On the Back of Restless Winds
On the Memoirs of Dr. Hayder Ibrahim Ali
Review and translation by Adil Babikir
In his 2015 autobiography, A Time of Wind, Anxiety, and Freedom (أزمنة الريح والقلق والحرية ), Sudanese scholar Dr. Hayder Ibrahim Ali offers a rare and insightful account of Sudan’s intellectual and political life. Dr. Ali, a highly prolific researcher, offers these insights through the lens of his experience as a leading sociologist and political observer. The Sudanese Studies Center he founded in 1993 quickly established itself as a reputable think tank. To date, it has published more than 220 titles and hosted scores of seminars and debates, all aimed at charting a path for Sudan through its successive challenges. It publishes one of the longest-living journals in the Arabic World, Kitabat Sudaniyah (Sudanese Writings), which has been in print for more than three decades.
Beyond Sudan, Ali is at the heart of scholarly debate across the Arab World on issues of sociology, politics, nation-building, and development. He is a member of many organizations and professional associations and has served on the board of trustees of the Center for Arab Unity Studies. Now in his eighties, he is as active and sharp-minded as ever, writing and taking part in debates while also looking after his brainchild, the Sudanese Studies Center.
One major merit of his memoir is that it traces political, social, and intellectual developments in Sudan and beyond from the post–World War II era to present, drawing on both personal experience and keen observation. Readers will find, in many parts, an informative retrospective to that era, which the author describes as “the most dynamic and transformative episode in human history, the impact of which continues to be seen and felt in the world today.” This account is especially important because the narrator was at the heart of that era, first as a daring young man with big dreams, later as an intellectual and reflective thinker.
Another advantage of this book is that it provides readers with a non-Western perspective of political Islam by a respectful scholar who has been primarily concerned with delineating the challenges of enlightenment and liberation and is regarded as one of the top contemporary critics of political Islam. His extensive writings on this topic were deeply informed by his academic background as a sociologist as well as his close study of the 30-year rule of the Islamists in Sudan (1989-2019).
But what makes this autobiography a joy to read is the fact that Dr. Ali is a natural storyteller. Storytelling is his default means of communicating, whether in social interactions, cultural and political debates, or intellectual discourse.
When reflecting on his own experiences, Ali’s gift for narrative comes fully to light. He indulges readers right from the outset in gripping episodes as memories from his childhood pour out freely, often laced with thoughtful hindsight. The narrative gains energy and vividness as the voices of Ali as a child and as the mature author take turns recounting the events, creating a dynamic interplay that enriches the story. Vivid snapshots of his birthplace capture the celebratory atmosphere surrounding the author’s arrival. In the patriarchal society he was born into, the birth of a firstborn son was a momentous occasion, met with widespread rejoicing.
Among the most captivating scenes are those depicting grandparents engaging in intricate rituals to shield the newborn from harm, vying to foretell the brightest future for him, and mothers crafting heartfelt verses for their sons, to be sung on the day of their nuptials.
“My birth brought joy to the modest mud house, especially the young mother who was only 15 years older than her newborn. Even the usually self-possessed grandfather could not restrain himself. Having a firstborn son was a good omen and a source of pride because it meant an increase in the number of males in the family and the broader patriarchal community. Every mother of the Shaygiya tribe makes this wish as she sings for her son during his wedding parade:
May your firstborn be a son—
what bliss.
A son I will carry and kiss.
My maternal grandfather Ahmed cheerfully carried me to the diwan, the male reception area, to carry out a special ritual. There, he recited some verses from the Quran to invoke blessings on me, as well as other rituals to protect me against envy and evil eye. If he sought to identify my zodiac sign to read my fortune, he must have discovered that I was a Taurus. Taureans, like the bull that represents them, are known to be hardworking, dedicated, and stubborn. Searching my body, he discovered a dark mole on the back of my right palm. My elated grandfather carried me back to the women’s section of the house:
“This boy will be pious, blessed, and successful,” he announced. Hadia, a female relative of his and the only person who dared mock and challenge him, interrupted: “Here is another ab-Iddai.” Ab-Iddai is a dervish who would scan the body of every newborn in his family in search of a mark that would help in reading the infant’s future.
I was also told that my grandfather chewed a piece of date into a soft dough and rubbed it against my gums. This tradition was based on the belief that it was a sure way of transferring personal qualities to newborns.
Smart, sharp-minded, and dexterous mothers were keen to compose lyrical poems for their sons to sing out on their wedding days. Distinctions based on adroitness and wit are among the most important social and moral distinctions among the Shaigiya.
Bit Ahmed, my mother, considered herself a resourceful and dexterous woman, and her favorite way of boasting about this was by saying, “I can surely tie the legs of an ant!” She started putting together her poem for my wedding day quite early, and I could hear her humming while cooking or baking:
Here comes the wedding parade
of my son who never fails me.
Here comes the wedding parade
of my son, the doctor.
Growing up, however, I chose to become a teacher rather than a doctor, and some people teased her about her failed prediction. After a long wait, she finally teased them back: “Here he is: a doctor of reading”! That was typical of her, always able to fire back. She was always available to stand in defense of others who could not.
Mothers would start rehearsing their self-composed wedding parade song by reciting it while rocking their children to sleep. I heard from Wad ab-Reesh in el-Barkal some very strange lullabies that shed light on some aspects of the Shayegi personality. This one exposes a shade of prejudice or favoritism:
I can’t wait to see you grown,
fending off the evils of Ali and Taha.
Another one goes:
I can’t wait to see you grown,
filing suits at the town court
and resolving disputes like Thiraya’s son.
Or:
I can’t wait to see you a rising star in town,
helping the needy across Karima.
