War-Torn Sudan Struggles With Feeling Forgotten

(Bloomberg) -- At a wedding on the outskirts of Port Sudan, women in radiant dresses, adorned in jewelry and henna, danced into the night, trying to forget the conflict that’s ravaged their country.

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Hassan Habanai, the 35-year-old groom, was hoisted on his friend’s shoulders in Sudanese garb, with a golden moon hanging from his forehead to symbolize hope for a better future and his traditional whip flailing above his head.

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A love song about righteousness, fairness and justice bellowed out through the hot evening air.

For Hassan, the event was more than a celebration of marriage to his childhood sweetheart. It was also a show of resilience in the face of war that has devastated the country.

“We decided to get married in order to pull ourselves out of this sadness,” Hassan said. “The war is futile. It is destroying our country and cannot solve any problems.”

Across Sudan, a North African nation that is rich in gold and strategically located on the Red Sea, a starving, weary population has been forgotten. Wars in the Middle East and Ukraine have eclipsed their tragedy.

The conflict broke out in April 2023 when Sudanese government forces failed to agree a power-sharing deal with the paramilitary group, the Rapid Support Forces. The deal would have led to democratic elections in the aftermath of a military coup the two forces carried out jointly in 2021.

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Since then, the war has devastated Sudan’s economy. Telephone cables are down throughout the country. Most hospitals lie abandoned; schools are shuttered; marketplaces are often hit by air strikes.

In the absence of a functioning government, local people are filling the void. Civilian networks have taken over the responsibilities of the Ministry of Health, setting up clinics for injured civilians and pregnant women. Frontier fintech investors have invented local money transfer services to address the collapsed banking sector.

In Port Sudan, the de facto capital managed by the army, the population has almost doubled to about two million people. Thousands of displaced families have settled in compounds filled with makeshift tents. The city’s infrastructure is crumbling. SUVs and rickshaws jam the road network. Cholera has broken out, and the security forces have arrested scores of youth suspected of sympathizing with the RSF.

Still, life is less precarious than in other parts of the country, and festive wedding scenes underscore the determination of Sudanese people to try to stick to the rhythms of a more normal way of life.

By custom, weddings in Sudan can last for days, with separate celebrations for the bride and groom before the couple comes together on the final day.

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For Hassan, an employee in a regional office for the Ministry of Finance, and his childhood sweetheart, Ezdihar, whose name means “flourishing” in Arabic, holding a wedding in a wartime economy with skyrocketing inflation meant a more frugal celebration than they would have ordinarily planned.

The wedding, with about 150 guests, was held outside Hassan’s family home. Catering costs were kept to a minimum, and friends assisted with the music.

On the final day of celebration, Hassan’s friend sang with a mighty force: “Adila ya Beda ya Malaykseery Maa,” which translates loosely as “May the angels protect and bless your wedding.”

A few kilometers from a deep sea port where weapons and supplies equip the army, the wedding’s musicians played drums and tanbours long into the night.

“Despite the war we are very happy today,” said Thuraya Mohammed, Hassan’s mother, who wore her best gold jewelry and clapped as her son waited for his bride. “At least we can have this moment.”

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