The Sudanese Revolution Has Made Me Both Heartbroken And Hopeful

By Nadra Widatalla


The Sudan I know is filled with oppression and martial law. It’s filled with mobs surrounding ATMs, queues for petrol so long that getting fuel takes half day, and also a wealth disparity so large it’s shameful. The Sudan I know is on the verge of crumbling, contained with each other only by the bits of history and culture spoken from the lips of these who lived there over 30 years back, any time people were given the freedom of possibility, education, and hope.


My parents came to the U.S. From Sudan in the late ‘80s to prepare their version of the American dream. As a first-generation child, my memories of Sudan consisted of privileged trips every four or five years that were still also short to design a connection of any substance. Day trips to Wad al-Bana and Al-Thawra to visit my grandparents. Hot and dry days chewing sugarcane, and attempting to eat tasali way all of the other kids could. It wasn’t up until my late-teens that those trips began to mean more.


Today, I cling to the Sudan I’ve only heard about in stories. They mention zaman, which means "back then" in Arabic. As soon as I hear those words, I know it means before Omar Hassan al-Bashir.


In the summer of 1989, al-Bashir, and also the National Islamic Front, organized a coup; he declared himself President, commencing a dictatorship that would last over 30 years. It was a regime that could be defined by its devotion to depriving the Sudanese people of the advancements afforded to neighboring countries. It was while in this time period that several young adults chose to leave Sudan in hopes of better possibilities abroad.


“As Sudanese diaspora youth, we weren’t allowed to experience something that was innately ours, because it was taken away, and also a lot of the riches of the culture disappeared with corruption,” Wafa May Elamin, a Sudanese-American activist who left Sudan in 1998 and right now lives in Virginia, tells me. “The reason this diaspora even exists, is because of this regime.”


Sudan has withstood decades of negligence and oppression inflicted by those in power. Once Africa’s largest nation, as well as a nation with so much potential and resources, Sudan's future right now rests in the hands of the people to pick up and piece it with each other. Al-Bashir compiled a new kind of government, one with him at the forefront, center, and back. He compiled a culture fueled by intimidation and fear. A nation whose history is as deep and long because the river Nile that runs through it has grown increasingly unfamiliar to those who lived there — zaman, 30 years ago.


Zaman, any time people started escaping the regime, only hoping to return once Sudan gained the real freedom it deserves. Zaman, as soon as return seemed like the logical endpoint, as soon as we didn’t know what we know now.


Today, Sudan is in the middle of a revolution. Since the weekend of April 6, young people have been participating in a mass sit-in, and have managed to overthrow not one, yet two leaders: al-Bashir, and the defense minister who replaced him, Awad Mohammed Ibn Ouf, who was in power for much less than a day. Though a long-overdue victory, the fight is far from over, because the people will not rest up until they are handed civilian control and can rebuild the country.


“Currently, we are a united and strong front," says Nuha Zein Mohamed, spokesperson for the Sudanese Professional Association (SPA), the order that has been leading the revolution. "The Sudanese people were able to remove the rule of a totalitarian regime. They managed to remove a military coup on April 11, 30 hours soon after its formation since it was a recycling of the previous regime. Right now, they plan to remove anyone who tries to steal this revolution and their rights to a life of dignity, freedom, and justice.”


The wounds inflicted by al-Bashir, who is wanted by the International Criminal Court for crimes against humanity, will take generations to heal. They'll manifest themselves in ways I can only imagine, ways my kids will have to deal with, because they plan to also be robbed of the Sudan they could have known. The Sudan their grandparents should not have felt like they had to leave.


Witnessing this revolution from the United States is surreal. It consists of updates through the WhatsApp, voice memos from residence, and soundbites of people crying, cheering, and chanting. Being a segment of this moment in history in the digital age is a blend of feeling helpless, while also feeling empowered to uplift those who are on the ground fighting. Sudanese across the globe are grappling at the thought of what this revolution means for their families.


“Selfishly, I visualize myself going back because I want to experience the Sudan I never got to experience. I want the nostalgia that I feel as soon as my mother tells me about Sudan to prepare sense,” says Wafa May.


For a long time, I feared that the only Sudan I would ever know is one that attempted to escape — and failed. Though heartbroken by all of the time we’ve lost and will do not get back, I'm right now hopeful.


“The youth are leading this revolution, last night I joined them,” my father, who is now in Sudan, texted me. “There are close to one million people that have taken over the military compound and so they plan to not leave.”


He tells me he feels optimistic. This is his revolution, nevertheless it’s for me.