And this one was particularly interesting:
I want to see you grown,
stirring mischief like your kin
and spinning false tales under oath!
I mentioned to Wad ab-Reesh that those wishes depicted negative values— some were even antireligious. His reply was: “Surely, there’s nothing wrong with giving false testimony! One must come to the rescue of one’s brother and get him out of a predicament!”
Wad ab-Reesh’s argument was clearly a misinterpretation of the famous ethical rule “Back up your brother, whether he is an oppressor or oppressed,” which in essence means you should prevent your brother from oppressing others.
By all means, I had an idealistically pleasant and happy childhood. But it was a short time in paradise that reminds of Senegalese thinker-poet Leopold Senghor (1906-2001):
“I have no idea when that happened.
For childhood and Eden are mixed up in my mind
Just as death and life are –
They’re linked together by a bridge of affection.”
Interestingly, his upbringing under the guardianship of many individuals turned in his favor in many ways:
“I grew up with a natural tendency to reject and repel any controlling authority, regardless of its source or power. The involvement of many indirect guardians meant that the external authority was absent or at least poor, and that the decision-making on patterns of behavior rested with the child himself. This early freedom of choice became the guiding principle of my life, and I developed a good sense of responsibility from a very early age. I did my best to avoid doing anything that could anger this group of guardians, who loved me and expected me to behave. As a result, the sense of freedom that grew inside me served as my conscience, which was how I managed to avoid committing mistakes or shameful acts or angering my beloved circle. That served as spontaneous self-discipline. I couldn’t bear the thought of a relative telling me they were angry because I did or didn’t do such and such. Thanks to that small circle of men and women who endowed me with boundless love and were my whole world, I developed a natural capacity to give and receive love without reservation. Love, in such a case, comes effortlessly, like a naturally flowing stream, unlike hatred, which remains a heavy burden on the soul.
Thus, I found myself in the bosom of an extended family bound not by blood alone: a large number of fathers and mothers who were compensation for my loneliness. I spent most of my time away from home. According to my mother, Bit Ahmad, I preferred to take my morning cup of tea with my compassionate friend, our neighbor al-Naseem. For some reason, I seemed to like her goat’s milk more. Apparently, I developed my own taste for things from a very early age. As one who was not strained by tribal affiliation to Shaigiya, Jaalieen, or Shukria, al-Naseem enjoyed more freedom than the likes of Bit Ahmed and al-Rawda, who must have envied her for that. She always had a full program of social activities and was keen to take me, along with her daughter Asia, who was my age, to a cocktail of activities that included daytime wedding parties, zar parties, and bridal dancing training sessions. These were places that echoed with tum tum rhythms and were saturated with incense and the smell of khomra and dilka (home-made perfumes and massage dough). Unfortunately, I have since lost contact with al-Naseem and her daughter, and all my attempts during my stay in Khartoum to find a lead to them failed. I lately understood that Asia grew up to be a beautiful lady who inspired many lyrical songs.
My relationship with al-Naseem was not entirely without friction. Female neighbors cautioned Bit Ahmed against leaving her only son wandering about in al-Naseem’s company. I liked to watch Asia’s drunk father tottering back home and proclaiming proudly, as he lifted a wooden bedframe high in the air: “I’m Asia’s father!” I was fond of reenacting that scene at home while trying to raise a light bed. “Never go to al-Naseem again,” my mother warned me. The next morning, I didn’t go as usual. Soon al-Naseem stormed in furiously. “What’s the deal, Bit Ahmed? Has the insanity of al-Shaigiya beset you or what?” She won that battle and left the house with my hand firmly in hers, and the joyful tours continued unabated until her husband was transferred to a different location. Shortly after, we too left for Sennar, where my father was relocated.”
Throughout the book, the author skillfully draws colorful profiles of the personalities he encountered at various stages of his life. The portrayals of his parents are particularly vivid. His mother, Bit Ahmed, was an illiterate yet astute and resourceful woman. She was known for her sharp wit and would humorously boast of her ability to perform unthinkable feats, such as “tying the legs of an ant.” Her critical mindset led her to question conventional wisdom, often challenging the conservative religious establishment. She once remarked with skepticism, “Look at this man! Talking with certainty about heaven as if he had been there last night!”
The author’s father is examined through an elaborate sociological lens, highlighting the dramatic shifts in his life, particularly the rise in his social status following his promotion from low-ranking soldier to police officer. That automatically elevated him to the afandiyah class, the new elite that took over from the British administration following Sudan’s independence in 1956. That shift had a perplexing impact on the man, who longed for a new life that better suited his new social status. It sent his marriage to the verge of collapse when he fell into a romantic affair with a young girl from a wealthy family.
The section on his school and college years provides revealing scenes of a political environment characterized by high polarization between the progressive and traditional currents. Despite his natural leaning towards the former, the author kept a distance from direct affiliation to any party, which eventually helped him maintain an independent position on various issues.
His adventurous side comes through in the chapter on travels to Europe, especially Germany, which he recalls as a profoundly enriching experience.
The book contains extensive notes on the author’s readings, and on the personalities and philosophies that have shaped his vision of life.
In a nutshell, the book offers an entertaining and insightful journey into the mind of a principled thinker who speaks his mind and boldly defends his beliefs, even if that means he must go out on a limb.
Adil Babikir is a Sudanese translator and copywriter based in the UAE. He has translated and edited several works, including Modern Sudanese Poetry: an Anthology (Nebraska, 2019) and Mansi: A Rare Man in His Own Way, by Tayeb Salih (Banipal Books, London, 2020). His latest book, The Beauty Hunters: Sudanese Bedouin Poetry: Evolution and Impact, was published by University of Nebraska Press in April 2023.