Language and Communication

The tabag is a traditional woven food cover deeply embedded in Sudanese culture, particularly in the Darfur region. Crafted primarily by women, the tabag is both a practical and symbolic item, designed to cover food while also serving as a unique means of communication. This form of basketry uses local materials like palm leaves and grasses, which are dyed and woven into vibrant, intricate patterns. Although used to cover food, the tabag holds a broader social and cultural significance, as it has historically been used to communicate messages to local leaders, including figures like the Sultan Ali Dinar of Darfur for instance.

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The Sultan Ali Dinar, the last independent ruler of the Darfur Sultanate, ruled in the early 20th century until his death in 1916. During his reign, Ali Dinar was deeply respected by his people, and as a ruler, he relied on the cultural practices and symbolism of the region to understand the sentiments and needs of his subjects. The intricate designs woven into the tabag served as a subtle and indirect form of communication. Artisans would create specific patterns and colour schemes in the tabag to convey messages of respect, loyalty, or requests to the Sultan. For example, certain geometric shapes might be woven to symbolize allegiance to Ali Dinar, while particular colour arrangements might indicate requests for protection or blessings.

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This form of indirect communication through craft was especially valuable in a society where direct access to leaders was limited. For the people of Darfur, the tabag became a discreet yet respected means of interaction with the Sultan. Women, who traditionally wove the tabags, played an essential role in maintaining this tradition. By embedding symbolic patterns in their work, these women contributed to social and political dialogues, communicating the community’s collective sentiments in a non-verbal manner. In this way, the tabag was not just a practical household item but a item of cultural heritage that connected the people to their ruler.

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The artisanship involved in creating a tabag reflects the expertise of Sudanese women in basketry, as well as their integral role in preserving and passing down cultural knowledge. The craft of making tabags is passed down through generations, with each artisan bringing her own interpretation to the patterns. Certain geometric shapes and motifs are commonly recognized across Sudan and may carry specific meanings. For instance, diamond patterns symbolize protection, while zigzag designs represent life’s continuity. These patterns serve as a "woven language," speaking to the cultural, social, and spiritual values of the community.

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Although modernization has brought changes to daily life in Sudan, the tabag remains valued both for its functional use and as a symbol of Sudanese heritage. As an item of art and tradition, it continues to represent the ingenuity and resilience of Sudanese artisans, whose work serves as a testament to the social history and identity of Sudan. The association of the tabag with the Sultan Ali Dinar adds an important historical layer, underscoring the tabag’s role as both a practical and communication tool in the context of Sudanese society.

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Cover picture: Abu Jahl Market in El Obeid city Kordofan region. It is an old traditional market in which all kinds of fruits, legumes, and handicrafts in various forms are sold © Issam Ahmed Abdelhafiez

The tabag is a traditional woven food cover deeply embedded in Sudanese culture, particularly in the Darfur region. Crafted primarily by women, the tabag is both a practical and symbolic item, designed to cover food while also serving as a unique means of communication. This form of basketry uses local materials like palm leaves and grasses, which are dyed and woven into vibrant, intricate patterns. Although used to cover food, the tabag holds a broader social and cultural significance, as it has historically been used to communicate messages to local leaders, including figures like the Sultan Ali Dinar of Darfur for instance.

‍

The Sultan Ali Dinar, the last independent ruler of the Darfur Sultanate, ruled in the early 20th century until his death in 1916. During his reign, Ali Dinar was deeply respected by his people, and as a ruler, he relied on the cultural practices and symbolism of the region to understand the sentiments and needs of his subjects. The intricate designs woven into the tabag served as a subtle and indirect form of communication. Artisans would create specific patterns and colour schemes in the tabag to convey messages of respect, loyalty, or requests to the Sultan. For example, certain geometric shapes might be woven to symbolize allegiance to Ali Dinar, while particular colour arrangements might indicate requests for protection or blessings.

‍

This form of indirect communication through craft was especially valuable in a society where direct access to leaders was limited. For the people of Darfur, the tabag became a discreet yet respected means of interaction with the Sultan. Women, who traditionally wove the tabags, played an essential role in maintaining this tradition. By embedding symbolic patterns in their work, these women contributed to social and political dialogues, communicating the community’s collective sentiments in a non-verbal manner. In this way, the tabag was not just a practical household item but a item of cultural heritage that connected the people to their ruler.

‍

The artisanship involved in creating a tabag reflects the expertise of Sudanese women in basketry, as well as their integral role in preserving and passing down cultural knowledge. The craft of making tabags is passed down through generations, with each artisan bringing her own interpretation to the patterns. Certain geometric shapes and motifs are commonly recognized across Sudan and may carry specific meanings. For instance, diamond patterns symbolize protection, while zigzag designs represent life’s continuity. These patterns serve as a "woven language," speaking to the cultural, social, and spiritual values of the community.

‍

Although modernization has brought changes to daily life in Sudan, the tabag remains valued both for its functional use and as a symbol of Sudanese heritage. As an item of art and tradition, it continues to represent the ingenuity and resilience of Sudanese artisans, whose work serves as a testament to the social history and identity of Sudan. The association of the tabag with the Sultan Ali Dinar adds an important historical layer, underscoring the tabag’s role as both a practical and communication tool in the context of Sudanese society.

‍

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Cover picture: Abu Jahl Market in El Obeid city Kordofan region. It is an old traditional market in which all kinds of fruits, legumes, and handicrafts in various forms are sold © Issam Ahmed Abdelhafiez

The early beginnings of cinema in Sudan were tied to a direct communicative function under the Administrative Secretary's Office of the Sudanese government. In 1946, a mobile cinema truck was brought in from Kenya to screen propaganda films directly aligned with government messaging. Its role later evolved slightly to include the production of educational and news films. These films were shown to local communities, accompanied by explanations and commentary from specialists in health, agricultural guidance, and education. This was done through field tours across villages and towns in various Sudanese regions to support adult education programmes and other government initiatives.

