved in any type of handicrafts.
In this audio clip, siblings Dua’a, 13, Osama, 15, and Aya 12 years-old, describe their relationship with their neighbour whom they call “Haboba Griselda”. This informal interview with the children was recorded at Griselda’s home at the University of Khartoum residences in the Burri neighbourhood of Khartoum, a short time after she passed away at the age of 97. By listening to the children talk about all the things they did together, it is clear how much of Griselda’s love and enthusiasm for art and creative activities has been passed on to the children. In the audio clip, the children give examples of the things Griselda taught them to draw and paint such as traditional Sudanese costumes, using potatoes as stencils to make their own wrapping paper and preparing Ramadan decorations. The children also tell of the time Griselda helped them to stage an old Sudanese folk tale; the costumes and parts they played, (including Griselda in the role of ghoul!), and how the surprise performance was well-received by their audience. By encouraging young Sudanese to observe, recreate and celebrate their surroundings and their cultural heritage, Griselda has played an important part in safeguarding this heritage for future generations.
Visual artist Griselda El Tayeb MBE, travelled to Sudan in the early 1950s accompanying her husband, the eminent scholar of Arabic and Islamic Studies, Abdallah El Tayeb. The couple were returning in order for Abdallah to take up a teaching position after completing his Phd in London. During her life in Sudan, Griselda herself took up various teaching positions specialising in art and drafting school curricula on the topic. Art and painting thus formed an important part of Griselda’s life and she would draw and paint most of the places she visited and many of the people she saw. As such, much of her artwork has become a valuable record of bygone times and disappearing heritage in particular in relation to traditional Sudanese attire. Throughout her life Griselda always encouraged everyone around her to get creative and to paint, put on performances or get involved in any type of handicrafts.
In this audio clip, siblings Dua’a, 13, Osama, 15, and Aya 12 years-old, describe their relationship with their neighbour whom they call “Haboba Griselda”. This informal interview with the children was recorded at Griselda’s home at the University of Khartoum residences in the Burri neighbourhood of Khartoum, a short time after she passed away at the age of 97. By listening to the children talk about all the things they did together, it is clear how much of Griselda’s love and enthusiasm for art and creative activities has been passed on to the children. In the audio clip, the children give examples of the things Griselda taught them to draw and paint such as traditional Sudanese costumes, using potatoes as stencils to make their own wrapping paper and preparing Ramadan decorations. The children also tell of the time Griselda helped them to stage an old Sudanese folk tale; the costumes and parts they played, (including Griselda in the role of ghoul!), and how the surprise performance was well-received by their audience. By encouraging young Sudanese to observe, recreate and celebrate their surroundings and their cultural heritage, Griselda has played an important part in safeguarding this heritage for future generations.
Visual artist Griselda El Tayeb MBE, travelled to Sudan in the early 1950s accompanying her husband, the eminent scholar of Arabic and Islamic Studies, Abdallah El Tayeb. The couple were returning in order for Abdallah to take up a teaching position after completing his Phd in London. During her life in Sudan, Griselda herself took up various teaching positions specialising in art and drafting school curricula on the topic. Art and painting thus formed an important part of Griselda’s life and she would draw and paint most of the places she visited and many of the people she saw. As such, much of her artwork has become a valuable record of bygone times and disappearing heritage in particular in relation to traditional Sudanese attire. Throughout her life Griselda always encouraged everyone around her to get creative and to paint, put on performances or get involved in any type of handicrafts.
In this audio clip, siblings Dua’a, 13, Osama, 15, and Aya 12 years-old, describe their relationship with their neighbour whom they call “Haboba Griselda”. This informal interview with the children was recorded at Griselda’s home at the University of Khartoum residences in the Burri neighbourhood of Khartoum, a short time after she passed away at the age of 97. By listening to the children talk about all the things they did together, it is clear how much of Griselda’s love and enthusiasm for art and creative activities has been passed on to the children. In the audio clip, the children give examples of the things Griselda taught them to draw and paint such as traditional Sudanese costumes, using potatoes as stencils to make their own wrapping paper and preparing Ramadan decorations. The children also tell of the time Griselda helped them to stage an old Sudanese folk tale; the costumes and parts they played, (including Griselda in the role of ghoul!), and how the surprise performance was well-received by their audience. By encouraging young Sudanese to observe, recreate and celebrate their surroundings and their cultural heritage, Griselda has played an important part in safeguarding this heritage for future generations.
Women's fashion during the Mahdiyya
Fawziyyah Hasan al-Yamani Uthman Arabi, was the daughter ofAl-Shaykh Hasan al-Yamani who progressed through the judiciary until his appointment Chief Justice of the Sudan in the period post-independence. She was born in Al-Obeid city in April 1934 and died on 15 April 2005 in Khartoum after a life dedicated to hard work and contribution. Fawziyyah was married to DrAl-Tahir Abd-al-Basit and has three sons and a daughter. She received her primary and intermediate education in Al-Obeid and her secondary education at Omdurman Secondary School. Later she joined the Technical College, now Sudan University, where she graduated with a diploma in fine arts in 1956. In 1963Fawziyyah received a scholarship to go to the United States where she completed her BA at California State University, Fresno, in 1964. In 1959, Fawziyyahbegan working for the Ministry of Education as a secondary school arts teacher.She also worked at a number of educational institutions; The Women’s TeacherTraining College in Omdurman, Madani Girls’ Secondary School, the TechnicalSchool in Omdurman, Al-Taqadum Girls’ schools. She also worked as deputy head of the Omdurman Girls’ Secondary School and head of the Bahri Old School for Girls until she was removed as a result of al-salih al-am (political decree) in 1989. Undoubtedly, Fawzaiyyah Yamani was one of the few lucky girls in Sudan to receive a good-quality education which even so, did not isolate them from the concerns of those around them, but rather added to their sense of responsibility.
The British authorities allowed Sayyid Babikir Badri to open the first girls’ school in 1907 and because the government authorities were not entirely well intentioned in this regard, the educational progress was extremely slow. This becomes clear when considering the huge leap in levels of education only fine years into the Sawdanah, post-independence. Initially, the British had tried to organise women’s economic activities, especially inOmdurman market. At the time, women were producing garments made of cotton,silk and wool in Al-Jazira, Kodofan and northern Sudan and then political awareness grew represented by Al-Azza, the wife of the freedom fighter AliAbd-al-Latif and Hajja Nafisa Saror, who sewed the flag of the White FlagLeague on her machine. Later the Sudanese Women’s Union appeared headed byKhaldah Zahir in 1946, Al-Mahdi’s Women’s Association in 1947 and the union of male and female nurses in 1948 (a female nurse became a member in 1955), the Union of Women Teachers in 1949, The Charitable Association in Al-Obeid in 1951headed by Nafisa Kamil up until the Women’s union in 1952 which struggled with the obstacles it had to face during dictatorships and whose activities were often suspended or curtailed. Fawziyyah Yamani was an active member of this union.
During the last few years of British rule in Sudan, and the emergence of the Graduates’ Conference, women had achieved limited voting rights in the elections of 1953 when the Indian head of the international committee tasked with observing the elections, Sukumar Sen, responded to the complaints by some educated women and allowed them to take part in the vote to choose members representing the Graduate Constituencies. With the popular October revolution in 1964, the 1965 law governing elections to parliament granted Sudanese women the right to vote in all constituencies and the right to stand for election in Graduate Constituencies. In a historic event, Fatma Ahmad Ibrahim joined parliament as the first Sudanese woman and superseded many of her contemporaries around the world. Next, Sudanese women won universal suffrage; to stand for election and vote in all constituencies. The Women’sUnion achieved equal pay for work in 1968 and negotiated women’s pension age. Sudan was one of the countries that ratified the World Labour Organisation agreement on 22 January 1970.
The Sudanese Women’s Union began publishing the magazine Sawtal-Mara in 1955. Fawziyyah Yamani was, as Fatma Babikir said, “the magazine’s pioneer cartoonist and produced sarcastic cartoons during military rule which attracted a number of readers to the magazine and which prompted the regime to threaten to suspend the magazine or to actually stop its publication”. The question that needs researching is whether there were anyother cartoonists in Sudan before Fawziyyah Yamani? I have personally looked for references and could not find the answer. I also asked some of those in this field and they told me that this type of art is associated with the lateIz-al-Din Uthman but when I asked his brother, Ustaz Hashim, when Iz-al-Din had started work as a cartoonist, he said it was at Al-Akhbar newspaper at the end of the 1950s and that he was not sure of the exact date. In any case, it is certain that through her cartoon art, Fawziyyah was the first Sudanese woman to address issues relating to her country and to women and to provide an understanding of the cultural and social environment in which the dreams of Fawziyyah, and many other young Sudanese women, were taking shape at the time.
This text is an excerpt and an introduction to a longer analytical study of The Life and Worlds of the Artist Fawziyyah Yamaniby the writer on issues relating to women and children, Dr Nahid Muhammadal-Hasan, consultant psychiatrist at Al-Amal Hospital, UAE.
