Sudanese Quotes

Being alone is not the most awful thing in the world. You visit your museums and cultivate your interests and remind yourself how lucky you are not to be one of those spindly Sudanese children with flies beading their mouths. You make out To Do lists - reorganise linen cupboard, learn two sonnets. You dole out little treats to yourself - slices of ice-cream cake, concerts at Wigmore Hall. And then, every once in a while, you wake up and gaze out of the window at another bloody daybreak, and think, I cannot do this anymore. I cannot pull myself together again and spend the next fifteen hours of wakefulness fending off the fact of my own misery. People like Sheba think that they know what it's like to be lonely. They cast their minds back to the time they broke up with a boyfriend in 1975 and endured a whole month before meeting someone new. Or the week they spent in a Bavarian steel town when they were fifteen years old, visiting their greasy-haired German pen pal and discovering that her hand-writing was the best thing about her. But about the drip drip of long-haul, no-end-in-sight solitude, they know nothing. They don't know what it is to construct an entire weekend around a visit to the laundrette. Or to sit in a darkened flat on Halloween night, because you can't bear to expose your bleak evening to a crowd of jeering trick-or-treaters. Or to have the librarian smile pityingly and say, ‘Goodness, you're a quick reader!’ when you bring back seven books, read from cover to cover, a week after taking them out. They don't know what it is to be so chronically untouched that the accidental brush of a bus conductor's hand on your shoulder sends a jolt of longing straight to your groin. I have sat on park benches and trains and schoolroom chairs, feeling the great store of unused, objectless love sitting in my belly like a stone until I was sure I would cry out and fall, flailing, to the ground. About all of this, Sheba and her like have no clue.

Will they stand sir?” “Stand? I’ll have trouble stopping them charging. These men are the 9th Sudanese battalion, all from the South Sudan and the Nuba Hills. Bloody fine soldiers with just a little discipline imposed by their officers. You’ll see and so will the Dervishes.

They did not, however, infect the air as the Sudanese sun dried them up like mummies; all had the hue of gray parchment, and were so much alike that the bodies of the Europeans, Egyptians, and negroes could not be distinguished from each other.

The losses in the Dervish ranks were horrendous as whole families and tribal groups were wiped out. No European army would have dreamed of facing such a wall of fire, but still they came on.

He tells about his Sudanese roommate at Georgetown who owned a prayer rug with a compass to find Mecca built right into it. "After a few weeks in America, he rolled it up and used the compass to go camping," Han says.

What about traditional Chinese and Sudanese ghost or spirit marriages, in which one of the partners is actually dead? In these societies a youth might be given in marriage to the dead son or daughter of another family, in order to forge closer ties between the two sets of relatives.

He's turned inside out, and is with the Sudanese to find out how to become right again.

The police were in no mood for a lesson on constitutional law from a Sudanese refugee.

A Sudanese proverb from the time declared that “Salt comes from the north, gold from the south, and silver from the country of the white men, but the word of God and the treasures of wisdom are only to be found in Timbuctoo.

Bashir told bin Laden to move out. Bin Laden replied, according to a Sudanese official involved in the exchange, “If you think it will be good for you, I will leave. But let me tell you one thing: If I stay or if I go, the Americans will not leave you alone.”30 Osama bin Laden now had every reason to believe that the United States was his primary persecutor. His political theology identified many enemies, but it was America that forced him into flight.

لابد أن نشعر نحن لمصريين و السودانيين معا بالخجل من أنفسنا في كل مرة نقسم على المصحف ثلاثا أننا أشقاء فمن قال إننا لسنا كذلك ... لا أحد سوانا !

The IGAD-Plus's compromise peace agreement is probably pregnant with a noisy, perhaps thunderous baby.

ref·u·gee noun: a person who flees for refuge or safety We are, each of us, refugees when we flee from burning buildings into the arms of loving families. When we flee from floods and earthquakes to sleep on blue mats in community centres. We are, each of us, refugees when we flee from abusive relationships, and shooters in cinemas and shopping centres. Sometimes it takes only a day for our countries to persecute us because of our creed, race, or sexual orientation. Sometimes it takes only a minute for the missiles to rain down and leave our towns in ruin and destitution. We are, each of us, refugees longing for that amniotic tranquillity dreaming of freedom and safety when fences and barbed wires spring into walled gardens. Lebanese, Sudanese, Libyan and Syrian, Yemeni, Somali, Palestinian, and Ethiopian, like our brothers and sisters, we are, each of us, refugees. The bombs fell in their cafés and squares where once poetry, dancing, and laughter prevailed. Only their olive trees remember music and merriment now as their cities wail for departed children without a funeral. We are, each of us, refugees. Don’t let stamped paper tell you differently. We’ve been fleeing for centuries because to stay means getting bullets in our heads because to stay means being hanged by our necks because to stay means being jailed, raped and left for dead. But we can, each of us, serve as one another’s refuge so we don't board dinghies when we can’t swim so we don’t climb walls with snipers aimed at our chest so we don’t choose to remain and die instead. When home turns into hell, you, too, will run with tears in your eyes screaming rescue me! and then you’ll know for certain: you've always been a refugee.