‍

This experiment bore fruit in establishing a foundation for direct communication. Subsequently, nine additional mobile cinema trucks were proccurred and equipped for travelling film screenings. Operators and commentators were appointed to accompany these trucks, which toured the country year-round, showcasing short Sudanese documentary films. In 1949, the first Sudanese Film Unit was established under the Office of Information and Labour. This unit was tasked with producing documentary and informational films about some of the most significant events and projects in Sudan at the time.

‍

If we reconsider the nature of films produced in the early 1950s, particularly within a communicative function that sought to deliver serious, non-governmental messages unrelated to direct purposes such as guidance or education, we find only two or three films among them that represented serious attempts to convey important messages or address social or political issues. The primary focus during this period was on documentary cinema rather than narrative films. Among these serious documentary attempts in Sudanese cinema were a few noteworthy films, such as The Homeless Childhood, directed by Kamal Muhammad Ibrahim. This film addressed the issue of displaced children migrating from rural areas to cities, where they struggled to adapt to the fast pace of urban life and the demands of various jobs, often falling into delinquency, such as theft. This film was produced after independence, between 1956 and 1957. Following a similar path, The Afflicted was produced, filmed by the Sudanese director and cinematographer Jadallah Jubara, who had previously directed Tor al-Jar in the Clinic.

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During this period, most documentary films focused on official governmental activities and achievements, lacking distinctive cinematic or artistic treatment that could develop artistic or socially significant messages independent of direct political content. However, these films often included messages highlighting Sudan's regions, showcasing its tourism potential, and documenting some of the most important political events. Examples include films such as The Evacuation and Sudan's Independence, The Displacement of Wadi Halfa Residents, Visit to Jebel Marra, The Gezira Project, President Abboud’s Visit to China, The Voyage of the Steamboat from Kosti to Juba, The Arab Kings and Presidents Conference, and Al-La’at Al-Thlatha.

This film unit is estimated to have produced around 40,000 films, according to testimonies from some of its workers. It also issued a weekly newsreel distributed to commercial cinemas to be screened during intermissions.

‍

Elsewhere outside the city of Khartoum, there was a skilled photographer called Rashid Mahdi who grew up in a bustling industrial town echoing with the sounds of trains along the banks of the Atbara River. He studied carpentry at the School of Crafts in Omdurman and joined the Sudan Railways workshops in 1949. However, he soon rebelled against the path he was following and turned to the art of photography. He purchased an "Almonite" camera from a Greek photographer and began capturing images of the city's historic landmarks.

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In the early 1950s, he established the first photographic studio and started importing paper and film to set up his own lab. He corresponded with Kodak in London and visited its branch in Egypt in 1957. He organized photography exhibitions and contributed to the making of Sudan’s first feature-length narrative film, Hopes and Dreams (1970), directed by Ibrahim Malasi. This marked the beginning of a new era for Sudanese cinema, which would soon witness the emergence of a second generation of filmmakers.

This new generation, having studied at various film institutes and schools worldwide—including in Germany, Cyprus, Egypt, the United States, and Moscow—excelled in producing Sudanese films that carried significant messages. Their works ranged from narrative to documentary films, often addressing themes and stories closely tied to the daily and historical concerns of the Sudanese people.

‍

There was also a growing interest in showcasing Sudan's cultural diversity and documenting rare cultural practices and heritage stories. For instance, Hussein Sharif explored these themes in his film Jad‘ al-Nar (1973), while the poet and director Ali Abdel-Gayoum captured the renowned women’s ritual Zar in 1988 and similarly, the film Tajouj (1980) by Jadallah Jubara.

The film Jad‘ al-Nar focused on introducing the tribes of the southern Blue Nile region of Sudan. These tribes worshiped fire and the sun in ancient times and have distinct rituals during harvest celebrations, including dances, festivals, and various other practices as part of a larger tradition known as Jad‘ al-Nar (Throwing Fire). This tradition continues to be practiced every rainy season to this day.

‍

Hussein Sharif also collaborated with Ateyyat El Abnoudy in directing the film Diaries in Exile, produced in 1993 by the Sudanese Organization for Human Rights. The film documented the stories of displacement experienced by individuals and groups who shared their personal testimonies of the period following the coup of the Islamic National Front in Sudan in 1989. This era witnessed massive emigration of Sudanese people to various parts of the world, as Sudan became an unwelcoming place for its citizens—a situation echoed today during the war that began on April 15, 2023. At the time of the film's production, the majority of Sudanese migrants had relocated to Egypt, where the film was shot. The number of Sudanese refugees in Egypt during that period reached approximately three million.

‍

The artistic, intellectual, and social messages in Sudanese cinema developed significantly with the subsequent generation, taking on advanced philosophical and aesthetic dimensions. This evolution is evident in the works of Ibrahim Shaddad, Suleiman Mohamed Ibrahim, and Al-Tayyib Mahdi. Ibrahim Shaddad's films, particularly Insan (Human) in 1994, consistently addressed existential and philosophical issues. This film delved into the crisis caused by the September Laws of 1983, enacted by the dictatorship of Jafar Nimeiri. Through a simple narrative style, it documented the injustices and crimes associated with these laws, such as amputations and other harsh punishments, and their devastating impact on the lives of ordinary people.

Al-Tayyib Mahdi explored a similar theme in Al-Dhareeh (The Shrine) in 1977, offering a different perspective. In a prescient critique, he highlighted the dangers of political Islam in Sudan and the exploitation of religion to deceive society.

‍

In another notable work, Barakat al-Sheikh, the feature film directed by Abbadi Mahjoub and Jadallah Jubara, tells the story of a charlatan who manipulates the minds of simple villagers by claiming supernatural abilities. The film demonstrates how religion can be exploited in a society deprived of education and knowledge, leading to devastating consequences.