Readers can find the full study by the same name in the second edition of the book ‘Hikayatuhun Hikayati’ by Dr Nahid Muhammadal-Hasan, published in 2017 by Rafiqi Publishing Ltd.
Aysha al-Falatiyyah
It would be difficult to sum up Aysha Musa Ahmad Idris, known as Aysha al-Falatiyyah, because her memory is revived in the minds of the Sudanese whenever their circumstances change, for better or for worse. Today, at a time when Sudan is being torn apart by violent fighting, Al-Falatiyyah’ssongs take on new meanings, ones that may not have crossed our minds if we had not been hurtling into the abyss. For example, Al-Falatiyyah’s ‘simsimal-Gadarif‘, now brings back memories of a diminishing way of life.
According to the researcher, Ustaz Muawia Yasin, Aysha Musa was born in Kassala although the precise year is unknown, and died in February 1974 in Omdurman. Al-Falatiyya was brought up in a household surrounded by religious and scientific knowledge. Her father, Haj Musa Ahmad, was a scholar of the Koran who taught students at the khalwa. Several researchers have mentioned that Aysha would sneak into houses where wedding occasions were being held to eavesdrop on the popular songs at the time which she would promptly learn by heart and later preform in front of her girlfriends. In a touching observation, Ustaza Khalidah al-Jinayd pointed out how Aysha’s little friends were her number one fans (1). This observation makes us think of the things we lose without realising; the foolish, unofficial dates that become invalidated when success, in its capitalist sense, is recorded by history.
In 1936 Al-Falatiyyah’s talent encountered that of the great musician Ismail Abd-al-Muin in Cairo when she recorded the first ten records all of which were composed Abd-al-Muin, however, many of her songs were lost save some which were salvaged by the poet Muhammad Awad-al-Karim al-Qurashiincluding ‘khadari al-ma badari’, ‘habaytu ma habani’, and ‘al-zuhurwal wardi’, one of Al-Falatiyyah’s earlier songs, later performed by the musician Uthman al-Shafi. Abd-al-Muin was an important part of AyshaAl-Falatiyyah’s life as he once again collaborated with her in 1941 and together they produced five more songs (2). It appears that Abd-al-Muin, whose work was inspired by his close relationship with his family’s womenfolk and female neighbours, found the perfect partner in Aysha, in his pursuit of creating art grounded in culture. His stepmother’s mother, Sayda Fatima Fur, a midwife at the time of the Sultan Ali Dinar, taught him the song ‘ya umgargiday’ in Maqam Zanjaran, along the tetrachords of Maqam Hijaz, and his ‘kandarumandaru’ was taken from Um al-Fugara Haboba Zaytuna who he spent time with as a child of seven as she sat weaving baskets in Mangala in southern Sudan (3). According to the researcher Awad Babikir, Abd-al-Muin acquired his sayrah [traditional wedding song] rhythm from the sayrah singers Sharifah bit Bilal, Najaf,Qatat al-Khushum and Bit al-Agab. Meanwhile, the tum-tum rhythm he took from Rabha Khojali, who in turn had taken it from the signing of lorry attendants(4).
Aysha al-Falatiyyah adopted the rhythm of the tum-tum in her early songs which is why her earlier production was free and joyous, filled with earthy undertones. Her later pieces, possibly due to market forces, took on a masculine rhetoric that has influenced female poets to this day, singing to rhythms and verse that negotiate modernity from a position of hesitation.Aysha was restless, and together with the poet Mahmud al-Tingari her work ranged from the early eloquence of ‘anni malum sadhu awtaru’ and the aspirations of a growing middle class in ‘alhan al-rabi’ and other neat compositions.
One of the key moments in Al-Falatiyyah’s life was her involvement in negotiations of Sudanese nationalism and the creation of a unifying sentiment through her songs that entertained the Sudanese public in most parts of Sudan over the airwaves of Omdurman Radio. Embodied in these songs, that entered homes and captured people’s imagination, were features of the mystical part that is necessary in the process of imagining the community as one united entity, a process that is necessarily difficult and violent. Political scientist Benedict Anderson remarked that the imagined community was only created when it was possible for all the people of Europe to read the daily newspaper at the same time thus creating a unifying, spiritual language through this material ritual. Al-Falatiyyah’s share in unearthing this conscience is greater than that contributed by many who described themselves as part of the ‘nationalist movement’. For while the affandiyyah [educated elites] were busy denouncing culture on the pages of magazines, berating their relatives for, what they termed, their retrograde customs and traditions, Al-Falatiyyah took the side of the people and through culture negotiated their injustices through music and a strong will. Muawia Yasin explains that Al-Falatiyyah’s father had, for a long time, been angered by his daughter’s association with the singing milieu. He was in Al-Halawin where, Jadiya Musa, Aysha’s sister, remembers they heard her voice for the first time being played on a record. Her father’s anger completed subsided when he returned to Omdurman and found out how famous his daughter had become and he gave her his blessings (5).
Aysha became part of nationalist history by going on musical tours supporting the war effort of the Sudan Defence Forces who were obliged, as part of the armies under the British Crown, to fight against the Axis powers on the eastern and western front during World War II. Omitted from the history of the victors of this war was recognition of the sacrifices made by the colonies. Indian, Sudanese, Senegalese, Moroccan, Nigerian, Ghanaian and Caribbean forces fought on the side of France and Britain while the colonies financed the war effort as they were considered part of the economies of the two empires at the time. However, a small portion of this rich history is preserved in the songs of Aysha al-Falatiyyah such as when she sung for the soldiers of the SudanDefence Force in Khashm al-Girba and the border town of Karen, calling for their safe return. Aysha called Hitler and Mussolini, who never seemingly recovered afterwards, riyalanbarraniyan [foreign Riyal] or useless currency.
Nevertheless, Sudan’s women’s movement did not do justice to Ayash al-Falatiyyah and did not make her into a feminist icon. Al-Falatiyyah had in fact achieved the movement’s ambitions even before it was created. From the mid-1930s ‘Ashosh’ undertook professional trips and received pay for her work and, as her art matured, she continued to travel freely between the Sudanese towns performing at occasions and travelling to other countries representing Sudan at artistic events. She further took part in establishing the society of Sudanese artists, an organisation defending the interests of artists and negotiating the protection of their wages and their material and moral rights in the same way as a union would. Al-Falatiyyah, who could be clearly heard and seen in the public sphere, was an artistic icon and a dear part of our nationalist memory, how then has she been ignored by this movement?
(1) Interview with Khaldah al-Jinayd, Blue Nile TV (YouTube)
(2) Personal interview with the researcher Ustaz MuawiaYasin
(3) Interview with Ismail Abd-al-Muin, Sudan TV channel
(4) Interview with Ustaz Awad Babikir, Sudan TV (YouTube)
(5) Translation by Muawia Yasin of the section on Aysahal-Falatiyyah in the first edition of the publication ‘A History of Song andMusic in Sudan’
It would be difficult to sum up Aysha Musa Ahmad Idris, known as Aysha al-Falatiyyah, because her memory is revived in the minds of the Sudanese whenever their circumstances change, for better or for worse. Today, at a time when Sudan is being torn apart by violent fighting, Al-Falatiyyah’ssongs take on new meanings, ones that may not have crossed our minds if we had not been hurtling into the abyss. For example, Al-Falatiyyah’s ‘simsimal-Gadarif‘, now brings back memories of a diminishing way of life.
According to the researcher, Ustaz Muawia Yasin, Aysha Musa was born in Kassala although the precise year is unknown, and died in February 1974 in Omdurman. Al-Falatiyya was brought up in a household surrounded by religious and scientific knowledge. Her father, Haj Musa Ahmad, was a scholar of the Koran who taught students at the khalwa. Several researchers have mentioned that Aysha would sneak into houses where wedding occasions were being held to eavesdrop on the popular songs at the time which she would promptly learn by heart and later preform in front of her girlfriends. In a touching observation, Ustaza Khalidah al-Jinayd pointed out how Aysha’s little friends were her number one fans (1). This observation makes us think of the things we lose without realising; the foolish, unofficial dates that become invalidated when success, in its capitalist sense, is recorded by history.