The Sudanese intellectual Mahmoud Mohammed Taha argued that Muslims should embrace the spiritual Islam of Mecca and let go of the Islam of Muhammad’s more warlike and political Medina period, which, Taha argued, applied only to that specific moment in time and not to subsequent generations. Taha also campaigned against introducing sharia in Sudan. Though he still believed there was no god but Allah, and that Muhammad was his messenger, Taha was nonetheless hanged for apostasy in 1985.

I was seeing in these awkward composites my own liminal self. The two sides of me that were slammed together against their will, that refused to mix. I was a failed hybrid, made up of unalloyed selves. My Russian mother who regretted marrying my Sudanese father. My African father who came to hate his white wife. My atheist mother who blotted out my Muslim heritage. My Arab father who gave me up to Europe without a fight. I was the freak. I had been told so and I had been taught so and I had chewed on this verdict to the extent that, no matter what, I could never purge myself of it entirely.

It’s not my fault. So you can’t blame me. I didn’t do it and have no idea how it happened. It didn’t take more than an hour after they pulled her out from between my legs to realize something was wrong. Really wrong. She was so black she scared me. Midnight black, Sudanese black. I’m light-skinned, with good hair, what we call high yellow, and so is Lula Ann’s father. Ain’t nobody in my family anywhere near that color. Tar is the closest I can think of yet her hair don’t go with the skin. It’s different—straight but curly like those naked tribes in Australia. You might think she’s a throwback, but throwback to what? You should’ve seen my grandmother; she passed for white and never said another word to any one of her children. Any letter she got from my mother or my aunts she sent right back, unopened. Finally they got the message of no message and let her be. Almost all mulatto types and quadroons did that back in the day—if they had the right kind of hair, that is. Can you imagine how many white folks have Negro blood running and hiding in their veins? Guess. Twenty percent, I heard. My own mother, Lula Mae, could have passed easy, but she chose not to. She told me the price she paid for that decision. When she and my father went to the courthouse to get married there were two Bibles and they had to put their hands on the one reserved for Negroes. The other one was for white people’s hands.

CIA analysis began by late 1994 to run in a different direction. The insights Black and his case officers could obtain into bin Laden’s inner circle were limited, but they knew that bin Laden was working closely with the Sudanese intelligence services. They knew that Sudanese intelligence, in turn, was running paramilitary and terrorist operations in Egypt and elsewhere. Bin Laden had access to Sudanese military radios, weapons, and about two hundred Sudanese passports. These passports supplemented the false documents that bin Laden acquired for his aides from the travel papers of Arab volunteers who had been killed in the Afghan jihad. Working with liaison intelligence services across North Africa, Black and his Khartoum case officers tracked bin Laden to three training camps in northern Sudan. They learned that bin Laden funded the camps and used them to house violent Egyptian, Algerian, Tunisian, and Palestinian jihadists. Increasingly the Khartoum station cabled evidence to Langley that bin Laden had developed the beginnings of a multinational private army. He was a threat.

If we apply the notion of Relativity in our life, there will be no wars and suffering in our planet. If you disagree with someone, before you believe that you are right and he/she is wrong, you should go and do the measurements in his/her reference frame or make relativistic corrections. We should accept that there is others, they have different cultures, religions, colors,... etc". H. A. Hassan - Sudanese physicist

Se ha afirmado que, antes de la guerra, a los hombres sudaneses condenados por adulterio se les cortaban los órganos sexuales para venderlos en el mercado negro.

Morning breath” is hydrogen sulfide released by bacteria consuming shed tongue cells while you mouth-breathe for eight hours; saliva normally washes the debris away. The stench is a warning: this item contains a lot of bacteria and could (depending on which bacteria they are) make you sick. The scariest, stinkiest cuisines are in countries where both food and refrigeration are scarce. Rural Sudanese eat fermented (that is, decomposing) caterpillar, frog, and, less proteinaceously, heifer urine. Yet one more reason tourism has been slow to catch on in the Sudan.

What was life like ? deprivation and abundance, side by side like a miracle. surrender to them both . Poverty and sunshine, poverty and jewels in the sky . Drought and the gushing Nile Disease and clean hearts, stories from neighbours and relationships .

Sudanese Minister of Science and Technology, the Mauritian Minister of Communications Technology, the Chadian Minister of

My humanitarian nature evolved from being with my family. Mom, dad, are my biggest heroes, the greatest inspirstion, role models, who set an example for giving back. My mom is a health practitioner, and dad is an iconic Equatorian political figure, who fought for justice, advocating for the interest of South Sudanese people, and he is one of the key founding fathers of the Acholi land. Both have done many public services including politically, treating the sick, feeding the hungry, financing the needy, raising the orphans, and sheltering the homeless in North and South Sudan. I admire their sense of changing the world, and trying to make it a better environment".