The film Al-Mahatta (The Station), released in 1989, tackled the problems of capitalist development and the neglect of human needs in areas of economic abundance. Through highly contrasting visual scenes, it portrayed hundreds of trucks loaded with cash crops for export in an agricultural city like Gadarif, juxtaposed with a poor family standing on the roadside with a sick person carried on the back of a donkey, waiting for transportation to the nearest hospital in the city.

‍

Artwork designed by Hind Abdelbagi

The early beginnings of cinema in Sudan were tied to a direct communicative function under the Administrative Secretary's Office of the Sudanese government. In 1946, a mobile cinema truck was brought in from Kenya to screen propaganda films directly aligned with government messaging. Its role later evolved slightly to include the production of educational and news films. These films were shown to local communities, accompanied by explanations and commentary from specialists in health, agricultural guidance, and education. This was done through field tours across villages and towns in various Sudanese regions to support adult education programmes and other government initiatives.

‍

This experiment bore fruit in establishing a foundation for direct communication. Subsequently, nine additional mobile cinema trucks were proccurred and equipped for travelling film screenings. Operators and commentators were appointed to accompany these trucks, which toured the country year-round, showcasing short Sudanese documentary films. In 1949, the first Sudanese Film Unit was established under the Office of Information and Labour. This unit was tasked with producing documentary and informational films about some of the most significant events and projects in Sudan at the time.

‍

If we reconsider the nature of films produced in the early 1950s, particularly within a communicative function that sought to deliver serious, non-governmental messages unrelated to direct purposes such as guidance or education, we find only two or three films among them that represented serious attempts to convey important messages or address social or political issues. The primary focus during this period was on documentary cinema rather than narrative films. Among these serious documentary attempts in Sudanese cinema were a few noteworthy films, such as The Homeless Childhood, directed by Kamal Muhammad Ibrahim. This film addressed the issue of displaced children migrating from rural areas to cities, where they struggled to adapt to the fast pace of urban life and the demands of various jobs, often falling into delinquency, such as theft. This film was produced after independence, between 1956 and 1957. Following a similar path, The Afflicted was produced, filmed by the Sudanese director and cinematographer Jadallah Jubara, who had previously directed Tor al-Jar in the Clinic.

‍

During this period, most documentary films focused on official governmental activities and achievements, lacking distinctive cinematic or artistic treatment that could develop artistic or socially significant messages independent of direct political content. However, these films often included messages highlighting Sudan's regions, showcasing its tourism potential, and documenting some of the most important political events. Examples include films such as The Evacuation and Sudan's Independence, The Displacement of Wadi Halfa Residents, Visit to Jebel Marra, The Gezira Project, President Abboud’s Visit to China, The Voyage of the Steamboat from Kosti to Juba, The Arab Kings and Presidents Conference, and Al-La’at Al-Thlatha.

This film unit is estimated to have produced around 40,000 films, according to testimonies from some of its workers. It also issued a weekly newsreel distributed to commercial cinemas to be screened during intermissions.

‍

Elsewhere outside the city of Khartoum, there was a skilled photographer called Rashid Mahdi who grew up in a bustling industrial town echoing with the sounds of trains along the banks of the Atbara River. He studied carpentry at the School of Crafts in Omdurman and joined the Sudan Railways workshops in 1949. However, he soon rebelled against the path he was following and turned to the art of photography. He purchased an "Almonite" camera from a Greek photographer and began capturing images of the city's historic landmarks.

‍

In the early 1950s, he established the first photographic studio and started importing paper and film to set up his own lab. He corresponded with Kodak in London and visited its branch in Egypt in 1957. He organized photography exhibitions and contributed to the making of Sudan’s first feature-length narrative film, Hopes and Dreams (1970), directed by Ibrahim Malasi. This marked the beginning of a new era for Sudanese cinema, which would soon witness the emergence of a second generation of filmmakers.

This new generation, having studied at various film institutes and schools worldwide—including in Germany, Cyprus, Egypt, the United States, and Moscow—excelled in producing Sudanese films that carried significant messages. Their works ranged from narrative to documentary films, often addressing themes and stories closely tied to the daily and historical concerns of the Sudanese people.

‍

There was also a growing interest in showcasing Sudan's cultural diversity and documenting rare cultural practices and heritage stories. For instance, Hussein Sharif explored these themes in his film Jad‘ al-Nar (1973), while the poet and director Ali Abdel-Gayoum captured the renowned women’s ritual Zar in 1988 and similarly, the film Tajouj (1980) by Jadallah Jubara.

The film Jad‘ al-Nar focused on introducing the tribes of the southern Blue Nile region of Sudan. These tribes worshiped fire and the sun in ancient times and have distinct rituals during harvest celebrations, including dances, festivals, and various other practices as part of a larger tradition known as Jad‘ al-Nar (Throwing Fire). This tradition continues to be practiced every rainy season to this day.

‍

Hussein Sharif also collaborated with Ateyyat El Abnoudy in directing the film Diaries in Exile, produced in 1993 by the Sudanese Organization for Human Rights. The film documented the stories of displacement experienced by individuals and groups who shared their personal testimonies of the period following the coup of the Islamic National Front in Sudan in 1989. This era witnessed massive emigration of Sudanese people to various parts of the world, as Sudan became an unwelcoming place for its citizens—a situation echoed today during the war that began on April 15, 2023. At the time of the film's production, the majority of Sudanese migrants had relocated to Egypt, where the film was shot. The number of Sudanese refugees in Egypt during that period reached approximately three million.