In 1936 Al-Falatiyyah’s talent encountered that of the great musician Ismail Abd-al-Muin in Cairo when she recorded the first ten records all of which were composed Abd-al-Muin, however, many of her songs were lost save some which were salvaged by the poet Muhammad Awad-al-Karim al-Qurashiincluding ‘khadari al-ma badari’, ‘habaytu ma habani’, and ‘al-zuhurwal wardi’, one of Al-Falatiyyah’s earlier songs, later performed by the musician Uthman al-Shafi. Abd-al-Muin was an important part of AyshaAl-Falatiyyah’s life as he once again collaborated with her in 1941 and together they produced five more songs (2). It appears that Abd-al-Muin, whose work was inspired by his close relationship with his family’s womenfolk and female neighbours, found the perfect partner in Aysha, in his pursuit of creating art grounded in culture. His stepmother’s mother, Sayda Fatima Fur, a midwife at the time of the Sultan Ali Dinar, taught him the song ‘ya umgargiday’ in Maqam Zanjaran, along the tetrachords of Maqam Hijaz, and his ‘kandarumandaru’ was taken from Um al-Fugara Haboba Zaytuna who he spent time with as a child of seven as she sat weaving baskets in Mangala in southern Sudan (3). According to the researcher Awad Babikir, Abd-al-Muin acquired his sayrah [traditional wedding song] rhythm from the sayrah singers Sharifah bit Bilal, Najaf,Qatat al-Khushum and Bit al-Agab. Meanwhile, the tum-tum rhythm he took from Rabha Khojali, who in turn had taken it from the signing of lorry attendants(4).
Aysha al-Falatiyyah adopted the rhythm of the tum-tum in her early songs which is why her earlier production was free and joyous, filled with earthy undertones. Her later pieces, possibly due to market forces, took on a masculine rhetoric that has influenced female poets to this day, singing to rhythms and verse that negotiate modernity from a position of hesitation.Aysha was restless, and together with the poet Mahmud al-Tingari her work ranged from the early eloquence of ‘anni malum sadhu awtaru’ and the aspirations of a growing middle class in ‘alhan al-rabi’ and other neat compositions.
One of the key moments in Al-Falatiyyah’s life was her involvement in negotiations of Sudanese nationalism and the creation of a unifying sentiment through her songs that entertained the Sudanese public in most parts of Sudan over the airwaves of Omdurman Radio. Embodied in these songs, that entered homes and captured people’s imagination, were features of the mystical part that is necessary in the process of imagining the community as one united entity, a process that is necessarily difficult and violent. Political scientist Benedict Anderson remarked that the imagined community was only created when it was possible for all the people of Europe to read the daily newspaper at the same time thus creating a unifying, spiritual language through this material ritual. Al-Falatiyyah’s share in unearthing this conscience is greater than that contributed by many who described themselves as part of the ‘nationalist movement’. For while the affandiyyah [educated elites] were busy denouncing culture on the pages of magazines, berating their relatives for, what they termed, their retrograde customs and traditions, Al-Falatiyyah took the side of the people and through culture negotiated their injustices through music and a strong will. Muawia Yasin explains that Al-Falatiyyah’s father had, for a long time, been angered by his daughter’s association with the singing milieu. He was in Al-Halawin where, Jadiya Musa, Aysha’s sister, remembers they heard her voice for the first time being played on a record. Her father’s anger completed subsided when he returned to Omdurman and found out how famous his daughter had become and he gave her his blessings (5).
Aysha became part of nationalist history by going on musical tours supporting the war effort of the Sudan Defence Forces who were obliged, as part of the armies under the British Crown, to fight against the Axis powers on the eastern and western front during World War II. Omitted from the history of the victors of this war was recognition of the sacrifices made by the colonies. Indian, Sudanese, Senegalese, Moroccan, Nigerian, Ghanaian and Caribbean forces fought on the side of France and Britain while the colonies financed the war effort as they were considered part of the economies of the two empires at the time. However, a small portion of this rich history is preserved in the songs of Aysha al-Falatiyyah such as when she sung for the soldiers of the SudanDefence Force in Khashm al-Girba and the border town of Karen, calling for their safe return. Aysha called Hitler and Mussolini, who never seemingly recovered afterwards, riyalanbarraniyan [foreign Riyal] or useless currency.
Nevertheless, Sudan’s women’s movement did not do justice to Ayash al-Falatiyyah and did not make her into a feminist icon. Al-Falatiyyah had in fact achieved the movement’s ambitions even before it was created. From the mid-1930s ‘Ashosh’ undertook professional trips and received pay for her work and, as her art matured, she continued to travel freely between the Sudanese towns performing at occasions and travelling to other countries representing Sudan at artistic events. She further took part in establishing the society of Sudanese artists, an organisation defending the interests of artists and negotiating the protection of their wages and their material and moral rights in the same way as a union would. Al-Falatiyyah, who could be clearly heard and seen in the public sphere, was an artistic icon and a dear part of our nationalist memory, how then has she been ignored by this movement?
(1) Interview with Khaldah al-Jinayd, Blue Nile TV (YouTube)
(2) Personal interview with the researcher Ustaz MuawiaYasin
(3) Interview with Ismail Abd-al-Muin, Sudan TV channel
(4) Interview with Ustaz Awad Babikir, Sudan TV (YouTube)
(5) Translation by Muawia Yasin of the section on Aysahal-Falatiyyah in the first edition of the publication ‘A History of Song andMusic in Sudan’
It would be difficult to sum up Aysha Musa Ahmad Idris, known as Aysha al-Falatiyyah, because her memory is revived in the minds of the Sudanese whenever their circumstances change, for better or for worse. Today, at a time when Sudan is being torn apart by violent fighting, Al-Falatiyyah’ssongs take on new meanings, ones that may not have crossed our minds if we had not been hurtling into the abyss. For example, Al-Falatiyyah’s ‘simsimal-Gadarif‘, now brings back memories of a diminishing way of life.
According to the researcher, Ustaz Muawia Yasin, Aysha Musa was born in Kassala although the precise year is unknown, and died in February 1974 in Omdurman. Al-Falatiyya was brought up in a household surrounded by religious and scientific knowledge. Her father, Haj Musa Ahmad, was a scholar of the Koran who taught students at the khalwa. Several researchers have mentioned that Aysha would sneak into houses where wedding occasions were being held to eavesdrop on the popular songs at the time which she would promptly learn by heart and later preform in front of her girlfriends. In a touching observation, Ustaza Khalidah al-Jinayd pointed out how Aysha’s little friends were her number one fans (1). This observation makes us think of the things we lose without realising; the foolish, unofficial dates that become invalidated when success, in its capitalist sense, is recorded by history.
In 1936 Al-Falatiyyah’s talent encountered that of the great musician Ismail Abd-al-Muin in Cairo when she recorded the first ten records all of which were composed Abd-al-Muin, however, many of her songs were lost save some which were salvaged by the poet Muhammad Awad-al-Karim al-Qurashiincluding ‘khadari al-ma badari’, ‘habaytu ma habani’, and ‘al-zuhurwal wardi’, one of Al-Falatiyyah’s earlier songs, later performed by the musician Uthman al-Shafi. Abd-al-Muin was an important part of AyshaAl-Falatiyyah’s life as he once again collaborated with her in 1941 and together they produced five more songs (2). It appears that Abd-al-Muin, whose work was inspired by his close relationship with his family’s womenfolk and female neighbours, found the perfect partner in Aysha, in his pursuit of creating art grounded in culture. His stepmother’s mother, Sayda Fatima Fur, a midwife at the time of the Sultan Ali Dinar, taught him the song ‘ya umgargiday’ in Maqam Zanjaran, along the tetrachords of Maqam Hijaz, and his ‘kandarumandaru’ was taken from Um al-Fugara Haboba Zaytuna who he spent time with as a child of seven as she sat weaving baskets in Mangala in southern Sudan (3). According to the researcher Awad Babikir, Abd-al-Muin acquired his sayrah [traditional wedding song] rhythm from the sayrah singers Sharifah bit Bilal, Najaf,Qatat al-Khushum and Bit al-Agab. Meanwhile, the tum-tum rhythm he took from Rabha Khojali, who in turn had taken it from the signing of lorry attendants(4).
Aysha al-Falatiyyah adopted the rhythm of the tum-tum in her early songs which is why her earlier production was free and joyous, filled with earthy undertones. Her later pieces, possibly due to market forces, took on a masculine rhetoric that has influenced female poets to this day, singing to rhythms and verse that negotiate modernity from a position of hesitation.Aysha was restless, and together with the poet Mahmud al-Tingari her work ranged from the early eloquence of ‘anni malum sadhu awtaru’ and the aspirations of a growing middle class in ‘alhan al-rabi’ and other neat compositions.
One of the key moments in Al-Falatiyyah’s life was her involvement in negotiations of Sudanese nationalism and the creation of a unifying sentiment through her songs that entertained the Sudanese public in most parts of Sudan over the airwaves of Omdurman Radio. Embodied in these songs, that entered homes and captured people’s imagination, were features of the mystical part that is necessary in the process of imagining the community as one united entity, a process that is necessarily difficult and violent. Political scientist Benedict Anderson remarked that the imagined community was only created when it was possible for all the people of Europe to read the daily newspaper at the same time thus creating a unifying, spiritual language through this material ritual. Al-Falatiyyah’s share in unearthing this conscience is greater than that contributed by many who described themselves as part of the ‘nationalist movement’. For while the affandiyyah [educated elites] were busy denouncing culture on the pages of magazines, berating their relatives for, what they termed, their retrograde customs and traditions, Al-Falatiyyah took the side of the people and through culture negotiated their injustices through music and a strong will. Muawia Yasin explains that Al-Falatiyyah’s father had, for a long time, been angered by his daughter’s association with the singing milieu. He was in Al-Halawin where, Jadiya Musa, Aysha’s sister, remembers they heard her voice for the first time being played on a record. Her father’s anger completed subsided when he returned to Omdurman and found out how famous his daughter had become and he gave her his blessings (5).