The power of my crime as a vocal supreme female figure, has intimidated many of my own South Sudanese clan to the extend of envy, but the capacity of my significance will always remain greater than their levels of testestrone and estrogen combined". _Achola Aremo

Sudanese dead beat fathers, single or divorced, with children involved from marriages, learn from your shortcomings without blaming ex-wives for all mistakes, unkept promises. Spend on your children without reminder instead of girlfriends, because a real man fears not child support, will never self-harm nor hide himself as a route to quite responsiblities, but rather takes care of his children regardless of the status quo with the mother, and Is aware enough that he is not a father until he raises a complete human being".

He’s got a Kenyan dashiki, Sudanese mudcloth pants, and a little Ghanian kente hat. It’s like Africa finally united, but just in his wardrobe.

in an American city is a real possibility. A lot has been made of the fact that al-Qaeda seeks to acquire an atomic bomb and wouldn’t hesitate to use one. Allegedly, Osama bin Laden decided sometime after the first bombing of the World Trade Center in 1993 that al-Qaeda should construct an “improvised nuclear device”: a crude atomic bomb but one capable of generating a nuclear yield. The earliest evidence of this decision is the testimony of Jamal al-Fadl, an al-Qaeda defector, who reported that bin Laden attempted in 1993 to procure uranium from former Sudanese president Saleh Mobruk, who supposedly had fissile material of South African origin. In 1998, bin Laden declared that “acquiring WMD for the defense of Muslims is a religious duty,” and his deputy Ayman al-Zawahari

Mo Ibrahim, a Sudanese telecommunications tycoon, recently established the Ibrahim Prize for Achievement in African Leadership, which awards $5 million (and $200,000 a year for life afterward) to any African leader who serves out his or her term within the limits of a country’s constitution and then leaves office voluntarily.

Consider a youthful major named Douglas Haig. Before setting off across the Sudanese desert, he had asked his sister to send him from home “jams, tinned fruits, cocoa, vegetables, haddock in tins, tongue, biscuits, some hock and a bottle or two of brandy,” all of which, along with extra silk underwear, Haig would transport by the three camels that were at his disposal, along with four horses, a donkey, a goat (for milk), a cook, a valet, and various servants to look after the animals.

The twanging of life Thirteenth part : The essence of the beauty is unity in variety We are only able to contempt and treat people in a bad way, when we forget that the other person belongs to us and to the society as well as we too, when we only forget that in the form of doing the action, there is a strong relationship between the subject and the object so avarice, violence, egoism, sadness and looking at others as pawns of market's chess to get money arise from losing their unity, from forgetting their spirit of cooperation and collaboration and then starting perceiving others in terms of their individual differences. A humanitarian action that isn't intended to be done can make a huge storm of humanity, a single word can give people the feeling of unity, just like every time when a person passes by you and you say for him "السلام عليكم" both of you start to feel like there is a candle within both of you turning into clemency, the more love, the more mercy and the more salaam you show on your face the more light is reflected form that candle, you should start thinking that, greeting the people is proclamations of peace, every time you say "السلام عليكم" to a stranger your heart admits over and over again that we are all united, what I am trying to say is, in your heart's deepest place where the onus of your ego are fallen to pieces and the enigma of your soul is infiltrated, you find the awareness isn't different in any way from what all others may find, the mutuality of Sudanese people is appeared as the sun in the morning but only when our own humanness is surpassed our own dishumanness by accepting that we are all one in the fact that we are all made of diversified differences. We are all equal in the fact that our own society is made by different tribes, we are all the same in the fact that we will never have the same colour, life, thinking, dreams, feelings and luxury, we are united by the reality that Sudan is able to combine all colours, all cultures, all tribes and all of us in the fact that every one believes his tribe and culture are distinguished and individual, we are compatible in the reality that we are all recaptured to this country by the same history, the same conditions of living and the longest river in the world that all of them together give us a light to shine the darkness that covers the sky to allow for us to walk as one hand in the right direction, we don't share the colours but we share the blood, we aren't equal in existence of happiness but we drink River Nile's water that keeps us alive, we are different in existence of tribes but we share the same air that is blended by our breath, so I am you as much as I am me and you are me as much as I am you. Finally swingeing internal ructions and overmuch narcissism of a society devastate the tissue of its unity, not the differences of that society, Lord Robin said that unity begins at home within family is the strength to survive and win the fight of life.

