Where Do Women Stand, In A Nation We Call Azza?

In June we took to the street fighting for the emancipation of our black brothers and sisters, here and in the US. The unity within our black community is now, for our generation, the strongest it’s ever been. Though the fight continues, it’s important for us to reflect and look at our own structural imbalances.

Last month, messages sent by Sudanese American rapper Ramey, known as Lil Freeny, have been bravely published on twitter by women who have been sexually assaulted by the artist. Ramey was releasing music that became the diaspora’s anthem. He brought the familiarity of our Sudanese langue and culture to American hop hop. But his success placed him in a position of power which he used to abuse the very women he celebrates in his music. Once outed, members of the Sudanese community, abroad and at back in the motherland, were quick to defend Ramey. Many attacked the victims, adamant that they must’ve had a role to play. But a new generation is starting to take hold of Sudanese society. We’re the hyper-educated 2nd and 3rd generation diaspora, the natives sparking the revolution on Sudanese soil and the force that is ready to challenge what we know in the name of justice. 

The power of femininity within my Sudanese culture is real. The strength of our female role models shaped each and every one of us. Fierce yet loving aunts and grandparents raised us as their own children and welcomed the diaspora home as though we never left. It gave me and all my Sudanese sisters a definition of femme empowerment that was ingrained in us instinctively from a young age, one that no whitewashed Eurocentric feminism could ever touch. It’s made me bold, fiercely opinionated, political whilst injecting poetry in my language. This is what took Sudanese women to the streets with their black brothers, fighting for liberation last year. This is what made 22 year old Alaaa climb on the roof of her car in her toub* and call for justice during the revolution. 

But within our strength, a misunderstanding between culture and religion has lead to a skewed perception of how our bodies occupy spaces.

From a young age, girls are told to be modest not realising that this is a form of hyper-sexualisation.  This is the seed we plant in children from as young as 6, telling them that how they present their bodies is a direct reflection of how they will be treated. We are placed in a position where we are are allowed to be seen and heard - but within boundaries. Ma ta3’mili mowdoo3 (don’t make a fuss) , wati sowtik (lower your voice) , khaleww khalas (just leave it) . You’re telling me you recognise my injustice, but don’t make too much noise - you’ll be undesirable. The relationship with our bodies becomes one of discomfort, subconsciously living for the satisfaction and approval of men.  

This is because we idolise them, are obsessive of their position and what they will bring to the nuclear family, financially and socially. Our brothers’ achievements are heightened, but ours are expected, shown by the reactions we receive that just lack substance. We hold the men in our society in such high regard that their wrongdoings are seen as just part of the package, because boys will be boys . 

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So when we are cat called, harassed, and raped by the men in our communities, the incident is not acknowledged. The pedestal on which we place our men, and the servitude and submission that is expected of us has meant that these cases are rarely spoken about. It’s 2020 and only now are we telling you our stories, and doing the labour of speaking up. It’s 2020 and Marital rape is still legal.  

Alternatively, we victim blame - reinstating this idea that it was you. You asked for it. Labsa shinu (what were you wearing?), kooti wien (where were you?), itkalemti keif (how did you speak?). What did you do to trigger this natural instinct within our men that is just a part of who they are. 

We need to stop telling our girls from a ridiculously young age to dress modestly whilst boys have the freedom to express themselves and have total autonomy over their bodies. We need to remove this ridiculous stigma around sexual health and the discomfort of talking about sexual relations, consent, and respect within our communities. We need to give our women - those who work in industry or tend to our homes regardless - the same respect and value as our men. In 2019 we fought with you in Sudan’s greatest revolution, overthrowing a dictator of 30 years. We stood together as they fired at us, to bring our country to democracy - give us a seat at the table. 

Even within the Sudanese diaspora we need to stop feeding into this toxic culture, reconsider our unconscious biases, our subtle glorification of virginity, and not carry on this culture of gossip. Respect black women, because once we are free, everyone will be.  

Many lovingly refer to Sudan as Azza in reference to the first women that lead protests against British colonial rule. She was the wife of an opposition party leader who was jailed in 1924 for revolting against British forces. The name is said in many Sudanese patriotic songs, and many Sudanese parents, until today, name their daughters Azza to express their love for the country. But where do women stand, in a country that gave her the land its people and culture?

*traditional female Sudanese dress


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Written by Heba Tabidi

Born and raised in the incredibly multicultural town of Slough, Heba is a second generation Sudanese female. From a young age (around 6 years old) Heba has been attending protests to fight global injustice. But she was first aware as her position as a black British muslim working class woman in society upon entering university. Attending the University of Bath and entering the industry of engineering, she was occupying majority white middle class spaces. Through the trauma of racism and genderism Heba faces, she fights for the right of her black and black female community through writing, speaking and protesting. She has recently organised two protests and was a speaker for the Bristol Labour Party at a meeting to discuss Black Lives Matter.



OpinionJessica Blackwell