‍

The artistic, intellectual, and social messages in Sudanese cinema developed significantly with the subsequent generation, taking on advanced philosophical and aesthetic dimensions. This evolution is evident in the works of Ibrahim Shaddad, Suleiman Mohamed Ibrahim, and Al-Tayyib Mahdi. Ibrahim Shaddad's films, particularly Insan (Human) in 1994, consistently addressed existential and philosophical issues. This film delved into the crisis caused by the September Laws of 1983, enacted by the dictatorship of Jafar Nimeiri. Through a simple narrative style, it documented the injustices and crimes associated with these laws, such as amputations and other harsh punishments, and their devastating impact on the lives of ordinary people.

Al-Tayyib Mahdi explored a similar theme in Al-Dhareeh (The Shrine) in 1977, offering a different perspective. In a prescient critique, he highlighted the dangers of political Islam in Sudan and the exploitation of religion to deceive society.

‍

In another notable work, Barakat al-Sheikh, the feature film directed by Abbadi Mahjoub and Jadallah Jubara, tells the story of a charlatan who manipulates the minds of simple villagers by claiming supernatural abilities. The film demonstrates how religion can be exploited in a society deprived of education and knowledge, leading to devastating consequences.

The film Al-Mahatta (The Station), released in 1989, tackled the problems of capitalist development and the neglect of human needs in areas of economic abundance. Through highly contrasting visual scenes, it portrayed hundreds of trucks loaded with cash crops for export in an agricultural city like Gadarif, juxtaposed with a poor family standing on the roadside with a sick person carried on the back of a donkey, waiting for transportation to the nearest hospital in the city.

‍

Artwork designed by Hind Abdelbagi

A prevalent notion about the role of the arts in society suggests that they contribute to enlightenment, education, and entertainment—essentially aligning with the broader concept of societal development. This assumption is, of course, valid, and thus, social change agents often seek to integrate arts into transformation processes. However, a closer look at the role of the arts reveals that they go beyond these functions. Arts, being ‘adjacent’ to daily life and not a mechanical reflection of it, as some argue, find themselves compelled by this adjacency to offer something distinct from the aesthetics and metaphors produced by everyday life. Daily life, as we observe, engages in metaphorical work, particularly in its communicative use of language. It can imbue words with meanings that transcend their dictionary definitions, crafting expressions laden with metaphorical significance to convey complex ideas and emotions, as seen in proverbs. Similarly, it reshapes raw materials—bodies, stone, wood, clay, palm fronds—into forms that deviate from the ordinary, placing them adjacent to the arts.

‍

So, where does this divergence occur? What is the moment when this distinction manifests? The answer lies in the emergence of a class labeled as ‘artists’ and the subsequent independence of the arts from major phenomena such as religion and philosophy. Most importantly, it lies in the arts' reinterpretation of the aesthetics and metaphors of daily life while beginning to construct their own history. This trajectory of the arts reveals that their fundamental DNA was initially formed from the synergistic interplay of religion, philosophy, and daily life. This amalgamation endowed the arts with the unique quality of "diversity," which thrives on dialogue and exchange. All of this collectively elevates the arts beyond a simplistic societal tool to oscillate between the social and the existential, the mundane and the universal, with profound poetic intensity. Consequently, the arts move from merely serving other societal structures—whether social, economic, or political—to becoming their neighbour, influencing and being influenced by them. Moreover, the arts distinguish themselves by arising from a ‘worldview,’ as Lucien Goldmann described, inherently dialogical in nature. The creator of art is not an isolated individual but a ‘creative self’ embodying the collective experiences and historical lineage of a particular art form. For instance, a poem, despite its originality, is often an extension of countless hidden poetic texts.

‍

The arts, with their ability to articulate human societal and existential questions and their capacity to evoke an appreciation for existence, remain uniquely equipped to foster dialogue—a fundamental human need essential for life. Dialogue facilitates understanding among people, enables the peaceful exchange of ideas and perspectives, and serves as a bridge for expression, listening, seeing, and feeling. The arts transcend all boundaries—geographic, cultural, or otherwise—while embodying humanity's most valuable invention: storytelling. Through narrative and celebration, arts possess immense power for expression, creative listening, spatial engagement, and collective mobilization. Their ultimate achievement is crafting dialogue and exchange, something religion, philosophy, and politics cannot achieve with the same prowess as the arts.

‍

For this reason, arts are life.

In general, the arts can help in:

- Promoting a culture of dialogue, thereby fostering a culture of democracy, as seen in theater, which helps create a society rich in diverse ideas and opinions.

- Developing creative sensibilities, critical thinking, and an appreciation for beauty, enabling new relationships with reality and others.

- Retelling our personal stories, enhancing our relationship with the world and encouraging self-discovery.

- Spreading joy and happiness, contributing to personal growth and greater tolerance and recognition of others.

- Serving as the voice of the marginalized and poor by expressing their needs and questions, ensuring their presence in public discourse.

- Enlightening and educating in social, health, and political campaigns, supporting rights in these areas.

- Reducing conflicts arising from the inability to manage diversity, countering stereotypes about individuals and beliefs based on racial, religious, or gendered biases. This fosters implicit invitations to address taboo topics through dialogue.

- Acting as the ideal medium for cultural dialogue and exchange between peoples, enabling peaceful border-crossing.

‍

As Mahmoud Darwish wrote:

"I have defeated you, O Death of all arts.
I have defeated you, O Death of the songs in the land of Mesopotamia,
The Egyptian obelisk,
The tombs of the pharaohs,
The engravings on the stones of a temple;
I have defeated you, and eternity escaped from your traps.
So do with us and with yourself as you wish."