To understand this, you need frist to Know some words which are formed from Arabic to English by me : 1- farcashize (V) : يُفركش 2- farcashization (N) : الفركشة 3- farcashized/farcashizational (Adj) : مُفركش 4- farcashizationally (Adv) : مُفركشآ The logic of the dating does not express the relationship, it is the relationship, otherwise the time that I spend with special someone is a neutral phenomenon and the observation of the neutral phenomenon in the term of the relationships changes its nature. Like every single Sudanese man, I know that I would like to be a one-man multinational fashion phenomenon but to be described as farcashizational man by some students is something I don't expect it at all. The phenomenon of farcashization becomes a part of Sudanese girl's speech, unfortunately it is like gossiping, I was chicken-hearted when my closed friend told me that many female students at EDC said that we were in love together and then you were farcashized by me. At that time we were laughing but deeply inside myself, an idea was rambling which was "maybe I am one of their desires" because when one has achieved the object of one's desires, it is evident that one's real desire was not the ignorant possession of the desired object but to know it as possessed as actually contemplated as within one, so maybe I was farcashizationally farcashized by my friend in thier mind as a wish that the same thing to be done with me by them and that leads to say "girls are dangerous creatures especially when they are your students". When there is both love and friendship, we dwell in the realm of the relationship and when there is neither love nor friendship, we exist in a vacuity of relationships, we can feel and we can express feelings but the more we feel, the further off we are, so what is not yet felt can't be shown and what is already desired can't be hidden so farcashization and desire are not distant, it's their principle that can't be seen. It would be a very naive sort of dogmatism to assume that every beautiful girl is an impossible creature to be got or to accept the man as he is and she is always going to embarrass and farcashize him, as if she is an indocile black wild cat, the beautiful girl is not a unique and homogeneous but she is immensely diversified, having as many different schemes and patterns as there are different ways of beauty, so the phenomenons which we find in our certain relationships such as farcashization are not transferable with all people but the attitude of the relationship, therefore the dating of two people is like the contact of two chemical substances, if there is any reaction between them depending on that attitude, both are transformed. Finally there is no relationship between any two partners looks like what we really see, yours doesn't, mine doesn't and people are much more complicated than what we imagine, then their relationships are more perplexing too, so you can't judge any relationship according the actions of the relationship's partners, it is true of every relation.

Freedom, Forgiveness, Love, Peace, And, Prosperity Is Justice Enough Is Enough South Sudanese Leaders Let's Put Down The Kalashnikovs!

South Sudan Here Is The Plan! One Tribe, One Clan! One Mission, Cannot Be Done By One Man! It Takes A Collective Vision! Spread Love! Stay Driven! Support One Another, Take Care Of Each Other Look Out For Your Father, Mother, Sister, And, Brother That’s The Game! We All Watch The Throne, No Tribes We Are All The Same! We Are All Kings! We Are All Queens! South Sudanese What’s Fame? So Much Chaos Together Will Fix The System One Day! The Youth By Now You All Should Say You Had It With This Nonsense! You Are The Politicians, When It Comes To Speaking Out On Behave Of Our Truth We Have No Comments! When Comes To Ideas We Are The Keys To Heaven We Are The Promise! Let’s Be Honest We Are The Ballers, We Are The Lawyers , We Are The Doctors! We Are The Artist! We Are The Scholars! Even Though We Are Blessed! Life Tested Us! Our Ancestors Warned Us The Book Of Exodus They Left Us A Message The Truth Is With The Youth!

The Lost Boys had hardly unpacked by the time they started appearing in local newspaper headlines for their exploits on high school track teams. “Only months after settling in Michigan, two Sudanese refugees are finding that they are among the fastest high school runners in the state,” went the lead of one AP article. Another, in the Lansing State Journal, noted that Abraham Mach, a Lost Boy who had no competitive running experience before arriving at East Lansing High, was the most outstanding performer in the thirteen-to-fourteen age group at the 2001 National AAU Junior Olympic Games, medaling in three events. Mach, who had been living in a Kenyan refugee camp just one year earlier, went on to become an NCAA All-American at Central Michigan in the 800-meters.

After the 1967 Arab–Israeli War, Arab leaders met in the Sudanese capital, Khartoum, where they adopted their reflexive “Three Noes” with regard to Israel. “No recognition, No negotiation and No reconciliation.” With the exception of Egypt, this remained their unanimous, unwavering and unhelpful position for the next fifteen years.

Awad Ibrahim, Sudanese professor of education at the University of Ottawa, described the process [of becoming Black in America] in these terms: "To become black is to become an ethnographer who translates and searches around in an effort to understand what it means to be black in North America." It is a process of "entering already pronounced regimes of Blackness" (2003, 154). Black feminist and cultural critic Joan Morgan, who idntifies as Jamaican, described the process of becoming Black in America in these terms: "As a matter of both acclimation and survival we learn [African American] history. We absorb the culture. Some of us even acquire the accent: (Morgan 2009, 63). These authors write about racialization as a process of socialization in and through language, as a continues project of becoming as opposed to being. - Raciolinguistics, pp. 2

