Foreward

In December 2018 in Khartoum, the people were taking to the streets in the revolution that eventually ended the almost-30-year power reign of Omar al-Bashir. It was an emotionally intense time for those of us at home and in the diaspora, cycling through conflicting feelings of fear and hope, despair and optimism. Being Sudanese abroad during this period of change both expanded and constricted understandings of identity, history, citizenship on a very intimate scale.

In January 2019, Safia put out a call for a writing workshop that would provide mentorship for Sudani women. In her post, she wrote: I’ve been thinking a lot about the kinds of mentorship I had as a young writer, and the kinds of mentorship I wished I’d had. So, I’m starting a little online workshop for Sudanese women writers writing in English. If you’re a Sudani woman writing in English who is interested in doing some writing, some workshopping, and some reading, please apply! Due 2/15, 100% free. Nehal reached out to Safia shortly after to offer support and the same kind of mentorship.

The workshop takes its title from the classic song by Khalil Farah, from the 1930s, that personifies Sudan as a woman named Azza, meaning precious. Since then, Azza has become the best-known personification of Sudan as a woman, taking on new significance as we cast aside the patriarchal ways in which the nation has been feminized as a site of male salvation. It’s 2019, and women were on the front lines of the revolution, their ululating punctuating every chant in every video of our people taking to the streets in history-making numbers. As we assembled this group of Sudanese women writers, this group of Azzas, each one personifying our home in her own way, we worked to both honor and trouble some of these inheritances, asking ourselves: who is Azza in 2019?

Together, we worked with 20 Sudani women over a period of two months. Weekly discussions took place over Facebook Messenger, and in connecting with each other, we shared writing tips, frustrations, and resources. As the revolution went on back home, as we received news of what was happening, as we heard from those of us who were actually there, the workshop provided a space–not to work through issues of identity, but to both remove it as the central focus and to reassert it as integral to who we were.

This is the product of our work and we hope that these pieces in conversation with each other can be seen not only as the outcome of a program, but a production of presence.

With so much gratitude to the participants for trusting us and for making this what it is–it’s brilliant. What a gift, this writing, this community of writers.

Safia & Nehal