Week 43: #Oct30March, Sudan Coup.

The Sudanese people are out on the streets, once again, demanding a civilian government.

Oct 30, 2021

I cannot count how many times this week I have been on the edge of tears.

They are unexpected visitors, pools of salt water congregating on my bottom eyelid, spontaneously and uncontrollably as I go mechanically through my day.

As I sit in a bright yellow chair on the terrace of my favourite coffee shop in Paris, the clear turquoise sky unaware of my sadness. As I walk into the kitchen to make a cheese and tomato sandwich for dinner, the only meal I have energy for. As I watch video after video of Sudanese people taking to the streets, chanting with joy and fervor and abandon of citizens who have nothing left to lose, the screen’s blue light reflecting on my face in the dark early hours of the morning.

Only today, the day of the Million March, have I let the tears spill.

On Monday the 25th of October, 2021, the military in Sudan staged a coup. They overthrew the Sovereignty Council, and wrenched power back into their own hands. The Sovereignty Council was the culmination of efforts during the 2018/2019 revolution, a transitionary government of five military and six civilians, charged with the task of taking Sudan from its previous state of military dictatorship under Omar al-Bashir, to democratic elections in 2022.

Here is a short video explainer of this week’s events.

Mobile data and phone services are disrupted.

‘Is everyone okay?’ I text furiously, to cousins, aunts, family groups.

There is no response.

‘Please, everyone, stay safe,’ I message, knowing it is not in their control, knowing anything can happen, knowing I have already lost one cousin to the revolution, knowing I can lose more.

The single grey tick, indicating the message has not been delivered, covers my heart with ice.

The fleshy fist sized stone lodges itself in my throat.

How can I breathe?

How can I live a normal life while I know the danger that lies on those streets, the murderous intention of the self-proclaimed rulers of the country of my birth?

I manage to get a hold of my family members who live in Khartoum once this week. They are safe, for now, Alhamdulilah.

As the 30th of October March approaches, it becomes more difficult to breathe. The air lodges in my trachea, fighting to get past the bloody flesh blocking my windipe. My heart, throbbing, has nowhere to go.

I lie in bed, wrapped in linen sheets, cocooned in the safety of my studio in a city in Europe, chants drumming in my skull, my mind across the continents.

حرية سلام وعدالة

(Freedom, peace, justice)

مدنية خيار الشعب

(Civilian rule is what we want!)

I cannot sleep.

I make plans for the solidarity march in the center of Paris on October 30, I tweet, I share information, I report on news platforms, I spread donation links.

I feel betrayed by the extremely low engagement on my #SudanCoup content, lambasting my followers on instagram for their almost complete disregard of my Sudanese posts.

I berate myself for judging people, knowing it could be the algorithm, knowing it could be all manner of things, but still, I sit with myself and my phone and my tears and my fear and I cannot help but think, why do we have to work so hard for people to care about our plight? Does no-one care?

I argue with myself, cajoling, reminding the dark spikes of pain pricking the insides of my skull that everyone has their own worries, their own plights, that this was not their fight, that it was alright. Remember who deserves your anger, a cooler voice in my mind soothed. Remember who is responsible for the pain.

I took a deep breath, my belly filling for the first time in days.

The curse of being of the diaspora, I post on my instagram story, is escaping the full force of the violence your parents faced, but never fully being free from it.

I have been here before. We, the diaspora, have been here before. But practice does not make things easier. I still feel the mix of helplessness and guilt that comes with being ‘outside’, still feel like what I can do is never enough. I still wish, with every fibre of my being, I was out on the streets with my country-people, gorging on collective adrenalin, putting our lives on the line for a pure ideal. My family on the ground does not understand my desire to put myself in harms way. They refused to allow me to fly to Sudan in 2019, and maintain that position now. I, with the arrogance of a western passport and a life unshortened by dictatorial oppression, do not want to understand them, do not want to accept that though I am from Sudan I am not of Sudan, that this is my fight but this is also not my fight, that my greatest concern is how I feel, not whether or not I will be killed on the street by the military today, that although I am alone, I am fed, although I am scared, I have voice, although I feel helpless, I am safe to take to the streets this October 30th, in so many ways what my country people are fighting for I already have, because my parents had the means to leave.

I wonder if my desire to put myself in harms way for the sake of an ideal is because somehow, I want to pay for privilege of escaping the military dictatorship I was born under.

May Allah protect us all. Inshallah.

Freedom, Peace and Justice.

Civilian Rule is What the People WANT!