“Then a Bullet Pierced the Silence of the Night!!”

Mahjoub Fadl Badri
Many tried to dissuade me from returning to Sudan. They presented every argument they believed would strengthen their case, but it was all in vain. My decision had been made after seeking God’s guidance and placing my trust in Him.
I left Egypt — with its cramped housing and wide, comfortable airports — for Sudan, with its spacious homes and vast lands, and its modest airports, small and sparsely equipped despite the surrounding open space. I flew on a Tarco Airlines plane, managed by a young team with determined resolve, and we landed safely at Port Sudan Airport, the sun blazing overhead, and the sky filled with thick black smoke — like the dark intentions of that tiny MBZ state and its agents, the traitorous prostitutes and mercenaries, the remnants of the terrorist Dagalo militia that failed to achieve any victory over the Armed Forces, a military backed by its people before its weapons, confident in God’s promise of victory before relying on its carefully studied strategies, now taught in military academies.
The terrorist Dagalo militia resorted to drones instead of recruiting from the proud Messiria tribe — a tribe whose traditional leadership lost its wisdom, its elders confused and willpower shaken, choosing humiliation and subjugation, succumbing in disgrace.
I prostrated in gratitude to God on the airport asphalt. From there, I was embraced by the hands of loved ones. Immediately, I visited the grave of my only brother in this fleeting life, shed a burning tear upon his headstone, prayed for him, sought God’s forgiveness, and repented.
On the way from the airport to the city, I saw Port Sudan just as I had seen it for the first time in 1963 — a city alive with movement and people. Its homes, people, dialect, dress, food and drink — all the same, as if nothing had changed. They had even become accustomed to the smoke from gas depot fires, as if it came from a factory chimney!
The only noticeable change was the increased number of cars on the road — a positive indicator. I went to sleep after my guests left, guests who made me feel that they were the guests, not me!
Before dawn, a bullet pierced the night’s calm — I estimated it came from a DShK heavy machine gun. The sounds of anti-aircraft guns followed — familiar to me — and whenever they paused, they soon returned. I noticed the gunner seemed to enjoy the sound of his weapon, like a rhythm that stirs enthusiasm and passion. I thought to myself: these men stay awake so that others may sleep safely, sacrificing their lives for their beliefs, for a free and dignified homeland.
It was the first time I woke up for Fajr prayer to the sound of DShK and anti-aircraft fire rather than the call to prayer. But I didn’t wait long — the minarets soon rose with the call: “Come to prayer, come to success. Prayer is better than sleep,” blending with the sounds of gunfire. I rushed to the mosque and found the Fajr prayer row longer than usual. Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar.
Port Sudan is a land of safety. No place here for cowardly Janjaweed, no foothold for MBZ, that failed Al Nahyan — kicked out by the Sudanese people after the aggression against Port Sudan.
Then a bullet pierced the early dawn — no one flinched. And none will, in a nation like Sudan — proud and unyielding, refusing humiliation. Let the doubters try if they dare.
Come back to your homeland — the land of beauty. Elevate it… free it… from the grip of the impossible.
Build it… support it… with wealth and children.
Enrich it… and raise it… with the resolve of men.
With our hope, our labour, and through adversity, we shall build a paradise.
Glory to our valiant army.
Honour and strength to our fighting people.
Shame and disgrace to our enemies and their collaborators.

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