Last year, I followed with great interest the annual procession of Sudanese men, women, elders, youth, and children as they took to the streets to celebrate the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday (Mawlid al-Nabi). It is a long-held tradition in most cities and villages across Sudan to mark the first day of Rabi’ al-Awwal, the third month in the Islamic calendar, with a magnificent Sufi procession.
The celebration is led by Sufi sheikhs carrying their nūba drums, singing praises and devotional chants to the Prophet. They are often accompanied by respected community figures, riding or walking, followed by their disciples and the public, particularly women who are deeply devoted to the Prophet, marching in a solemn yet jubilant parade toward public squares designated for the festivities.
The season of Mawlid then officially begins and lasts until the 12th of Rabi’ al-Awwal.
Across Sudan, tents are pitched, and sweets unique to the occasion are sold, confections made specifically for this celebration. People crowd into Sufi gatherings filled with praise poetry and remembrance of the Prophet, while children delight in vibrant sweets and carnival rides. From far and wide, people join in this spiritual festival to bask in its joy and divine blessings.
For two consecutive years, however, the rituals and parades of Mawlid disappeared from Omdurman and most parts of Sudan. This absence came in the wake of the devastating war that erupted between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) in mid-April 2023.
The very act of coming out in these processions was, in itself, an unmistakable gesture of defiance: a refusal to surrender to the suffocating realities of war and destruction.
In 2024, the local government in Karari directed Sufi orders to hold all Mawlid celebrations within the confines of their own lodges, citing security concerns. The fear was that public gatherings could expose civilians to attacks or forced conscription by the RSF, by then a routine threat in the daily horrors of the war in North Omdurman. At that time, the RSF controlled the entire Khartoum state, with the exception of Karari, which remained under SAF control.
But even these fears could not prevent the people from taking to the streets. They marched in smaller, fragmented processions to mark the Prophet’s birthday, albeit confined to a few select streets in the Al-Thawrat neighbourhoods, far from Al-Khalifa Square, the historic epicentre of Omdurman’s Mawlid celebrations.
The very act of coming out in these processions was, in itself, an unmistakable gesture of defiance: a refusal to surrender to the suffocating realities of war and destruction, and a determined insistence on holding onto the rhythms of ordinary life. This, despite the staggering suffering that people had endured: continuous violence, military sieges, deliberate starvation, and natural disasters like unprecedented floods and rains. These were compounded by disease, malnutrition, collapsing healthcare, and the disappearance of basic services.
This was resistance in its purest form: quiet, civilian, and worthy of admiration. But it was not new to Sudan.
This was resistance in its purest form: quiet, civilian, and worthy of admiration. But it was not new to Sudan.
Sudanese communities, especially women, have long resisted war, displacement, hunger, disease, mass violations, siege, sexual violence, the loss of life and property, enforced disappearances, torture, ethnic cleansing, forced migrations, floods, and famine. They have done so by holding fast to their inherited social traditions, customs of generosity, solidarity, mutual aid, and communal mobilization, passed down through generations.
These ethos of resistance came to life once again in the form of communal kitchens: centralized food hubs that were among the first grassroots responses to war. These kitchens stood firm against the looming spectre of famine, drawing inspiration from At-takaya of the Sufi lodges and spiritual schools. In many neighbourhoods, they even took the same name.
Likewise, emergency response rooms were built on entrenched values of rescuing the distressed and supporting the abandoned. They worked tirelessly to provide medicine, first aid, medical supplies, food, fuel, and alternative energy sources, anything that could keep hospitals, clinics, and shelters running. These grassroots initiatives were carried on the shoulders of resistance committees, service and change committees, and neighbourhood organizations forged through years of popular uprisings against colonialism, military rule, and dictatorship.
Meanwhile, professional unions: doctors, journalists, teachers, artists, alongside student unions, academic institutions, labour collectives, and cooperatives, filled the void left by a vanishing state. They helped deliver essential education and healthcare services, while thousands of small-scale, local, and individual efforts left a profound impact.