‍

‍

Artwork designed by Hind Abdelbagi

A prevalent notion about the role of the arts in society suggests that they contribute to enlightenment, education, and entertainment—essentially aligning with the broader concept of societal development. This assumption is, of course, valid, and thus, social change agents often seek to integrate arts into transformation processes. However, a closer look at the role of the arts reveals that they go beyond these functions. Arts, being ‘adjacent’ to daily life and not a mechanical reflection of it, as some argue, find themselves compelled by this adjacency to offer something distinct from the aesthetics and metaphors produced by everyday life. Daily life, as we observe, engages in metaphorical work, particularly in its communicative use of language. It can imbue words with meanings that transcend their dictionary definitions, crafting expressions laden with metaphorical significance to convey complex ideas and emotions, as seen in proverbs. Similarly, it reshapes raw materials—bodies, stone, wood, clay, palm fronds—into forms that deviate from the ordinary, placing them adjacent to the arts.

‍

So, where does this divergence occur? What is the moment when this distinction manifests? The answer lies in the emergence of a class labeled as ‘artists’ and the subsequent independence of the arts from major phenomena such as religion and philosophy. Most importantly, it lies in the arts' reinterpretation of the aesthetics and metaphors of daily life while beginning to construct their own history. This trajectory of the arts reveals that their fundamental DNA was initially formed from the synergistic interplay of religion, philosophy, and daily life. This amalgamation endowed the arts with the unique quality of "diversity," which thrives on dialogue and exchange. All of this collectively elevates the arts beyond a simplistic societal tool to oscillate between the social and the existential, the mundane and the universal, with profound poetic intensity. Consequently, the arts move from merely serving other societal structures—whether social, economic, or political—to becoming their neighbour, influencing and being influenced by them. Moreover, the arts distinguish themselves by arising from a ‘worldview,’ as Lucien Goldmann described, inherently dialogical in nature. The creator of art is not an isolated individual but a ‘creative self’ embodying the collective experiences and historical lineage of a particular art form. For instance, a poem, despite its originality, is often an extension of countless hidden poetic texts.

‍

The arts, with their ability to articulate human societal and existential questions and their capacity to evoke an appreciation for existence, remain uniquely equipped to foster dialogue—a fundamental human need essential for life. Dialogue facilitates understanding among people, enables the peaceful exchange of ideas and perspectives, and serves as a bridge for expression, listening, seeing, and feeling. The arts transcend all boundaries—geographic, cultural, or otherwise—while embodying humanity's most valuable invention: storytelling. Through narrative and celebration, arts possess immense power for expression, creative listening, spatial engagement, and collective mobilization. Their ultimate achievement is crafting dialogue and exchange, something religion, philosophy, and politics cannot achieve with the same prowess as the arts.

‍

For this reason, arts are life.

In general, the arts can help in:

- Promoting a culture of dialogue, thereby fostering a culture of democracy, as seen in theater, which helps create a society rich in diverse ideas and opinions.

- Developing creative sensibilities, critical thinking, and an appreciation for beauty, enabling new relationships with reality and others.

- Retelling our personal stories, enhancing our relationship with the world and encouraging self-discovery.

- Spreading joy and happiness, contributing to personal growth and greater tolerance and recognition of others.

- Serving as the voice of the marginalized and poor by expressing their needs and questions, ensuring their presence in public discourse.

- Enlightening and educating in social, health, and political campaigns, supporting rights in these areas.

- Reducing conflicts arising from the inability to manage diversity, countering stereotypes about individuals and beliefs based on racial, religious, or gendered biases. This fosters implicit invitations to address taboo topics through dialogue.

- Acting as the ideal medium for cultural dialogue and exchange between peoples, enabling peaceful border-crossing.

‍

As Mahmoud Darwish wrote:

"I have defeated you, O Death of all arts.
I have defeated you, O Death of the songs in the land of Mesopotamia,
The Egyptian obelisk,
The tombs of the pharaohs,
The engravings on the stones of a temple;
I have defeated you, and eternity escaped from your traps.
So do with us and with yourself as you wish."

‍

‍

Artwork designed by Hind Abdelbagi

An old joke tells of a Sudanese student who travelled to Europe a long time ago. The student kept mistaking people he saw in public as Sudanese because he thought he recognised their features. However, one day while he was on the underground, a Sudanese-looking person came into the carriage. By now the student had given up hope of finding anyone of the same nationality but when the person came over and started lowering himself into the seat next to him he made the sound “ahh أحح”, immediately the student turned around and embraced him.  

‍

The nonverbal gesture which is at the centre of this joke shows how distinctive these sounds are and how we are able to understand each other or even have an entire conversation without actually opening our mouths to utter words. Thus we might all recognize the pinching together of all the fingertips of one hand as a sign to have patience but it can also be the sign every Sudanese child dreads when it is made by an angry mother in the presence of others and the implication of a delayed punishment.

‍

Other more recently invented hand gestures include the signals made by bus conductors, kamasra, to communicate the various parts of their task. This extensive language differs from one place to another depending on where you take your bus from and which direction you are heading. Nonetheless, the signs are quite symbolic, for example, pointing downwards repeatedly means that the bus will stick to this road, spinning your finger means the bus is heading to a roundabout, pointing east the bus is going east – usually that means Bahari or Khartoum North, which is located east of the Nile, whilst pointing west means going to Khartoum if you are taking the bus from Omdurman or Bahri. Pointing up means that there are no empty seats and that you will have to stand next to the door, a right that is reserved only for men. The most devastating signal in this context is when the kumsari’s hands are completely obscured by the number of passengers on the bus, which inevitably means that even the door is taken and the bus will not stop for anyone. Once you are on the bus, the kumsari shakes a fist full of coins to let you know that you need to pay, and will only snaps his fingers when one of the passengers pretends not to have heard. To stop the bus you snap your fingers however the driver will only stop when the kumsari signals for him to stop usually by  whistling. The bus will stop anywhere you wish, even in the middle of a busy bridge!

‍

In the world of transport another known signalling system is the musical horns used by buses and trucks travelling the lengthy highways between cities. Bus drivers use melodies to announce their arrival or to order a cup of coffee from a tea lady as they approach their stop. They also communicate with each other or just do it for fun and to make bystanders smile.