Aysha became part of nationalist history by going on musical tours supporting the war effort of the Sudan Defence Forces who were obliged, as part of the armies under the British Crown, to fight against the Axis powers on the eastern and western front during World War II. Omitted from the history of the victors of this war was recognition of the sacrifices made by the colonies. Indian, Sudanese, Senegalese, Moroccan, Nigerian, Ghanaian and Caribbean forces fought on the side of France and Britain while the colonies financed the war effort as they were considered part of the economies of the two empires at the time. However, a small portion of this rich history is preserved in the songs of Aysha al-Falatiyyah such as when she sung for the soldiers of the SudanDefence Force in Khashm al-Girba and the border town of Karen, calling for their safe return. Aysha called Hitler and Mussolini, who never seemingly recovered afterwards, riyalanbarraniyan [foreign Riyal] or useless currency.
Nevertheless, Sudan’s women’s movement did not do justice to Ayash al-Falatiyyah and did not make her into a feminist icon. Al-Falatiyyah had in fact achieved the movement’s ambitions even before it was created. From the mid-1930s ‘Ashosh’ undertook professional trips and received pay for her work and, as her art matured, she continued to travel freely between the Sudanese towns performing at occasions and travelling to other countries representing Sudan at artistic events. She further took part in establishing the society of Sudanese artists, an organisation defending the interests of artists and negotiating the protection of their wages and their material and moral rights in the same way as a union would. Al-Falatiyyah, who could be clearly heard and seen in the public sphere, was an artistic icon and a dear part of our nationalist memory, how then has she been ignored by this movement?
(1) Interview with Khaldah al-Jinayd, Blue Nile TV (YouTube)
(2) Personal interview with the researcher Ustaz MuawiaYasin
(3) Interview with Ismail Abd-al-Muin, Sudan TV channel
(4) Interview with Ustaz Awad Babikir, Sudan TV (YouTube)
(5) Translation by Muawia Yasin of the section on Aysahal-Falatiyyah in the first edition of the publication ‘A History of Song andMusic in Sudan’
Tob naming as an archive
We are used to reading about past events and famous personalities in books or seeing their stories unfold on a screen in documentaries or even through oral recitations told by our elders. However, our history may also be recorded in so many other ways including some very unusual ones. One such way is through linking these events or people to items in our surroundings, a practice of ‘naming’, which is very common in Sudan. These range from new car models, (Egyptian superstar) Laila Elwi to describe the ample and generously curved Toyota four-wheel drive to the Da’ish bus stop near the private university where students were allegedly recruited to join the extremist group. The names are political, cultural and social loaded with references that are understood by the society.
In Sudan, this tradition of naming extends to items of clothing, in this case, to the traditional women’s garment known as the tob, asari-like length of material that is wrapped around a woman’s body as an outer layer. Through the names of tobs, you can get a sense of some of the important events and personalities in Sudan’s modern history. From the obvious printing of faces or logos on the various tob fabrics, to more figurative representations of foods or associations, the names of these tobs are a clever and often humorous.
How are the names created and who thinks of them? Like today’s social media, it may be possible to trace the origin of a post that has gone viral but most likely a certain observation or description will capture the attention of users who will develop it and begin sharing and spreading it.The key here is that people can relate to it. In a similar vein, the names of tobs, once a marketing ploy by traders seeking to create a fashion trend and thus sell more, may also receive their names because of clever associations with their namesakes; iyun Zaroug, eyes of the former prime minister famed for his beautiful eyes is a tob with shiny circular discs and Al-Khartoumbilayal a night scene of the capital with sparkling dots resembling the twinkling lights of the capital. Women themselves also have the prerogative to name tobs, youm al mar’ah, women’s day or Nada al-Gal’ah after the tob worn by the famous singer. Names may also be given to tobs because they resemble a phenomenon that has captured the public imagination such as tob Abual-Gunfud, a tob covered in circular tassels named after rumours of the discovery of medicinal uses of hedgehogs.
And while these fashions and their associations to daily life may be superseded by newer designs and fashions, the fact that they were once named at a certain time, will remain a form of informal Sudanese archive. Will the war and rupture that it has created disrupt this tradition of naming tobs or will it continue to be used? A recent Tik-Tok advert by a tob vendor includes a tob called Al-Quwat al-Musalaha, the Armed Forces, a sign possibly of the names of tobs to come and their association with this tragic event in Sudan’s history.
We are used to reading about past events and famous personalities in books or seeing their stories unfold on a screen in documentaries or even through oral recitations told by our elders. However, our history may also be recorded in so many other ways including some very unusual ones. One such way is through linking these events or people to items in our surroundings, a practice of ‘naming’, which is very common in Sudan. These range from new car models, (Egyptian superstar) Laila Elwi to describe the ample and generously curved Toyota four-wheel drive to the Da’ish bus stop near the private university where students were allegedly recruited to join the extremist group. The names are political, cultural and social loaded with references that are understood by the society.
In Sudan, this tradition of naming extends to items of clothing, in this case, to the traditional women’s garment known as the tob, asari-like length of material that is wrapped around a woman’s body as an outer layer. Through the names of tobs, you can get a sense of some of the important events and personalities in Sudan’s modern history. From the obvious printing of faces or logos on the various tob fabrics, to more figurative representations of foods or associations, the names of these tobs are a clever and often humorous.
How are the names created and who thinks of them? Like today’s social media, it may be possible to trace the origin of a post that has gone viral but most likely a certain observation or description will capture the attention of users who will develop it and begin sharing and spreading it.The key here is that people can relate to it. In a similar vein, the names of tobs, once a marketing ploy by traders seeking to create a fashion trend and thus sell more, may also receive their names because of clever associations with their namesakes; iyun Zaroug, eyes of the former prime minister famed for his beautiful eyes is a tob with shiny circular discs and Al-Khartoumbilayal a night scene of the capital with sparkling dots resembling the twinkling lights of the capital. Women themselves also have the prerogative to name tobs, youm al mar’ah, women’s day or Nada al-Gal’ah after the tob worn by the famous singer. Names may also be given to tobs because they resemble a phenomenon that has captured the public imagination such as tob Abual-Gunfud, a tob covered in circular tassels named after rumours of the discovery of medicinal uses of hedgehogs.
And while these fashions and their associations to daily life may be superseded by newer designs and fashions, the fact that they were once named at a certain time, will remain a form of informal Sudanese archive. Will the war and rupture that it has created disrupt this tradition of naming tobs or will it continue to be used? A recent Tik-Tok advert by a tob vendor includes a tob called Al-Quwat al-Musalaha, the Armed Forces, a sign possibly of the names of tobs to come and their association with this tragic event in Sudan’s history.
We are used to reading about past events and famous personalities in books or seeing their stories unfold on a screen in documentaries or even through oral recitations told by our elders. However, our history may also be recorded in so many other ways including some very unusual ones. One such way is through linking these events or people to items in our surroundings, a practice of ‘naming’, which is very common in Sudan. These range from new car models, (Egyptian superstar) Laila Elwi to describe the ample and generously curved Toyota four-wheel drive to the Da’ish bus stop near the private university where students were allegedly recruited to join the extremist group. The names are political, cultural and social loaded with references that are understood by the society.
In Sudan, this tradition of naming extends to items of clothing, in this case, to the traditional women’s garment known as the tob, asari-like length of material that is wrapped around a woman’s body as an outer layer. Through the names of tobs, you can get a sense of some of the important events and personalities in Sudan’s modern history. From the obvious printing of faces or logos on the various tob fabrics, to more figurative representations of foods or associations, the names of these tobs are a clever and often humorous.
How are the names created and who thinks of them? Like today’s social media, it may be possible to trace the origin of a post that has gone viral but most likely a certain observation or description will capture the attention of users who will develop it and begin sharing and spreading it.The key here is that people can relate to it. In a similar vein, the names of tobs, once a marketing ploy by traders seeking to create a fashion trend and thus sell more, may also receive their names because of clever associations with their namesakes; iyun Zaroug, eyes of the former prime minister famed for his beautiful eyes is a tob with shiny circular discs and Al-Khartoumbilayal a night scene of the capital with sparkling dots resembling the twinkling lights of the capital. Women themselves also have the prerogative to name tobs, youm al mar’ah, women’s day or Nada al-Gal’ah after the tob worn by the famous singer. Names may also be given to tobs because they resemble a phenomenon that has captured the public imagination such as tob Abual-Gunfud, a tob covered in circular tassels named after rumours of the discovery of medicinal uses of hedgehogs.
