Sudan: Between Transition, Art, and a Mother’s Story

By: Abdul Aziz Ali Omer

On April 10, 2018, Al-Akhbar newspaper published details of a presidential meeting at the Republican Palace in Khartoum. The discussion revolved around expanding exports and modifying the dollar exchange rate, while many people remained in detention. The president declared: “The elections law must express the opinion of the Sudanese people in consensus.” Yet one of my friends whispered to me: “There might be a coup.”

The following morning, his prediction came true. Local television announced that the army would make an important statement. Hours later, the Minister of Defense appeared, confirming that a transformation had taken place in Sudan. It was April 11.

That day, columnist Mahjoub Erwa described the event as “an institutional alignment of the armed forces with the Sudanese people.” Others echoed his words: the army had sided with the masses. Despite the scorching April sun, there was a sense of relief and resilience. I recalled the words of the novelist Wilbur Smith: “They will all be gone, for in Africa only the sun will triumph at last.” Yet Sudan’s true triumph was not only in the sun, but in building trust, forgiveness, and cooperation for a stable and prosperous nation.

From this revolutionary moment emerged an art revolution in Gedaref. On May 31, 2019, the outer walls of Gedaref Hospital bloomed with colorful murals. A group of young people gathered under G.Artistic, founded by Dr. Abdallah Mohi El-Deen, to prove that art is a mission, not a business. In a letter to me he wrote: “We believe that art can confront community problems, raise awareness among young people, and inspire admiration for its positive impact. We are non-profit, as art for us carries a noble mission.”

His group organized workshops in drawing, Arabic calligraphy, music, singing, and theater. They painted murals along December Martyrs’ Street and raised the flags of freedom, peace, and justice during sit-ins at the Second Infantry Battalion in Gedaref. Their vision was clear: Sudan would be rebuilt not only through politics, but through the creativity and values of its people.

Yet Sudan’s transformation is not complete without the stories of ordinary people who bore life’s burdens in silence. Among them is the story of Nisreat, a woman carried by a departing train in 1963 to a small house in Gedaref. Her grandfather, trembling on the platform, waved goodbye to his beloved granddaughter, calling her “my orange.” There she grew up, raised her children, and endured bitter losses.

Her nine-year-old daughter Aziza died of measles in her arms in a lonely hospital ward. That night, she carried the small body home herself. Later, her husband drowned in a well after a minor accident, leaving her with orphaned children.

Despite grief and poverty, Nisreat defied despair. She traveled without identity papers, confronting security checkpoints with bold words: “I am from Gedaref and a mother of orphans. You will be held accountable if my children are harmed by your delay.” Once, pressed by a widow friend, she lined up for aid with people with disabilities. She protested with pride: “I am strong and rich with my work.” For twenty-five years, with the sweat of her brow, she raised her sons and preserved her dignity.

Nisreat’s story of endurance and dignity intertwines with Sudan’s story of political transition and artistic expression. Just as the people stood with the army in April, and just as Gedaref’s youth lifted their paintbrushes in May, this mother stood alone against loss and hardship. They all shared one act: resisting through hope.

Sudan’s new future, then, will not be built by politicians’ statements alone, nor by the painted walls of hospitals and streets. It will be built equally by the untold strength of mothers like the Orange of Gedaref, whose resilience and pride mirror the spirit of a nation striving to rise.