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Using eyes and mouths to make a point is common in everyday conversation, but so is scent. A newly wedded woman will walk around enveloped in an aromatic mist of traditional oils, smoke and perfumes to signal her new status. You can also recognize a bride by her style of henna which is extensive and covers the tips of the fingers for example. Unmarried women, women close to the bride or her sisters can also all be distinguished by their henna styles.  

‍

Artwork designed by Hind Abdelbagi

An old joke tells of a Sudanese student who travelled to Europe a long time ago. The student kept mistaking people he saw in public as Sudanese because he thought he recognised their features. However, one day while he was on the underground, a Sudanese-looking person came into the carriage. By now the student had given up hope of finding anyone of the same nationality but when the person came over and started lowering himself into the seat next to him he made the sound “ahh أحح”, immediately the student turned around and embraced him.  

‍

The nonverbal gesture which is at the centre of this joke shows how distinctive these sounds are and how we are able to understand each other or even have an entire conversation without actually opening our mouths to utter words. Thus we might all recognize the pinching together of all the fingertips of one hand as a sign to have patience but it can also be the sign every Sudanese child dreads when it is made by an angry mother in the presence of others and the implication of a delayed punishment.

‍

Other more recently invented hand gestures include the signals made by bus conductors, kamasra, to communicate the various parts of their task. This extensive language differs from one place to another depending on where you take your bus from and which direction you are heading. Nonetheless, the signs are quite symbolic, for example, pointing downwards repeatedly means that the bus will stick to this road, spinning your finger means the bus is heading to a roundabout, pointing east the bus is going east – usually that means Bahari or Khartoum North, which is located east of the Nile, whilst pointing west means going to Khartoum if you are taking the bus from Omdurman or Bahri. Pointing up means that there are no empty seats and that you will have to stand next to the door, a right that is reserved only for men. The most devastating signal in this context is when the kumsari’s hands are completely obscured by the number of passengers on the bus, which inevitably means that even the door is taken and the bus will not stop for anyone. Once you are on the bus, the kumsari shakes a fist full of coins to let you know that you need to pay, and will only snaps his fingers when one of the passengers pretends not to have heard. To stop the bus you snap your fingers however the driver will only stop when the kumsari signals for him to stop usually by  whistling. The bus will stop anywhere you wish, even in the middle of a busy bridge!

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In the world of transport another known signalling system is the musical horns used by buses and trucks travelling the lengthy highways between cities. Bus drivers use melodies to announce their arrival or to order a cup of coffee from a tea lady as they approach their stop. They also communicate with each other or just do it for fun and to make bystanders smile.

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Using eyes and mouths to make a point is common in everyday conversation, but so is scent. A newly wedded woman will walk around enveloped in an aromatic mist of traditional oils, smoke and perfumes to signal her new status. You can also recognize a bride by her style of henna which is extensive and covers the tips of the fingers for example. Unmarried women, women close to the bride or her sisters can also all be distinguished by their henna styles.  

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Artwork designed by Hind Abdelbagi

Each tribe and ruler had its own set of specialized drums, called nahaas (copper). They were formed from copper and covered in leather made from the hides of cows, camels, or wildebeests.

Nahaas have their own cultural significance throughout Sudan’s history, from the era of the Funj kingdom to modern times. They served as tribal symbols, as a means of communication among tribes, and were associated with many rituals and ceremonies, such as public summons to war, the death of an influential person, or for gatherings or meetings of Sultans.  

Different sequences of drum beats or rhythms have different names depending on their purpose. One example is the Darag, the rhythm of evoking enthusiasm and displaying social standing. There are many other recognisable rhythms passed down through generations.

Al Khalifa Abdullah’s musical unit included drums, whistlers, and Al Imbaya, small three stringed harps. They played these during parades, celebrations, national events and other functions. Al Khalifa followed the decree of Al Imam Al Mahdi, which stipulated that it was not permissible to play nahaas except in cases of war and funerals.

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Cover picture: Ja'aliyin tribe playing the drum, at Wad Hamid camp, during final preparations for the advance to the Omdurman front, Date: 1898 picture by General Sir Reginald Wingate © Durham Sudan archive

Each tribe and ruler had its own set of specialized drums, called nahaas (copper). They were formed from copper and covered in leather made from the hides of cows, camels, or wildebeests.

Nahaas have their own cultural significance throughout Sudan’s history, from the era of the Funj kingdom to modern times. They served as tribal symbols, as a means of communication among tribes, and were associated with many rituals and ceremonies, such as public summons to war, the death of an influential person, or for gatherings or meetings of Sultans.  

Different sequences of drum beats or rhythms have different names depending on their purpose. One example is the Darag, the rhythm of evoking enthusiasm and displaying social standing. There are many other recognisable rhythms passed down through generations.

Al Khalifa Abdullah’s musical unit included drums, whistlers, and Al Imbaya, small three stringed harps. They played these during parades, celebrations, national events and other functions. Al Khalifa followed the decree of Al Imam Al Mahdi, which stipulated that it was not permissible to play nahaas except in cases of war and funerals.

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Cover picture: Ja'aliyin tribe playing the drum, at Wad Hamid camp, during final preparations for the advance to the Omdurman front, Date: 1898 picture by General Sir Reginald Wingate © Durham Sudan archive

Sheikhs and individuals believed to possess spiritual auras hold an important place in Sudanese society, particularly within Sudan’s Sufi traditions. These sheikhs often follow Islamic methods of healing and ruqya shariya (spiritual healing), which rely on the Quran and Sunnah as references for treatment. While the practice of sorcery and witchcraft are forbidden in Islam, some sheikhs have been known to engage in them for specific purposes. These commonly consulted sheikhs are referred to as ‘spiritual sheikhs’, and visits to their shrines are often associated with pleas to be reunited with a loved one, to break a curse, to influence someone's decision for example or even for more malicious demands, such as bringing misfortune to someone else—a practice referred to as ‘writing’ someone.

