The Historical Role of Sudanese Women

Dr. slawa Hassan Sadiq
Around this time last year, one of my daughters travelled to what we in our beautiful Sudanese dialect call “a land whose birds are foreign.” She left in search of work. It was a difficult year for us; we lived every moment of her absence and distance from home. But praise be to God, the moment of her return is now approaching.
Yet the point of the matter—as our dear friend Obaid Murawih likes to say when describing an event—is that our daughters during this war have performed remarkably well. If their brothers distinguished themselves on the battlefield, what the daughters have done is no less significant—perhaps even greater.
The same can be said of the Sudanese woman in all her diversity and at every stage of life. One always finds her where she ought to be—present and ready. She learned the love of giving from an early age. The late pioneer Nafisa Ahmed Al-Amin once told me during a meeting in her office at Ahfad University that Sudanese female teachers were the beacons of enlightenment, as we might call them today.
Whenever they arrived in villages, they brought culture, refinement, cleanliness, the fight against illiteracy and ignorance, and the elegant white toub, to such an extent that every father began wishing for his daughter to become a teacher.
The “Sit”—the respectful title given to teachers at that time—was the icon who moved society. Through her example, girls learned to love knowledge, and from among them emerged doctors, administrators, and educated, conscious women. Sudanese women were pioneers in everything—even in politics. Indeed, they entered parliament in the 1960s, ahead of most Arab countries.
One of the most admirable aspects of this leadership and modernity is that it never severed its connection to its roots. We never heard of Sudanese women “throwing away their toub,” as some might say. On the contrary, they became even more committed to modesty and to their faith, expressed beautifully through the hijab.
The Sudanese girl is remarkable in all her movements and stillness. Whenever she settles into a workplace or an office, her male colleagues quickly feel their burdens lightened and soon entrust her with many organisational details. Her response reflects the trust placed in her. These details often blossom into community associations, cooperative funds, and marriages—beautiful social experiences we have witnessed repeatedly.
May God have mercy on our friend Rashida Al-Sibai. By God, our daughters have repeated the very same experiences.
Unfortunately, the circumstances of war and the immense harm inflicted upon people have altered their lives and conditions. Sudden journeys abroad in search of work and the interruption of personal projects have been among the most difficult experiences they have faced.
After losing the security and comfort they once knew, many were forced to adapt to new working environments among people unfamiliar with compassion. They had once been cherished and respected in their homes, workplaces, and even in public transport. Suddenly, without preparation, they found themselves in environments where safety is measured differently—often shaped by unequal competition, hidden rivalries, and quiet envy. Opportunities for creativity were scarce.
All of this placed immense pressure upon them. Yet they overcame it through their upbringing, their values, and the strength inherited from their fathers and mothers. They are true Kandakas—not the artificial kind seeking glory through appearances or ceremonial slogans written by others. Rather, they are the continuation of Al-Kabli’s celebrated song “The Girl of Tomorrow”:
“A voice that visited my imagination yesterday.”
They carry this legacy with wisdom and courage.
Speaking of Kandakas, the first modern revival of the term was introduced by the General Union of Sudanese Women during its proud days under the wise Kandaka Dr Raja Hassan Khalifa—may blessings shower upon her. Studies were conducted about the title, including the famous monologue in the Friendship Hall about Queen Amanishakheto.
On this day, as we celebrate Sudanese women, we also salute the Sudanese man, who treats women with a graceful sense of equality that goes beyond written laws. For him, she is mother, wife, daughter, and sister. He often places her before himself in every setting and takes pride in her success. At times, he even transcends social barriers to give her space for creativity and leadership.
More beautiful still is that he supports her in all the natural details of her roles—motherhood, quiet sacrifice, and the practice of our cherished traditions—which encourages her to give even more.
If there is a greeting truly deserved today, it is for the Sudanese doctor who sheltered, received, and sacrificed all personal comfort for the sake of the greater community, not merely her own family. She has been the rescuer without calculation, as the singer once said:
“The doctor saved me.”
Our migrating little birds—our beloved daughters—will return, God willing, like vessels of gold and silver, honoured and dignified.
And our beautiful days will return as well.
May God judge the Janjaweed and those who supported, aided, and funded them without restraint. We shall meet them before the justice of Heaven, by the will of the Just King—a justice in which no one will be wronged.

Shortlink: https://sudanhorizon.com/?p=12042