Over the years I forced myself to be creative in how I covered the same scenes over and over. I started shooting refugee camps out of focus, sometimes in abstract ways, to try to reach an audience beyond the typical New York Times readership -- an audience geared more toward the visual arts. As ugly as the conflict was, the protagonists were beautiful, wearing brilliantly colored fabrics and, despite persistent hardships, wide, toothy smiles. The Sudanese were lovely, friendly, resilient people, and I wanted to show that in my work. It seemed paradoxical to try to create beautiful images out of conflict, but I found that my more abstract images of Darfur provoked an unusual response from readers. Suddenly I was getting requests to sell fine-art prints of rebels in a sandstorm or of blurred refugees walking through the desert for several thousand dollars. I was conflicted about making money from images of people who were so desperate, but I thought of all the years I had struggled to make ends meet to be a photographer, and I knew that any money I made from these photos would be invested right back into my work. Trying to convey beauty in war was a technique to try to prevent the reader from looking away or turning the page in response to something horrible. I wanted them to linger, to ask questions.

I’m an aid worker. I’ve been helping South Sudanese people who’ve returned to their villages after being displaced by the civil war prepare for the rainy season, which, by all accounts, is going to suck elephant dicks this year.

Patience is the key which solves all problems. ~ Sudanese Proverb

One particular contribution, featured on the cover of Time in 2016, shows a nearly naked Sudanese teenager, pregnant with her rapist’s child—an image that no magazine would feature of an American girl. Discussing her 2018 photo book, Of Love & War, Addario’s own bravery at going out into a war zone is front and center, while the heroism of the civilians actually enduring war, imposed by the United States and its allies, never comes up.

É uma história interessante; porém , acredito fortemente que não representa a comunidade sudanesa do jeito que realmente é, acredito com convicção que Tayab escolheu a maneira mais fácil de atrair leitores, dando exemplos de características surreais aos sudaneses. Apesar de que a trama da história mostre fatores diferentes e mostre como Mustafa se desviou, o autor se concentra em dar uma moral irreal aos sudaneses.

The Family’s only publicized gathering is the National Prayer Breakfast, which it established in 1953 and which, with congressional sponsorship, it continues to organize every February at the Washington, D.C., Hilton. Some 3,000 dignitaries, representing scores of nations and corporate interests, pay $425 each to attend. For most, the breakfast is just that, muffins and prayer, but some stay on for days of seminars organized around Christ’s messages for particular industries. In years past, the Family organized such events for executives in oil, defense, insurance, and banking. The 2007 event drew, among others, a contingent of aid-hungry defense ministers from Eastern Europe, Pakistan’s famously corrupt Benazir Bhutto, and a Sudanese general linked to genocide in Darfur.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH for many years shall we suffered from a war in my motherland, now it’s time to say enough for five years of civil war in my motherland, enough for political instabilities. enough for ethnic discrimination. enough for corruption. enough for injustices. enough for tribalism. enough for unknown gunmen. enough for rape, torture and looting of civilian properties. enough for all these crimes. let’s give peace chance. let’s stand up for our country. lets stand up for democracy. lets stand up for equality. lets stand up for justices. let’s stand up for unity. let us stand up for love. lets stand for freedom. let freedom rings from all corns of the country. let us raise our flag with pride. let our flag waves in the air. its time for Education. its time for cultivation. its time for development. its time for togetherness. salute to Dr. John Garang. salute to all those who died for our freedom. salute to our heroes. salute to our fathers who died for the seek of our country. salute to our soldiers who fought for our freedom. let southerners be southerners again. let us get rid of all this our problems. I am proud to be a southerner. I am proud to be an African. I am proud to be black. I am proud to be born in Sudan and raise up in South Sudan as a South Sudanese. I am proud to raise our own flag for the world to see. because the time has come for us to raise the flag of our motherland under one nation one people and ultimately we say bye to War.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH for many years shall we suffered from a war in my motherland, now it’s time to say enough for five years of civil war in my motherland, enough for political instabilities. enough for ethnic discrimination. enough for corruption. enough for injustices. enough for tribalism. enough for unknown gunmen. enough for rape, torture and looting of civilian properties. enough for all these crimes. let’s give peace chance. let’s stand up for our country. let's stand up for democracy. let's stand up for equality. let's stand up for justices. let’s stand up for unity. let us stand up for love. let's stand for freedom. let freedom rings from all corns of the country. let us raise our flag with pride. let our flag waves in the air. its time for Education. its time for cultivation. its time for development. its time for togetherness. salute to Dr John Garang. salute to all those who died for our freedom. salute to our heroes. salute to our fathers who died for the seek of our country. salute to our soldiers who fought for our freedom. let southerners be southerners again. let us get rid of all this our problems. I am proud to be a south Sudanese. I am proud to be an African. I am proud to be black. I am proud to be born in Sudan and raise in South Sudan as a South Sudanese. I am proud to raise our flag for the world to see. because the time has come for us to raise the flag of our motherland under one nation one people and ultimately we say bye to War.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH for many years shall we suffered from a war in my motherland, now it’s time to say enough for five years of civil war in my motherland, enough for political instabilities. enough for ethnic discrimination. enough for corruption. enough for injustices. enough for tribalism. enough for unknown gunmen. enough for rape, torture and looting of civilian properties. enough for all these crimes. let’s give peace chance. let’s stand up for our country. let's stand up for democracy. let's stand up for equality. let's stand up for justices. let’s stand up for unity. let us stand up for love. let's stand for freedom. let freedom rings from all corns of the country. let us raise our flag with pride. let our flag waves in the air. its time for Education. its time for cultivation. its time for development. its time for togetherness. salute to Dr John Garang. salute to all those who died for our freedom. salute to our heroes. salute to our fathers who died for the seek of our country. salute to our soldiers who fought for our freedom. let southerners be southerners again. let us get rid of all this our problems. I am proud to be a south Sudanese. I am proud to be African. I am proud to be black. I am proud to be born in Sudan and raise in South Sudan as a South Sudanese. I am proud to raise our flag for the world to see. because the time has come for us to raise the flag of our motherland under one nation one people and ultimately we say bye to War.