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Unlike the established Sufi sheikhs, spiritual sheikhs are believed to communicate with beings from other realms. These sorcerers form pacts with ‘magic servants’ (jinn, marid, or ifrit), exchanging services to fulfill specific tasks. This form of communication is considered highly risky and may have possible unintended outcomes. The term jinn, plural of the masculine jinni  or feminine jinniya, originates from the verb janna (to conceal or cover), as they are believed to exist hidden from human sight. In Islamic teachings and ancient Arab mythology, jinn are supernatural beings with intellect and understanding. They live in the same world as humans but are usually invisible. Their existence is widely accepted among Muslims.

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In Sudan, some believe that faith in jinn and magic dates back to the pre-Kushite civilization. In more recent history, the residents of the ancient island of Suakin believe that jinn have inhabited the area since the time of the Prophet Solomon, and that the island’s name is a corruption of the words sawa (together), and jinn. Many stories and legends have been woven around Suakin, such as tales about its notorious cats who are believed to transform themselves into jinn. Religious texts and cultural studies frequently mention the jinn and the tribes they belong to, as well as practices related to the unseen world. Many of these practices have disappeared and many of the people who engage in the few that persist are often unaware of the origins of these practices.

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Examples of protective practices used to guard against  jinn include making amulets and charms known as hijab or tying beads onto children or livestock. These practices continue to be upheld in various parts of Sudan. For example the tradition of the harira, long strands of braided pure silk threads with a blue bead attached that are tied around the wrist. The harira is used as part of Sudanese customs associated with weddings—particularly the traditional jirtig ceremony—and circumcision. While this type of amulet is less obvious than the hijab, the harira is linked to the concept of protection from evil spirits and the evil eye, envy, and jinn. Elderly women, such as aunts and grandmothers, or other close relatives of the bride, groom, or child, oversee the making and tying of the harira, especially during circumcision rituals.

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Amani Bashir, director of the Sheikan Museum, has written about the tradition of the ‘jinayh ring’ in El-Obeid  and Kordofan. It is a metallic disc with the image of a man engraved on one side and the denomination of the jinayh, or pound, on the other. Originally made of pure gold, it can also be crafted from silver or other metals and is primarily worn by women as an item of jewellery. There are beliefs associated with wearing the jinayh ring, including protection from evil spirits. For this reason, a bride wears it for forty days after her wedding, as it is believed that during this time, she is at her most radiant and is surrounded by many evil spirits. Similarly, a woman who has given birth (and is in nufas) wears the ring for the same reason. Additionally, the groom wears it for seven days after his wedding. Thus, the jinayh ring is worn as a form of protection against negative energies that may harm individuals. Amulets, charms, and the jinayh ring are all talismans symbolizing protection and severing any attempts to communicate from another world.

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However, there are other practices aimed at direct interaction with jinn, often to ask questions, seek guidance or forecast the future. Among the most well-known are rami al-wadi, the casting of cowrie shells and the spiritual cult of the Zar. In rami al-wadi seven shells, six similar in shape and size with one that is different, are selected then shaken together in cupped hands and cast onto the ground. The fortune-teller interprets the message based on the shells' positions, proximity to each other, or whether they land facing upwards or downwards. Each arrangement has a specific meaning, which may confirm or contradict previous readings. The questions posed by clients often concern others, seeking explanations for their problems, which may relate to the past, future, or a combination of both. It is believed that the fortune-teller can connect with another realm and interpret messages through the shells.

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In contrast, the Zar—also known as the ‘red wind’—involves the participant (often referred to as ‘the possessed’) undergoing a ritual to appease the jinn that possesses them by fulfilling its demands, ultimately seeking relief or improvement. The Zar is believed to have African origins, migrating from Ethiopia to Sudan and Egypt. It is a ritual involving the summoning of ancestral spirits or jinn to fulfill their requests or channel their essence to heal individuals afflicted by jinn. Many regard the Zar as a therapeutic ritual credited with treating cases of hysteria and providing women with a means to cope with life's pressures. During Zar rituals, offerings are made to satisfy the spirits, including specific foods, music, songs, perfumes, incense, and garments. The rituals are often attended by women who assume different roles, such as the ‘Sheikhat al-Zar’ who leads the ceremony, her assistants, and ‘Haboba al-Kanun’ who is responsible for preparing the food. Different types of Zar rituals, known as ‘khiyut’ or threads, are performed, chosen depending on the type or gender of the jinn that has possessed the person. For example, the thread of ‘zarag’ involves spirits from West African tribes like the Hausa, Fulani, and South Sudan, and their rituals reflect cultural traditions in these areas.

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Beyond the world of jinn and magic, Muslims often prefer seeking assistance directly from Allah without intermediaries. One practice for seeking blessings, alleviating hardships, or expressing gratitude is the karama or baraka meaning charity or blessing. A well-known  example is karamat al-balila, a dish prepared and distributed to the needy. Specific traditions accompany karamat al-balila, such as cooking it in an open pot, as it is believed that the rising steam carries away all evil, illness, and afflictions, alongside the prayers recited during its preparation and distribution. It is customary that no one who encounters the dish is turned away, no matter how small their portion, as it is thought to bring blessings to the provider as well as to those who eat it.