And while these fashions and their associations to daily life may be superseded by newer designs and fashions, the fact that they were once named at a certain time, will remain a form of informal Sudanese archive. Will the war and rupture that it has created disrupt this tradition of naming tobs or will it continue to be used? A recent Tik-Tok advert by a tob vendor includes a tob called Al-Quwat al-Musalaha, the Armed Forces, a sign possibly of the names of tobs to come and their association with this tragic event in Sudan’s history.
Sudanese women in culture
Dr. Niemat Ragab
Cultural and Social Anthropology and Folklore
She is an Assistant Professor with more than 25 years of experience teaching Sociology and Social Anthropology in universities in Sudan and the UAE. She participated in institutionalizing the Department of Sociology at Al Neelain University. Her areas of special interest include Sociology, Social Theory, Methods of SocialResearch, Medical Sociology, Social and Cultural Anthropology, SocialPsychology, Urban Sociology, Local Communities Studies, Family and Women Studies, Folklore, Afro-Asian Studies, and History of UAE Society.
Tamador Gibreel
Actress, Director, and Mental Health Clinician
An actress,director, author, poet, and painter. Tamador Gibrel earned a BA in Acting and Direction from Sudan University. She has several radios, television and theatre works. In the early 90s, she moved to the US and formed “Arayes Al-Nile” band to combat racism. She did standup comedy and during Covid she did Zoom theater.
Nadia Aldaw
TV / RadioPresenter
She Majored in Media and Public Relations and has researched the presence of language and heritage on Sudanese radios. Her heritage research focuses on Baggara tribes in Kordofan, especially Hawazma. Her radio programs discussed nomadic communities. She also documents the elements of nomadic heritage. Multiple television and radio channels hosted Nadia as a Sudanese heritage researcher.
Omnia Shawkat
Journalist
Journalist, digital stories, and cross-cultural curator. Co-founder and manager of the cultural online platform Andariya, based in Sudan, South Sudan and other countries in East Africa and the Horn of Africa. Omnia worked in the environment and development field for six years before starting the platform. She was nominated among the top nine women tech innovators in Africa by IT News and among the top ten leading women in tech in the MENA by OpenLETR.
Naba Salah
Feminist / GenderRights Activist
Naba is the coordinator of the “Pad Needed, Dignity Seeded” initiative. She’s an advocate and campaigner for ending gender-based violence. Naba has developed a deep interest in traditions, customs, folklore, girls’ songs, and local proverbs, associating this heritage with a feminist perspective. Naba currently documents local Sudanese proverbs in graphic designs and posts them online to engage friends and followers in conversations on the origins and meanings of these proverbs and sayings.
Dr. Niemat Ragab
Cultural and Social Anthropology and Folklore
She is an Assistant Professor with more than 25 years of experience teaching Sociology and Social Anthropology in universities in Sudan and the UAE. She participated in institutionalizing the Department of Sociology at Al Neelain University. Her areas of special interest include Sociology, Social Theory, Methods of SocialResearch, Medical Sociology, Social and Cultural Anthropology, SocialPsychology, Urban Sociology, Local Communities Studies, Family and Women Studies, Folklore, Afro-Asian Studies, and History of UAE Society.
Tamador Gibreel
Actress, Director, and Mental Health Clinician
An actress,director, author, poet, and painter. Tamador Gibrel earned a BA in Acting and Direction from Sudan University. She has several radios, television and theatre works. In the early 90s, she moved to the US and formed “Arayes Al-Nile” band to combat racism. She did standup comedy and during Covid she did Zoom theater.
Nadia Aldaw
TV / RadioPresenter
She Majored in Media and Public Relations and has researched the presence of language and heritage on Sudanese radios. Her heritage research focuses on Baggara tribes in Kordofan, especially Hawazma. Her radio programs discussed nomadic communities. She also documents the elements of nomadic heritage. Multiple television and radio channels hosted Nadia as a Sudanese heritage researcher.
Omnia Shawkat
Journalist
Journalist, digital stories, and cross-cultural curator. Co-founder and manager of the cultural online platform Andariya, based in Sudan, South Sudan and other countries in East Africa and the Horn of Africa. Omnia worked in the environment and development field for six years before starting the platform. She was nominated among the top nine women tech innovators in Africa by IT News and among the top ten leading women in tech in the MENA by OpenLETR.
Naba Salah
Feminist / GenderRights Activist
Naba is the coordinator of the “Pad Needed, Dignity Seeded” initiative. She’s an advocate and campaigner for ending gender-based violence. Naba has developed a deep interest in traditions, customs, folklore, girls’ songs, and local proverbs, associating this heritage with a feminist perspective. Naba currently documents local Sudanese proverbs in graphic designs and posts them online to engage friends and followers in conversations on the origins and meanings of these proverbs and sayings.
Dr. Niemat Ragab
Cultural and Social Anthropology and Folklore
She is an Assistant Professor with more than 25 years of experience teaching Sociology and Social Anthropology in universities in Sudan and the UAE. She participated in institutionalizing the Department of Sociology at Al Neelain University. Her areas of special interest include Sociology, Social Theory, Methods of SocialResearch, Medical Sociology, Social and Cultural Anthropology, SocialPsychology, Urban Sociology, Local Communities Studies, Family and Women Studies, Folklore, Afro-Asian Studies, and History of UAE Society.
Tamador Gibreel
Actress, Director, and Mental Health Clinician
An actress,director, author, poet, and painter. Tamador Gibrel earned a BA in Acting and Direction from Sudan University. She has several radios, television and theatre works. In the early 90s, she moved to the US and formed “Arayes Al-Nile” band to combat racism. She did standup comedy and during Covid she did Zoom theater.
Nadia Aldaw
TV / RadioPresenter
She Majored in Media and Public Relations and has researched the presence of language and heritage on Sudanese radios. Her heritage research focuses on Baggara tribes in Kordofan, especially Hawazma. Her radio programs discussed nomadic communities. She also documents the elements of nomadic heritage. Multiple television and radio channels hosted Nadia as a Sudanese heritage researcher.
Omnia Shawkat
Journalist
Journalist, digital stories, and cross-cultural curator. Co-founder and manager of the cultural online platform Andariya, based in Sudan, South Sudan and other countries in East Africa and the Horn of Africa. Omnia worked in the environment and development field for six years before starting the platform. She was nominated among the top nine women tech innovators in Africa by IT News and among the top ten leading women in tech in the MENA by OpenLETR.
Naba Salah
Feminist / GenderRights Activist
Naba is the coordinator of the “Pad Needed, Dignity Seeded” initiative. She’s an advocate and campaigner for ending gender-based violence. Naba has developed a deep interest in traditions, customs, folklore, girls’ songs, and local proverbs, associating this heritage with a feminist perspective. Naba currently documents local Sudanese proverbs in graphic designs and posts them online to engage friends and followers in conversations on the origins and meanings of these proverbs and sayings.
Reflecting on the social impact of Hakamat
The hakamat (pl.) are women poetesses and singers who hail from specific groups classified as nomadic/pastoralist “Arab” groups within Darfur and Kordofan. The role can be inherited, can be based on talent or having charisma, and being respected within their communities. The title of hakama is officially bestowed during a festive ceremony. The articulations and performances of hakamat seek to comment on societal events, taking place in real time, to resolve them.
Through powerful performances hakamat, wield significant social influence since they sustain and fortify cultural values based on gendered understandings of honour and shame within specific contexts. They manifest the capacity to use song and poetry to invite men to engage in war by praising the virtues of aggressive and unrelenting warrior behaviour, based on reified cultural norms, that encourage men and young boys to remain brave and unflinching in the face of death in order to accrue power and wealth. The hakamat equally mediate inter-communal peace and suggest viable marriage alliances considered beneficial to diverse clans within the “Arab” structures of both Darfur and Kordofan where they are present as social actors.
The lyrics pronounced by hakamat guide men and women in enacting social norms and roles which are deemed as enhancing collective lives. However, the impactful socially grounded influence of hakamats’ performances remained invisible to many Sudanese who are unacquainted with the cultural heritage of locations within Western Sudan from whence they originally hail. The dominance of Nile valley culture and the centering of political power within the capital city Khartoum have contributed to this situation.
The Darfur conflict of 2003 has highlighted the role of these women as powerful social actors. They had been widely perceived by riverine culture and the international peace building community to be troublemakers who encouraged conflict. The relevance of the hakamat for bolstering national harmony became more salient after 2004. In Khartoum they were enjoined by international organisations (approved by the Sudanese state) to use their access to their local male dominated worlds and to reverse their messages transforming them into ones advocating for peace.
This activist role targeting robust nation building was poorly publicized. While the hakamat have become more well known within the capital city more recently, this visibility was facilitated by social media platforms through a depoliticized folkloric lens. This does little to reflect that the words of the hakama are wedded to lived cultural realities and seek to influence social orders.