Our national anthem is the symbols of our country. it represents the tradition, history, and beliefs of our nation and its people. We South Sudanese do not need President Kiir's presence to sing it. Oh God we Praise and Glorify you For your grace on South Sudan Land of great abundance Uphold us United in Peace and Harmony Whenever we are singing our national anthem with our chest up and our eyes in the sky, we feel the unity, love, peace and togetherness among us as Citizens of South Sudan. Oh! Motherland Arise, raise your flag with the guiding star And sing-song of freedom with joy For justice, Liberty and prosperity shall forever reign, The national anthem reminds Us of Our nation’s glory, beauty, rich heritage, and most importantly it is about us, and our martyrs who sacrificed their lives for our beautiful country South Sudan but not for only you Mr President. Oh! great patriots Let us stand up in silence and respect saluting our martyrs whose blood Cemented our national foundation, we protect our nation oh God blessed South Sudan The national anthem helps evoke feelings of patriotism among us South Sudanese It also helps us South Sudan united in peace and harmony by singing it. The questions are: Who is President Kiir to deny us this feeling of Patriotism? Does president Kiir's presence anywhere install that feeling in our heart? Does Sudan Sudan mean President Kiir? Was the national anthem composed for Mr President or for our nation, its heroes, heroines, martyrs and its people who you forbid from singing it today? Therefore, we all feel the enthusiasm when we sing.. and we don't need your permission, Mr President. Despite the tribal and ethnic differences, we rise in Unison and Listen or Sing the national anthem with great enthusiasm. Your Government took away our basic rights and gave us tribalism and hatred. Now Mr. president you want to take away the only things that united us. Therefore, we all feel the enthusiasm when we sing our national anthem and we don't need your permission, Mr President. Note: People of South Sudan. Kiir and his government want to rewrite our history into Kiir story! Don't let them. we vow to protect our nation not Kiir and now is the time for us Citizens of South Sudan to stand up for our country.

Like the Sudanese sun drying wet cotton, bleaching it with its rays, he felt his sluggish mood evaporating, his irritation and anger giving way to lightness. He would go home now refreshed, his energy replenished, his armour strengthened.

Good morning, Faith.” His deep voice made the toilet bowl chime like a bell struck by a hammer. His Sudanese accent was thick, but his words were slow and well enunciated. “Would you please accompany me?” He stepped into the room and held the door open with one large arm. When Faith didn’t budge, he reminded her, “You are meeting with Dr. Rodgers.” And he added, “This will be a great visit for you.” Scowling, Faith stepped forward, pulling up her hospital pants as she slipped through the doorway. “When did you get psychic powers?” she snapped. Titus’s laugh echoed in the hallway. “No, not psychic—hopeful. I stay positive.” As always, he spoke with conviction.

There is no doubt in my mind that the South Sudanese civil war has exposed global hypocrisy in a stunning way — and I am not quite sure if this level of hypocrisy is a Western, African, or Eastern one.

The River Between, by James Ngugi (later Ngugi wa Thiongo), redoes Heart of Darkness by inducing life into Conrad’s river on the very first page. ‘The river was called Honia, which meant cure, or bring-back-to-life. Honia river never dried: it seemed to possess a strong will to live, scorning droughts and weather changes. And it went on in the very same way, never hurrying, never hesitating. People saw this and were happy.’51 Conrad’s images of river, exploration, and mysterious setting are never far from our awareness as we read, yet they are quite differently weighted, differently—even jarringly—experienced in a deliberately understated, self-consciously unidiomatic and austere language. In Ngugi the white man recedes in importance—he is compressed into a single missionary figure emblematically called Livingstone—although his influence is felt in the divisions that separate the villages, the riverbanks, and the people from one another. In the internal conflict ravaging Waiyaki’s life, Ngugi powerfully conveys the unresolved tensions that will continue well after the novel ends and that the novel makes no effort to contain. A new pattern, suppressed in Heart of Darkness, appears, out of which Ngugi generates a new mythos, whose tenuous course and final obscurity suggest a return to an African Africa. And in Tayb Salih’s Season of Migration to the North, Conrad’s river is now the Nile, whose waters rejuvenate its peoples, and Conrad’s first-person British narrative style and European protagonists are in a sense reversed, first through the use of Arabic; second in that Salih’s novel concerns the northward voyage of a Sudanese to Europe; and third, because the narrator speaks from a Sudanese village.