As I followed social media coverage of the Mawlid processions across the country last year, I traced their paths through As-Surourab, Al-Jazira Eslanj and Karari in North Omdurman; through Shambat, Sharq Al-Neel, and Al-Jirief in Bahri; and even in Ar-Rimaila and Burry Abu Hashish, right in the heart of war-torn Khartoum. The parades also moved through Arbaji, An-Nuba, Tayba Sheikh Abd al-Baqi, Abu Haraz, and Al-Kasambar, villages and towns in Al-Jazirah State where the RSF committed some of its most brutal crimes.
The processions reached Sinnar’s proud city of Singa, the outskirts of Al-Obeid and rural Kordofan, and as far as Dalesat Al-Shawarab in Al-Qadarif, Kassala, and the Red Sea State, places where thousands had fled seeking refuge from war. They also passed through Kenana, Umm Rawaba, and Rabak in the generous White Nile State, as well as into the north: the outskirts of Dongola and Halfa, and the village of Artemuqa in the Northern State.
Even in the far west, in war-scarred Al-Geneina where the RSF carried out mass atrocities and forced displacements, and in the village of Al-Zawiya Ghara in North Darfur, where the brave Al-Fashir has endured a year-long siege, processions still took place. They even reached Tajmala in the Nuba Mountains of South Kordofan, and astonishingly, even in Juba, the capital of South Sudan, a city with a non-Muslim majority.
Sudanese communities continue to find strength and cohesion in their cultural heritage and collective traditions, especially as a means of survival amidst war, displacement, and systematic erasure.
I followed these processions and the Mawlid nights last year as a peaceful, civilian act of resistance to war. In my mind was the striking coincidence of the war’s escalation in 2023 with the convening of the 18th session of the UNESCO Intergovernmental Committee for the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage, held in Kasane, Botswana that December.
In that session, Sudan’s Mawlid celebrations were officially inscribed on the list of humanity’s intangible cultural heritage, an acknowledgment of the dazzling richness embedded in Sudan’s living traditions, and a testament to their power to build social cohesion, preserve human dignity, and pave the way to peace.
Sudanese communities continue to find strength and cohesion in their cultural heritage and collective traditions, especially as a means of survival amidst war, displacement, and systematic erasure. In such contexts, the act of preserving and passing down cultural memory becomes a moral responsibility borne by the survivors.
Across refugee camps and displacement zones, whether inside Sudan or abroad, Sudanese people exhibit remarkable determination to live their lives in full fidelity to custom and tradition, sparing no detail. Despite hardship, scarcity of resources, and limited income, countless shops have sprung up to sell Sudanese goods and traditional items. Restaurants serving Sudanese cuisine have appeared in nearly every country of exile. Sudanese women, in particular, have remained fiercely committed to upholding rituals associated with life’s major milestones: marriage, circumcision, death, complete with incense, ritual washing, ceremonial garb (jartiq), embalming herbs (ḥinna), and celebratory ululations. These traditions continue to be practiced in shelters within Sudan, in neighbouring countries, and across diasporic communities worldwide.
In May of this year, the SAF regained control of wide swaths of the capital Khartoum and the states of Al-Jazirah, Sinnar, Blue Nile, and White Nile. The situation shifted dramatically, and rapidly. Despite the extensive destruction caused by the fighting, including the loss of infrastructure, damage to public and private property, and the collapse of basic services such as electricity, water, healthcare, and education, displaced populations began returning home from safer regions and neighbouring countries.
This year’s festivities were organized with meticulous care and aimed to breathe new life into the “liberated” city.
Sheikh Muhammad Surur Al-Qurashi, Secretary-General of the Sufi Sheikh Council
Alongside this return, communities mobilized. Volunteers launched campaigns to clean streets and neighbourhoods, rehabilitate universities and schools, reactivate hospitals and health centres, and restore water and electricity stations. These were not mere efforts of repair, but acts of reclamation, an attempt to piece life back together, with dignity.