At present, diverse Hakamat stand at the cusp of the undesired cultural and political strife now so obvious between Riverine Sudan and Darfur in Western Sudan. The war, which started in April 2023, has exacerbated preexisting grievances between the central state and its peripheries. The leadership of the Rapid Support Forces warring with the Sudanese armed Forces originates from the Maaliya (subgroup of the Rizigait) one of the Darfuri groups where Hakamat speak up. In this instance of active warfare, the image of the hakama has once again become negative since it has been widely propagated that they encourage their fighters and men to come back from the capital city bearing loot as a marker of sought after and highly valorised masculine honour and victory.
The narrative of the “hakama” (sing.) is neither good nor evil it is scripted according to the tale Sudan recounts. The words of the “hakama” reflect the travails of a nation at war with itself.
The hakamat (pl.) are women poetesses and singers who hail from specific groups classified as nomadic/pastoralist “Arab” groups within Darfur and Kordofan. The role can be inherited, can be based on talent or having charisma, and being respected within their communities. The title of hakama is officially bestowed during a festive ceremony. The articulations and performances of hakamat seek to comment on societal events, taking place in real time, to resolve them.
Through powerful performances hakamat, wield significant social influence since they sustain and fortify cultural values based on gendered understandings of honour and shame within specific contexts. They manifest the capacity to use song and poetry to invite men to engage in war by praising the virtues of aggressive and unrelenting warrior behaviour, based on reified cultural norms, that encourage men and young boys to remain brave and unflinching in the face of death in order to accrue power and wealth. The hakamat equally mediate inter-communal peace and suggest viable marriage alliances considered beneficial to diverse clans within the “Arab” structures of both Darfur and Kordofan where they are present as social actors.
The lyrics pronounced by hakamat guide men and women in enacting social norms and roles which are deemed as enhancing collective lives. However, the impactful socially grounded influence of hakamats’ performances remained invisible to many Sudanese who are unacquainted with the cultural heritage of locations within Western Sudan from whence they originally hail. The dominance of Nile valley culture and the centering of political power within the capital city Khartoum have contributed to this situation.
The Darfur conflict of 2003 has highlighted the role of these women as powerful social actors. They had been widely perceived by riverine culture and the international peace building community to be troublemakers who encouraged conflict. The relevance of the hakamat for bolstering national harmony became more salient after 2004. In Khartoum they were enjoined by international organisations (approved by the Sudanese state) to use their access to their local male dominated worlds and to reverse their messages transforming them into ones advocating for peace.
This activist role targeting robust nation building was poorly publicized. While the hakamat have become more well known within the capital city more recently, this visibility was facilitated by social media platforms through a depoliticized folkloric lens. This does little to reflect that the words of the hakama are wedded to lived cultural realities and seek to influence social orders.
At present, diverse Hakamat stand at the cusp of the undesired cultural and political strife now so obvious between Riverine Sudan and Darfur in Western Sudan. The war, which started in April 2023, has exacerbated preexisting grievances between the central state and its peripheries. The leadership of the Rapid Support Forces warring with the Sudanese armed Forces originates from the Maaliya (subgroup of the Rizigait) one of the Darfuri groups where Hakamat speak up. In this instance of active warfare, the image of the hakama has once again become negative since it has been widely propagated that they encourage their fighters and men to come back from the capital city bearing loot as a marker of sought after and highly valorised masculine honour and victory.
The narrative of the “hakama” (sing.) is neither good nor evil it is scripted according to the tale Sudan recounts. The words of the “hakama” reflect the travails of a nation at war with itself.
The hakamat (pl.) are women poetesses and singers who hail from specific groups classified as nomadic/pastoralist “Arab” groups within Darfur and Kordofan. The role can be inherited, can be based on talent or having charisma, and being respected within their communities. The title of hakama is officially bestowed during a festive ceremony. The articulations and performances of hakamat seek to comment on societal events, taking place in real time, to resolve them.
Through powerful performances hakamat, wield significant social influence since they sustain and fortify cultural values based on gendered understandings of honour and shame within specific contexts. They manifest the capacity to use song and poetry to invite men to engage in war by praising the virtues of aggressive and unrelenting warrior behaviour, based on reified cultural norms, that encourage men and young boys to remain brave and unflinching in the face of death in order to accrue power and wealth. The hakamat equally mediate inter-communal peace and suggest viable marriage alliances considered beneficial to diverse clans within the “Arab” structures of both Darfur and Kordofan where they are present as social actors.
The lyrics pronounced by hakamat guide men and women in enacting social norms and roles which are deemed as enhancing collective lives. However, the impactful socially grounded influence of hakamats’ performances remained invisible to many Sudanese who are unacquainted with the cultural heritage of locations within Western Sudan from whence they originally hail. The dominance of Nile valley culture and the centering of political power within the capital city Khartoum have contributed to this situation.
The Darfur conflict of 2003 has highlighted the role of these women as powerful social actors. They had been widely perceived by riverine culture and the international peace building community to be troublemakers who encouraged conflict. The relevance of the hakamat for bolstering national harmony became more salient after 2004. In Khartoum they were enjoined by international organisations (approved by the Sudanese state) to use their access to their local male dominated worlds and to reverse their messages transforming them into ones advocating for peace.
This activist role targeting robust nation building was poorly publicized. While the hakamat have become more well known within the capital city more recently, this visibility was facilitated by social media platforms through a depoliticized folkloric lens. This does little to reflect that the words of the hakama are wedded to lived cultural realities and seek to influence social orders.
At present, diverse Hakamat stand at the cusp of the undesired cultural and political strife now so obvious between Riverine Sudan and Darfur in Western Sudan. The war, which started in April 2023, has exacerbated preexisting grievances between the central state and its peripheries. The leadership of the Rapid Support Forces warring with the Sudanese armed Forces originates from the Maaliya (subgroup of the Rizigait) one of the Darfuri groups where Hakamat speak up. In this instance of active warfare, the image of the hakama has once again become negative since it has been widely propagated that they encourage their fighters and men to come back from the capital city bearing loot as a marker of sought after and highly valorised masculine honour and victory.
The narrative of the “hakama” (sing.) is neither good nor evil it is scripted according to the tale Sudan recounts. The words of the “hakama” reflect the travails of a nation at war with itself.
.png)
A large gourd, transformed through a woven neck and tight fitting lid into a container, bokhsa,. Vessels like this could be used to make rob (buttermilk), a fermented milk product. Often made with excess milk, this process of fermentation helps to extend the life of dairy products and provides a delicious base for traditional recipes. In this bokhsa, cracks in the base of the gourd have been locally repaired with vegetable fibre, showing the value of this container to its owner.
Purchased in Buram (South Darfur, Sudan) in 1981 by Paul Wilson © The Trustees of the British Museum
Healing kitchens
In recent years it has become increasingly common to see street traders sitting on the dusty ground along the sides of roads in Sudan’s heaving markets with a sheet of plastic spread out next to them covered in piles, tubs, tubes and small bags of so-called traditional medicine. From cancer to AIDS, and high blood pressure to impotency, the self-appointed healers shout out their wares to attract passers-by with the promise of miraculous recoveries. And because of growing economic hardship, many weary people often pause in front of the traders to discuss or buy these treatments, marvelling at their affordability compared to the cost of pharmaceutical drugs or doctors’ consultations. Even if they are not totally convinced of their efficacy, they convince themselves that they were worth a try.
This latest commercial use of traditional herbs and potions is a far cry from how these treatments used to be dispensed and administered. Mint tea for a stomach-ache, harjal (solenostemma arghel) or hilbah (fenugreek) for nausea, and a good douse of sesame oil rubbed vigorously onto the torso for chest pain. These were all part of a Sudanese mother’s ‘medicine cabinet’ located in her kitchen tied up in plastic bags nestled between jars of herbs at the back of the pantry, or beneath the slice of lime in the egg compartment of the fridge door. The knowledge of which herb, leaf, oil or smoke was necessary for dealing with which ailment was passed down from mother to daughter or among the neighbourhood’s womenfolk. During the 2019 pandemic many Sudanese resorted to burning garad pods (Acacia Arabic) as a form, they believed, of prevention and cure from the disease. This was based on the handed down wisdom that garad cured respiratory problems.
Traditional remedies are also distinct in the way they are patiently and caringly prepared and administrated which are an integral part of the whole recovery process. Thus, boiling the flowers of a hibiscus plant – warm for colds and flu, cold to lower blood pressure – or the leaves of a guava tree to stem diarrhoea, are prepared and given under the watchful eye of the mother until the child are recovers. This personalised treatment is nearly always the first resort when a child falls ill, with the opinions of doctors and hospital visits only being sought if the problem persists. Belief in the efficacy of these remedies plays an important part in the use of traditional medicines and together with the personal, caring way they are administered by mothers, it is no wonder this knowledge has endured.
Today, this knowledge of traditional medicines, that has been transmitted organically, is at risk of being lost. The mass displacement of people across Sudan means the networks of knowledge transfer may be disrupted. Furthermore, traditionally used herbs, leaves and oils may not be available in the places people have been forced to move to. However, what is certain is that the resilience of mothers means that wherever she finds herself, she will be able to adapt local natural ingredients as remedies for her children’s ailments.