After the first series of Citizen Labs reports and articles came out in 2012, Hacking Team had apparently paused to take stock of some of its customers. The firm had ended its support for Russia in 2014 because, a spokesman said, “the Putin government evolved from one considered friendly to the West to a more hostile regime.” Apparently, Putin’s raid on Crimea pushed Russia into a different customer category—never mind that for years, Russian journalists and activists had disappeared under Putin’s watch. As for Sudan, Hacking Team cut its contract in 2014 “because of concerns about the country’s ability to use the system in accordance with Hacking Team’s contract.” This after hundreds of thousands of Sudanese were already dead and millions more displaced.

In 2011 Addis Ababa announced a joint project with China to build a massive hydroelectric project on the Blue Nile near the Sudanese border called the Grand Renaissance Dam. In 2017 the dam was almost complete, but it will take several years to fill the reservoir with water. The dam will be used to create electricity, and the flow to Egypt should continue; but in theory the reservoir could also hold a year’s worth of water, and completion of the project would give Ethiopia the potential to hold the water for its own use, thus drastically reducing the flow into Egypt.

I was very close to the age where I would have been sent to train, but was saved from that fate when we were forced out of Pinyudo, all forty thousand of us, by the Ethiopian forces that overthrew President Mengistu. ... The area near the river was marshy and the group was soaked, wading through the heavy water. The river, when we arrived, was high and moving quickly. Trees and debris flew with the current. The first shots seemed small and distant. I turned to follow the sound. I saw nothing, but the gunfire continued and grew louder. The attackers were nearby. The sounds multiplied, and I heard the first screams. A woman up the river spat a stream of blood from her mouth before falling, lifeless, into the water. She had been shot by an unseen assailant, and the current soon took “her toward my group. Now the panic began. Tens of thousands of us splashed through the shallows of the river, too many unable to swim. To stay on the bank meant certain death, but to jump into that river, swollen and rushing, was madness. “The Ethiopians were attacking, their Eritrean cohorts with them, the Anyuak doing their part. They wanted us out of their country, they were avenging a thousand crimes and slights. I paddled and kicked. I looked again for the spot on the riverbank where I had last seen the crocodiles. They were gone. —The crocodiles! —Yes. We must swim fast. Come. There are so many of us. We’re at a mathematical advantage. Swim, Achak, just keep paddling. A scream came from very close. I turned to see a boy in the jaws of a crocodile. The river bloomed red and the boy’s face disappeared. —Keep going. Now he’s too busy to eat you. We were halfway across the river now, and my ears heard the hiss under the water and the bullets and mortars cracking the air. Each time my ears fell below the surface, a hiss overtook my head, and it felt like the sound of the crocodiles coming for me. I tried to keep my ears above the surface, but when my head was too high, I pictured a bullet entering the back of my skull. ... I pushed my face into the dirt, but secretly I watched the slaughter below. Thousands of boys and men and women and babies were crossing the river, and soldiers were killing them randomly and sometimes with great care. There were a few SPLA troops fighting from our side of the river, but for the most part they had already escaped, leaving the Sudanese civilians alone and unprotected. The Ethiopians, then, had their choice of targets, most of them unarmed. “they chased the Sudanese from their land with machetes and the few rifles they possessed. They hacked and shot those running to the river, and they shot those flailing across the water. Shells exploded, sending plumes of white twenty feet into the air. Women dropped babies in the river. Boys who could not swim simply drowned... Some of the dead were then eaten by crocodiles. The river ran in many colors that day, green and white, black and brown and red. “—Come here!" a woman said. I looked to find the source of the voice, and turned to see an Ethiopian woman in a soldier’s uniform. —Come here and I will help you find Pochalla! she said. The other boys began walking toward her. —No! I said. —See how she’s dressed! —Don’t fear me, she said. I am just a woman! I am a mother trying to help you boys. Come to me, children! I am your mother! Come to me! The unknown boys ran toward her. Achor stayed with me. When they were twenty feet from her, the woman turned, lifted a gun from the grass, and with her eyes full of white, she shot the taller boy through the heart. I could see the bullet leaving his back. His body kneeled and then fell on its side, his head landing before his shoulder. “Run! he said, grabbing my shirt from behind. We ran from her, diving into the grass and then crawling and hurtling away fom the woman, who was still shouting at us. "Come back!" she said. "I am your mother, come back, my children!