‍

Cover picture: Annual remembrance gathering in Sheik Hamad El Nil in Omdurman © Yousif Alshikh

Sheikhs and individuals believed to possess spiritual auras hold an important place in Sudanese society, particularly within Sudan’s Sufi traditions. These sheikhs often follow Islamic methods of healing and ruqya shariya (spiritual healing), which rely on the Quran and Sunnah as references for treatment. While the practice of sorcery and witchcraft are forbidden in Islam, some sheikhs have been known to engage in them for specific purposes. These commonly consulted sheikhs are referred to as ‘spiritual sheikhs’, and visits to their shrines are often associated with pleas to be reunited with a loved one, to break a curse, to influence someone's decision for example or even for more malicious demands, such as bringing misfortune to someone else—a practice referred to as ‘writing’ someone.

‍

Unlike the established Sufi sheikhs, spiritual sheikhs are believed to communicate with beings from other realms. These sorcerers form pacts with ‘magic servants’ (jinn, marid, or ifrit), exchanging services to fulfill specific tasks. This form of communication is considered highly risky and may have possible unintended outcomes. The term jinn, plural of the masculine jinni  or feminine jinniya, originates from the verb janna (to conceal or cover), as they are believed to exist hidden from human sight. In Islamic teachings and ancient Arab mythology, jinn are supernatural beings with intellect and understanding. They live in the same world as humans but are usually invisible. Their existence is widely accepted among Muslims.

‍

In Sudan, some believe that faith in jinn and magic dates back to the pre-Kushite civilization. In more recent history, the residents of the ancient island of Suakin believe that jinn have inhabited the area since the time of the Prophet Solomon, and that the island’s name is a corruption of the words sawa (together), and jinn. Many stories and legends have been woven around Suakin, such as tales about its notorious cats who are believed to transform themselves into jinn. Religious texts and cultural studies frequently mention the jinn and the tribes they belong to, as well as practices related to the unseen world. Many of these practices have disappeared and many of the people who engage in the few that persist are often unaware of the origins of these practices.

‍

Examples of protective practices used to guard against  jinn include making amulets and charms known as hijab or tying beads onto children or livestock. These practices continue to be upheld in various parts of Sudan. For example the tradition of the harira, long strands of braided pure silk threads with a blue bead attached that are tied around the wrist. The harira is used as part of Sudanese customs associated with weddings—particularly the traditional jirtig ceremony—and circumcision. While this type of amulet is less obvious than the hijab, the harira is linked to the concept of protection from evil spirits and the evil eye, envy, and jinn. Elderly women, such as aunts and grandmothers, or other close relatives of the bride, groom, or child, oversee the making and tying of the harira, especially during circumcision rituals.

‍

Amani Bashir, director of the Sheikan Museum, has written about the tradition of the ‘jinayh ring’ in El-Obeid  and Kordofan. It is a metallic disc with the image of a man engraved on one side and the denomination of the jinayh, or pound, on the other. Originally made of pure gold, it can also be crafted from silver or other metals and is primarily worn by women as an item of jewellery. There are beliefs associated with wearing the jinayh ring, including protection from evil spirits. For this reason, a bride wears it for forty days after her wedding, as it is believed that during this time, she is at her most radiant and is surrounded by many evil spirits. Similarly, a woman who has given birth (and is in nufas) wears the ring for the same reason. Additionally, the groom wears it for seven days after his wedding. Thus, the jinayh ring is worn as a form of protection against negative energies that may harm individuals. Amulets, charms, and the jinayh ring are all talismans symbolizing protection and severing any attempts to communicate from another world.

‍

However, there are other practices aimed at direct interaction with jinn, often to ask questions, seek guidance or forecast the future. Among the most well-known are rami al-wadi, the casting of cowrie shells and the spiritual cult of the Zar. In rami al-wadi seven shells, six similar in shape and size with one that is different, are selected then shaken together in cupped hands and cast onto the ground. The fortune-teller interprets the message based on the shells' positions, proximity to each other, or whether they land facing upwards or downwards. Each arrangement has a specific meaning, which may confirm or contradict previous readings. The questions posed by clients often concern others, seeking explanations for their problems, which may relate to the past, future, or a combination of both. It is believed that the fortune-teller can connect with another realm and interpret messages through the shells.

‍

In contrast, the Zar—also known as the ‘red wind’—involves the participant (often referred to as ‘the possessed’) undergoing a ritual to appease the jinn that possesses them by fulfilling its demands, ultimately seeking relief or improvement. The Zar is believed to have African origins, migrating from Ethiopia to Sudan and Egypt. It is a ritual involving the summoning of ancestral spirits or jinn to fulfill their requests or channel their essence to heal individuals afflicted by jinn. Many regard the Zar as a therapeutic ritual credited with treating cases of hysteria and providing women with a means to cope with life's pressures. During Zar rituals, offerings are made to satisfy the spirits, including specific foods, music, songs, perfumes, incense, and garments. The rituals are often attended by women who assume different roles, such as the ‘Sheikhat al-Zar’ who leads the ceremony, her assistants, and ‘Haboba al-Kanun’ who is responsible for preparing the food. Different types of Zar rituals, known as ‘khiyut’ or threads, are performed, chosen depending on the type or gender of the jinn that has possessed the person. For example, the thread of ‘zarag’ involves spirits from West African tribes like the Hausa, Fulani, and South Sudan, and their rituals reflect cultural traditions in these areas.

‍

Beyond the world of jinn and magic, Muslims often prefer seeking assistance directly from Allah without intermediaries. One practice for seeking blessings, alleviating hardships, or expressing gratitude is the karama or baraka meaning charity or blessing. A well-known  example is karamat al-balila, a dish prepared and distributed to the needy. Specific traditions accompany karamat al-balila, such as cooking it in an open pot, as it is believed that the rising steam carries away all evil, illness, and afflictions, alongside the prayers recited during its preparation and distribution. It is customary that no one who encounters the dish is turned away, no matter how small their portion, as it is thought to bring blessings to the provider as well as to those who eat it.

‍

Cover picture: Annual remembrance gathering in Sheik Hamad El Nil in Omdurman © Yousif Alshikh