In Wad Madani, on August 24, the city’s Sufi Sheikh Council organized the official launch of Mawlid celebrations. The event was attended by public officials and greeted with overwhelming popular enthusiasm. A massive procession flowed from the mausoleum of Sheikh Madani Al-Sunni through the city streets, arriving at the traditional Mawlid field.
Sheikh Muhammad Surur Al-Qurashi, Secretary-General of the Sufi Sheikh Council, stated that this year’s festivities were organized with meticulous care and aimed to breathe new life into the “liberated” city. He noted that celebrations, which will continue through the 12th night of Rabi’ al-Awwal, include a rich programme of educational, spiritual, and social activities, in addition to health clinics and free eye-care camps—all taking place within the Mawlid grounds.
On the same day, the first of Rabi’ al-Awwal, the Khartoum State government celebrated the Prophet’s birthday for the first time in two years. In Shambat, the Sufi procession began from the Mosque of Sheikh Al-Shar’ani Zain Al-Abidin and headed northward along Al-Nuss Street, passing through Durrah Bahri, Al-Ma’una Street, and Haj Al-Safi Hospital, before returning to the celebration square at the Sheikh Zain Al-Abidin Mosque.
Cities and villages across Sudan hosted their own processions and gatherings for Mawlid this year: Port Sudan, Kassala, New Halfa, Al-Qadarif, Sinnar, Ad-Damar, Kosti, Ad-Damazin, Zareeba Sheikh Al-Burai, Nyala, and Al-Jenaynah, among others.
The Sammānīyah Ṭayyibīyah Qarībīyah Sufi order organized two major processions, on August 22 and 29, beginning at the Sheikh Qariballah Mosque in Wad Nubawi and ending at the Mawlid grounds in Omdurman. The second procession took place after the return of the order’s leader, Dr. Muhammad Al-Fatih Qariballah, from Saudi Arabia, where he had performed the ʿUmrah pilgrimage. This year’s celebrations carried a striking theme: “The Sunnah of the Chosen One in Rebuilding the Homeland,” a slogan that reflects both the deep roots of Sufism in Sudanese society and its role in healing the torn social fabric left in the wake of war.
For the third year in a row, the same Sufi order has held Mawlid celebrations in Cairo, where thousands of Sudanese remain displaced. These gatherings feature nights of dhikr (remembrance of God) and praise poetry in the homes of senior disciples, and in mosques across Cairo, including the iconic Al-Hussein Mosque.
On its official page, the order reminded followers that “It was in Egypt, during the Fatimid era in the 11th century CE, that the Eastern Islamic world first established official Mawlid celebrations. The first popular, mass-style commemoration was held in Erbil by its ruler, gathering scholars, poets, and Sufis from across the Iraqi lands.”
This war will end. A war whose core objective was to extinguish the spirit of the Sudanese people, to rob them of their land, resources, and collective identity. But the people resisted, anchored by their deep cultural roots, they stood in defiance of the forces of erasure.
Khartoum was destroyed. But in its absence, new “capitals” emerged in safer regions, melting pots where people from every corner of Sudan gathered, where local economies flourished, where markets came alive, and farmers returned to their fields.
Homes were destroyed. But families spread out, settling in towns and villages, reviving abandoned neighbourhoods, rebuilding with the strength of extended kinship. Others scattered across the globe, constructing miniature Sudans wherever they landed, bringing with them the warmth of hospitality, dignity, generosity, incense-scented streets, and the sweetness of shared tradition.
And now, they return, on their own terms, with no favours asked, rebuilding their homes and their country in gratitude and praise to their Lord, reviving the Sunnah of the Prophet, and celebrating the month of his birth.
“Your people are stronger, and greater, than the enemy ever imagined.”