In recent years it has become increasingly common to see street traders sitting on the dusty ground along the sides of roads in Sudan’s heaving markets with a sheet of plastic spread out next to them covered in piles, tubs, tubes and small bags of so-called traditional medicine. From cancer to AIDS, and high blood pressure to impotency, the self-appointed healers shout out their wares to attract passers-by with the promise of miraculous recoveries. And because of growing economic hardship, many weary people often pause in front of the traders to discuss or buy these treatments, marvelling at their affordability compared to the cost of pharmaceutical drugs or doctors’ consultations. Even if they are not totally convinced of their efficacy, they convince themselves that they were worth a try.
This latest commercial use of traditional herbs and potions is a far cry from how these treatments used to be dispensed and administered. Mint tea for a stomach-ache, harjal (solenostemma arghel) or hilbah (fenugreek) for nausea, and a good douse of sesame oil rubbed vigorously onto the torso for chest pain. These were all part of a Sudanese mother’s ‘medicine cabinet’ located in her kitchen tied up in plastic bags nestled between jars of herbs at the back of the pantry, or beneath the slice of lime in the egg compartment of the fridge door. The knowledge of which herb, leaf, oil or smoke was necessary for dealing with which ailment was passed down from mother to daughter or among the neighbourhood’s womenfolk. During the 2019 pandemic many Sudanese resorted to burning garad pods (Acacia Arabic) as a form, they believed, of prevention and cure from the disease. This was based on the handed down wisdom that garad cured respiratory problems.
Traditional remedies are also distinct in the way they are patiently and caringly prepared and administrated which are an integral part of the whole recovery process. Thus, boiling the flowers of a hibiscus plant – warm for colds and flu, cold to lower blood pressure – or the leaves of a guava tree to stem diarrhoea, are prepared and given under the watchful eye of the mother until the child are recovers. This personalised treatment is nearly always the first resort when a child falls ill, with the opinions of doctors and hospital visits only being sought if the problem persists. Belief in the efficacy of these remedies plays an important part in the use of traditional medicines and together with the personal, caring way they are administered by mothers, it is no wonder this knowledge has endured.
Today, this knowledge of traditional medicines, that has been transmitted organically, is at risk of being lost. The mass displacement of people across Sudan means the networks of knowledge transfer may be disrupted. Furthermore, traditionally used herbs, leaves and oils may not be available in the places people have been forced to move to. However, what is certain is that the resilience of mothers means that wherever she finds herself, she will be able to adapt local natural ingredients as remedies for her children’s ailments.
In recent years it has become increasingly common to see street traders sitting on the dusty ground along the sides of roads in Sudan’s heaving markets with a sheet of plastic spread out next to them covered in piles, tubs, tubes and small bags of so-called traditional medicine. From cancer to AIDS, and high blood pressure to impotency, the self-appointed healers shout out their wares to attract passers-by with the promise of miraculous recoveries. And because of growing economic hardship, many weary people often pause in front of the traders to discuss or buy these treatments, marvelling at their affordability compared to the cost of pharmaceutical drugs or doctors’ consultations. Even if they are not totally convinced of their efficacy, they convince themselves that they were worth a try.
This latest commercial use of traditional herbs and potions is a far cry from how these treatments used to be dispensed and administered. Mint tea for a stomach-ache, harjal (solenostemma arghel) or hilbah (fenugreek) for nausea, and a good douse of sesame oil rubbed vigorously onto the torso for chest pain. These were all part of a Sudanese mother’s ‘medicine cabinet’ located in her kitchen tied up in plastic bags nestled between jars of herbs at the back of the pantry, or beneath the slice of lime in the egg compartment of the fridge door. The knowledge of which herb, leaf, oil or smoke was necessary for dealing with which ailment was passed down from mother to daughter or among the neighbourhood’s womenfolk. During the 2019 pandemic many Sudanese resorted to burning garad pods (Acacia Arabic) as a form, they believed, of prevention and cure from the disease. This was based on the handed down wisdom that garad cured respiratory problems.
Traditional remedies are also distinct in the way they are patiently and caringly prepared and administrated which are an integral part of the whole recovery process. Thus, boiling the flowers of a hibiscus plant – warm for colds and flu, cold to lower blood pressure – or the leaves of a guava tree to stem diarrhoea, are prepared and given under the watchful eye of the mother until the child are recovers. This personalised treatment is nearly always the first resort when a child falls ill, with the opinions of doctors and hospital visits only being sought if the problem persists. Belief in the efficacy of these remedies plays an important part in the use of traditional medicines and together with the personal, caring way they are administered by mothers, it is no wonder this knowledge has endured.
Today, this knowledge of traditional medicines, that has been transmitted organically, is at risk of being lost. The mass displacement of people across Sudan means the networks of knowledge transfer may be disrupted. Furthermore, traditionally used herbs, leaves and oils may not be available in the places people have been forced to move to. However, what is certain is that the resilience of mothers means that wherever she finds herself, she will be able to adapt local natural ingredients as remedies for her children’s ailments.
The following texts on women during the Mahdiya period in Sudan were prepared as part of the women’s exhibition at the Khalifa House museum in Omdurman that was reopened after extensive renovation in 2023, two months before the current war broke out.
The existing Khalifa House museum was converted into a community museum, which meant that it was necessary to cater for the local community and their interests. Thus a contemporary viewpoint of history of the Mahdiya meant the inclusion of sections on the city, markets, economy and events as a way to create a snapshot of life during that time. The exhibitions also followed the original purpose of the rooms of the house which was the Khalifa’s residence and administration building. The women’s section of the house therefore became the women’s exhibition to showcase women’s objects and their stories from the era.
This proved quite a challenge and many questions needed to be answered; from what is a women’s object to how could this be distinguished from everyday household items? Another difficulty was trying to uncover stories on prominent women at the time. Many records from the Mahdiya did not include women’s names, merely referred to them as the daughter of such-and-such or that person’s sister.
That is why we were determined to create a parallel exhibition for women, one followed a similar pattern to in the other rooms of the museum thus creating sections for women and economy, how they used the city, their role in politics and fashion. The exhibition attempted to contextualise household items as part of an economic system.
One way to fill in the gap of information is to try and imagine how life was for women during the Mahdiya based on the scarce facts available. Sudanese author Leila Aboulela has done this in her recently published book, River Spirit, which tells a fictional story set during the Mahdiya based on some known historical figures. The book manages to paint a very plausible world in which women are seen as characters in their own right and whose influence on men and on events is detailed and powerful.
Women in the revolution
Women’s participation in the Mahdist revolution (1888 – 1899) took various forms. They donned the patchwork Jibba worn by the men and fought side-by-side with them in battle and also followed the main armies with provisions. Women provided water to the thirsty, tended to the wounded soldiers, and even helped dispose of wounded enemy soldiers. Some well-known figures include Sitt al-Banaat Umm Saif, Khadijah Bit-Surkatty, and Fatima Bint Umm al-Hassan.
On his migration to Qadir, the march from Obeid to Khartoum, there was a significant female constituent among the Imam Mohammed Ahmed al-Mahdi’s followers. Women also played a strategic role in The Mahdi’s victories, mainly through intelligence operations. They would discreetly gather information on the enemy and their defences, women like Rabiha al-Kinania who ran from Mount Fungor to Mount Qadir (15km more than a marathon, as the crow flies) to warn The Mahdi of Rashid Bey Ayman’s ambush.
During the liberation of Khartoum in 1885, it was the women who disclosed plans of Gordon’s defences around Khartoum to The Mahdi’s forces and aided in its siege and eventual liberation.
Women’s market
Commercial activity was considered to be one the main features of Mahdist society in Omdurman. The country was constantly in a state of war and all the men were away for war or trade. The city of Omdurman became a women’s city and the deteriorating situation forced women to work in the market.
The State allowed women to work if their husbands were at war and they needed to make a living. Older women, who could work in the market place, had a designated space where they sold commodities like oil, animal fat, fruit, spices, medicines, sorghum, dates, yeast, water and slaves. Darfuri women were especially skilled in making mats with glass beads woven into their folds, giving them a distinct lustre, and women from Al-Gezira, Barbar and Dongola specialised in producing fabrics, mats and pottery.
On the back of a large, round, and weighty serving tray, typically reserved for important occasions, the owner's initials are inscribed in bold red nail polish, proudly claiming it as her own and making it easily indefinable if ownership is disputed by a neighbour or relative. Over time, she purchased five more trays, and together with her enormous collection of white serving dishes and bowls, she is prepared for all occasions and any large gatherings. Crafted from original china, these items of crockery are extremely resilient. Today the trays and china are being used for her cousin's daughter's wedding, arranged around the repurposed yard where each woman occupies her corner near her coal stove burner, enthusiastically preparing the dishes they claim mastery over. The young men, tasked with sourcing the cooking ingredients, often find themselves navigating the labyrinth of the chaotic scene, backward and forward, trying to get everything on the numerous lists.