I thought the horses would run over me, that any moment their feet would crush my back and head. Something struck me, and I fell and landed on my face; dust filled my eyes. I heard the sound of a man landing from his horse and some shuffling. Then I was in the air. I had been lifted by the man, whose hand was gripping my ribs, the other hand my legs. ... He had put me on his saddle and he tied me onto it. I felt a rope against my back, digging into my skin. He was tying me to the horse. ... Two days later I was thrown onto the ground and told that that was where I would be sleeping. I awoke to the smell of something burning. It smelled like flesh on fire... the Arab was putting a burning metal rod to my head. He was branding me. In my ear he branded the number 8, turned on its side. Moses turned to show me. It was a very rough marking, the symbol raised and purple, scarred into the flesh behind his ear. —Now you will always know who owns you, this man said to me. The pain was so intense that I passed out. I woke when I was being lifted. I was thrown on the saddle again and he tied me down again, this time tighter than before. We rode for two more days. ... It was some kind of military camp. Hundreds “of boys like me were there, all under twelve, Dinka and Nuer boys. I was put in a huge barn with all of these boys, and we were locked inside. There was no food. The barn was full of rats; everyone was being bitten by them. ... Every time there was a battle, the boys would be brought out from the barn and made to give blood. ... I was put on a horse again and we rode for many days. We stopped at a house, a very well-built house. It was the house of an important man, Captain Adil Muhammad Hassan. I learned that I was being given as a gift. Hassan was very thankful and the two of them went inside to eat. I was still tied to the horse outside. They were gone inside all evening and I stayed on the horse. ... The man had two wives, and three children, all the children very young. I thought that the kids would be decent to me, but they were crueler than their parents. The kids were taught to beat me and spit on me. “The kids especially liked to whip me. The oldest boy, when he was left alone with me, would whip me without pause. ... I squatted in the yard like a frog, and he brought his children out and told them to jump on me. They sat on my back and pretended that I was a donkey, and they laughed, and Hassan laughed. They called me a stupid donkey. And the kids fed me garbage. They said I had to eat it, so I ate it—anything they gave me. Animal fat, tea bags, rotten vegetables. ... “There was another Sudanese there, a girl named Akol. She worked in the kitchen, mostly, but she was pregnant with Hassan’s baby so his wife hated her. The wife would find Akol crying for her mother and she would scream at her, threatening to slit her throat with a knife. She called her bitch and slave and animal.

Back in 1992, the camp originally held ninety thousand Somali refugees fleeing the civil war. They had reproduced. Then others had come: more waves of Somalis, as well as Sudanese, Congolese, Ethiopians, Ugandans and Rwandans seeking asylum whom the Kenyans had shipped out to the margins of their country. And they too had had children. Three generations now called this giant cosmopolitan city made of mud, tents and thorns, home. That morning, 1 December 2010, Guled was the newest arrival in the largest refugee camp in the world.

As an example, Blake mentions a Sudanese condiment made from fermented cow urine and used as a flavor enhancer “very much in the way soy sauce is used in other parts of the world.

At once slovenly and uxorious, [the Sudanese soldier] detested his drills and loved his wives with equal earnestness.

But there were great kingdoms in the Western Sudan waiting to be discovered. Once knowledge of these old empires resurfaced, some claimed that Jews, who had rebelled against the Romans in Cyrenaica (Libya), had migrated to the Western Sudan around A.D. 115 and built these civilizations. Another group pushed the theory that Sudanese achievements were the results of Arab invasions and the coming of Islam. Some even suggested that African accomplishments were the result of visitors from outer space. Any wild idea was more acceptable than to admit that Africans had the intellect and ingenuity to develop and control well-ordered empires. The purpose of all these erroneous theories was simply to justify slavery and attitudes of racial superiority.

The [Crimean War] victory was bitter sweet for the Ottomans, their weak Islamic realm saved by Christian soldiers. To show his gratitude and keep the West at bay, Sultan Abdulmecid was forced, in measures known as Tanzimat--reform--to centralize his administration, decree absolute equality for all minorities regardless of religion, and allow the Europeans all manner of once-inconceivable liberties. He presented St. Anne's, the Crusader church that had become Saladin's madrassa, to Napoleon III. In March 1855, the Duke of Brabant, the future King Leopold II of Belgium, exploiter of the Congo, was the first European allowed to visit the Temple Mount: its guards--club-wielding Sudanese from Darfur--had to be locked in their quarters for fear they would attack the infidel. In June, Archduke Maximilian, the heir to the Habsburg empire--and ill-fated future Emperor of Mexico--arrived with the officers of his flagship. The Europeans started to build hulking imperial-style Christian edifices in a Jerusalem building boom. Ottoman statesmen were unsettled and there would be a violent Muslim backlash, but, after the Crimean War, the West had invested too much to leave Jerusalem alone.