Beyond her serving trays and crockery, the owner takes pride in the rest of the pots, pans and cooking utensils she has managed to buy through a cash savings initiative she has been part of for many years. The woman in the corner of the yard organised the cash saving scheme, with the view of saving for her own daughter's wedding. Known as the sandug (box) each woman puts a specified amount of money into a savings pot and each month one woman receives all the money for large items or expenses. Sometimes the money is used to buy communal items, necessary for neighbourhood occasions, which are stored in the local mosque's storeroom. For Sudanese women, this sense of saving and economising is like a sixth sense. They will scrimp and save whatever funds they have access to and will often give their unsolicited advice on ways to save for the future to everyone around them.
The sandug has proven invaluable, particularly during critical times when funds are needed urgently, to pay children’s university fees or for medical expenses for example. And while each woman knows roughly when it will be her turn to receive the cash, there is an understanding among the group that if the need arises, a woman will forgo her turn to help out another. This sense of solidarity among the women is the glue of their communities and animated tea-drinking sessions, where gossip and grievances are shared, is where this profound connection blossoms.
The tray owner, acting as the de facto household bank, is finely tuned to the market economy. In addition to the sandug she diligently puts aside any surplus money and invests it by, for example, buying gold at the Omdurman market, in order to preserve the money’s value for future use. The fat gold bracelet she carefully selected and purchased may appear to be an ostentatious show of wealth; however, it is in fact a valuable reserve, readily and hastily exchanged when a genuine need arises.
The role of women in education was well-known before the Mahdist Revolution. Quranic schools, called khalawi, were spread throughout most of the country and women from the families of Islamic scholars or Sheikhs, educated in the Qur’an, were often allowed to teach there. One such woman was Fatima bint Jaber from Kutranj near Karima in northern Sudan who was renowned for teaching the Quran with her brothers. In some areas, like the Beja region in Eastern Sudan, the khalawi system became dependent on women teachers. Some women became prominent Sheikhas in their own right and were well versed in Islam, so much so, they were able to establish their own khalwa, just like the khalwas in the Fur, Bargo and Masalit tribe areas. A good example is that of the famous Sheikha Aisha bint Al-Qadal who taught students in her khalwa in Jabal Awlia, on the southern outskirts of Khartoum.
This tradition continued during the Mahdist period and women continued to learn and teach the Quran and Quranic studies at the Khalifa’s Mosque in Omdurman and at women’s khalawi, like the Sheikha Khadijah Bint Al-Fakki Ali khalwa and the Sheikha Fatima Umm al-Nasr Bint Abu Rahala khalwa. Lessons would be held in the mornings and evenings and melodious chanting was used as a tool to aid students to memorise verses. Upon completing the lessons, the student was awarded a certificate called Al Sharaafah (the honour). During the celebration, the other students would brush a hand over the honoured student’s head after a meal of mulaah rob, a staple Sudanese dish made of cooked yoghurt.
Some of the sheikhas used to go around visiting homes in person to educate girls and women, the most famous of whom are Khadijah bint al-Sheikh wad Abu Safiyyah, who mentored the first female Education Inspector in Sudan, and the first Sudanese woman to establish a night school for women in Omdurman and the esteemed teacher Madinah Abdullah Abd al-Qadir.
Al-Sharifa Maryam al-Marghaniyah, who showed a lot of interest in women’s education, establishing mosques and khalawi (with sections designated for women’s education) in Haya, Sinkat, and Jabayt in eastern Sudan, is a more recent example of women in education. Until her death in 1952, Al-Marghaniyah contributed to supporting and supervising schools, paying salaries of some of the employees, and generally encouraging girls’ education.
Reading list
A Mouth Full of Salt by Reem Gaafar
(Saqi Books, 2024)
Thisnovel, set in the 1980s, tells the story of three women in Northern Sudan whose stories relate to a series of unfortunate events that mysteriously unfold starting with the drowning of a child. The story gives a glimpse to the lifestyle of villages along the banks of the Nile at the time, and how women navigate their social and cultural environment. The story also tackles issues of racism and gender roles.
Home is Not a Country by Safia Elhilo
(Make Me a World, 2021)
.jpeg)
In this free-verse novel, Elhilo explores notions of home and belonging through the lens of Nima, a fourteen-year-old girl of Sudanese origin living inAmerica. Intended for young adults, the book’s central question is whether we feel part of a place we have never lived in, a place we are connected to through only by our parents’ memories and a few items of memorabilia?
Nile Blues by Maha Ayoub
(Independent Publisher, 2012)
.jpeg)
This is the story of a group of Sudanese women, from very different socio-economic and religious backgrounds, navigating life at the time Sudan split into two countries. Ayoub’s excellent observation of small details in everyday Sudane selife and her ability to weave them into an engaging story plot, creates an exciting and often humorous narrative at a grave time of national reckoning.
Al-Tagiyyah: the art of needlework in Omdurman 1885-1940
by Bagia Badawi Muhammad Abd-al-Rahman
(Khartoum University Press, 2008)
This book is a study of needlework crafting in general, and of the tagiyyah (traditional Sudanese men’s skull cap) in particular. From the end of the 19,thto the middle of the 20th centuries, the women of Omdurman were known to excel at this activity. In the book, the author, herself a visual artist, considers the making of the tagiyyah from a variety of angles; historic, social, economic and aesthetic, relying on her lived experience aspart of Omdurman society at a time when needlework was still a common activity in Sudan.
A Mouth Full of Salt by Reem Gaafar
(Saqi Books, 2024)
Thisnovel, set in the 1980s, tells the story of three women in Northern Sudan whose stories relate to a series of unfortunate events that mysteriously unfold starting with the drowning of a child. The story gives a glimpse to the lifestyle of villages along the banks of the Nile at the time, and how women navigate their social and cultural environment. The story also tackles issues of racism and gender roles.
Home is Not a Country by Safia Elhilo
(Make Me a World, 2021)
In this free-verse novel, Elhilo explores notions of home and belonging through the lens of Nima, a fourteen-year-old girl of Sudanese origin living inAmerica. Intended for young adults, the book’s central question is whether we feel part of a place we have never lived in, a place we are connected to through only by our parents’ memories and a few items of memorabilia?
Nile Blues by Maha Ayoub
(Independent Publisher, 2012)
This is the story of a group of Sudanese women, from very different socio-economic and religious backgrounds, navigating life at the time Sudan split into two countries. Ayoub’s excellent observation of small details in everyday Sudane selife and her ability to weave them into an engaging story plot, creates an exciting and often humorous narrative at a grave time of national reckoning.
Al-Tagiyyah: the art of needlework in Omdurman 1885-1940
by Bagia Badawi Muhammad Abd-al-Rahman
(Khartoum University Press, 2008)
This book is a study of needlework crafting in general, and of the tagiyyah (traditional Sudanese men’s skull cap) in particular. From the end of the 19,thto the middle of the 20th centuries, the women of Omdurman were known to excel at this activity. In the book, the author, herself a visual artist, considers the making of the tagiyyah from a variety of angles; historic, social, economic and aesthetic, relying on her lived experience aspart of Omdurman society at a time when needlework was still a common activity in Sudan.
A Mouth Full of Salt by Reem Gaafar
(Saqi Books, 2024)
Thisnovel, set in the 1980s, tells the story of three women in Northern Sudan whose stories relate to a series of unfortunate events that mysteriously unfold starting with the drowning of a child. The story gives a glimpse to the lifestyle of villages along the banks of the Nile at the time, and how women navigate their social and cultural environment. The story also tackles issues of racism and gender roles.
Home is Not a Country by Safia Elhilo
(Make Me a World, 2021)
In this free-verse novel, Elhilo explores notions of home and belonging through the lens of Nima, a fourteen-year-old girl of Sudanese origin living inAmerica. Intended for young adults, the book’s central question is whether we feel part of a place we have never lived in, a place we are connected to through only by our parents’ memories and a few items of memorabilia?
Nile Blues by Maha Ayoub
(Independent Publisher, 2012)
This is the story of a group of Sudanese women, from very different socio-economic and religious backgrounds, navigating life at the time Sudan split into two countries. Ayoub’s excellent observation of small details in everyday Sudane selife and her ability to weave them into an engaging story plot, creates an exciting and often humorous narrative at a grave time of national reckoning.
Al-Tagiyyah: the art of needlework in Omdurman 1885-1940
by Bagia Badawi Muhammad Abd-al-Rahman
(Khartoum University Press, 2008)
This book is a study of needlework crafting in general, and of the tagiyyah (traditional Sudanese men’s skull cap) in particular. From the end of the 19,thto the middle of the 20th centuries, the women of Omdurman were known to excel at this activity. In the book, the author, herself a visual artist, considers the making of the tagiyyah from a variety of angles; historic, social, economic and aesthetic, relying on her lived experience aspart of Omdurman society at a time when needlework was still a common activity in Sudan.
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
