Singing against the war, for the people

Across history, art has been the vessel through which artists give voice to the people’s grief, joy, and constant transformation. The artist speaks on behalf of the collective, translating its pulse and giving form to its hopes and wounds. Just as angels carry divine messages to the prophets of the earth, gifted and awakened creative spirits bear an artistic message addressed to humanity itself. Sudanese music, grounded in the pentatonic scale, carries a distinctive rhythm that reaches straight into the heart. This same quality defines the Sudanese guitar, whose voice remains inseparable from this ancient musical system.

Sudanese art has moved through many phases, from Haqeeba songs to folk and heritage music, from the sounds of the rababa and naqqara to songs performed in local languages, dialects, and colloquial speech, including Sudanese tarab and rap. Each genre has cultivated its own audience, and through this multiplicity Sudan’s artistic legacy has taken shape. Within the language of art, I believe there is no inferior art and no superior art. There is only art that has been understood and art that still awaits understanding. Artists, after all, are painters of this vast universe. Some are not fully grasped in their own time, yet their work may speak clearly to generations that have yet to arrive.

This country is rich with luminous artistic figures such as Ahmed Al-Mustafa, Mustafa Said Ahmed, Abdel Karim Al-Kabali, Aisha Al-Falatiya, Mohamed Wardi, Sayed Khalifa, Omar Ihsas, Zidan Ibrahim, and Insaf Fathi, known as the Songbird of Sudan. Yet despite this abundance, Sudan has been worn down by war from the moment the state was formed until the present day. In response, many creators, artists, and singers have consistently called for an end to conflict, raising the banners of peace, security, and stability. They address every layer of Sudanese society, seeking to entrench coexistence among tribes, peoples, and ethnic groups.

Among the constellation of artists who sing for peace is Fadwa Farid. Born to a mother from western Sudan and a father from the beloved south, she was raised in the country’s center, in Gezira State. In this way, she became a daughter of Sudan in all its diversity, carrying within her the west, the south, and the center, shaped in a home filled with affection, harmony, and music. Since the outbreak of the glorious December Revolution, she has hummed songs that echo the aspirations of a silenced people. When war erupted, she sang for peace with words saturated in honesty and emotion that cannot be fabricated.

In her songs, Fadwa offers a rich spectrum of themes. One example is “Yakfeek Sudani,” written and composed by Dr. Abdel Fattah Nouri. In this song, she sketches an image of Sudanese society at the moment it welcomes a traveler returning from absence, capturing the warmth of reunion when she sings, “In the past, when you returned, you found people whose worries were eased by your presence.” She then contrasts this tenderness with the present reality, saying, “You came back and found neither family nor loved ones waiting to embrace you.”

Between the two verses stretches a vast distance. In the past, the traveler was met by familiar faces and open arms. Today, circumstances have shifted so deeply that the returning traveler no longer finds family or friends at the moment of arrival. Here, the artist gestures toward the social and security upheavals that have torn through society, then widens the circle of loss to encompass everything surrounding the individual. “Not the trees, not the birds, not even the neighbors welcomed you with affection.” Through these words, she reveals that change has not been confined to human relationships alone. It has reached nature itself. Even trees and birds are no longer what they once were.

Confronted with this unsettled reality, Fadwa turns to music in search of an answer. In her song “Love of the Homeland,” she offers a call and a vision for deliverance, singing:

“The homeland needs its youth
Come, let us rebuild its soil
Love of the homeland lives in our hearts
Through it, we welcome one another
Let us fight regionalism
We want no racism
Love of the homeland is the cause.”

Through these lines, she highlights the need for youthful energy to rebuild and develop society, while exposing the social illnesses afflicting the national body, including tribalism, racism, and partisan isolation. She draws the listener’s attention to a simple truth: real healing begins when love of the homeland becomes the foremost concern, taking precedence over individual, communal, religious, and partisan interests.

In the song “Spider Threads,” Fadwa addresses justice and rights stripped away by authority, whether those rights belong to individuals or to entire communities. She describes absent justice with a striking image: “Justice in the middle of the sea, submerged inside the belly of a whale.” The metaphor is profoundly expressive, revealing the extent of oppression inflicted upon justice and rights. A people trapped in the belly of the whale must eventually emerge to breathe again and reclaim what was taken. The whale here recalls the one that swallowed the Prophet Yunus, yet in this song it becomes a symbol of ruling power. What lies inside its belly is not one individual, but an entire people and a whole nation.

In Fadwa’s songs, one hears repeated sighs: sighs of pain, regret, loss, of country and homeland, and other sighs that seem to rise from the chests of children living in camps. After all these laments, she poses a new question in the song “Why War?” with lyrics by Khaled Shagouri. The song contrasts days of clarity with the bitterness of war, carried by a sorrowful rhythm heavy with the sadness of the Nile. It presents the tragedy of war and gives sound to its wounds through trembling strings.

In “Sudana Bishilna,” written by Fath Al-Rahman Abu Al-Naeema, she sings:

“Put down the weapons, people
Sudan carries us
Enough destruction, people
We are loved ones
Banditry is forbidden, people
Sudan carries us.”

Here, Fadwa portrays war as forbidden on religious, national, and human grounds. Through these words, she crystallizes her vision of preserving life, seeing weapons and bullets as the eternal enemies of humanity. Her songs use simple language, Sudanese in spirit, yet rich in meaning. They avoid linguistic affectation, relying on words every Sudanese can recognize. She understands the profound impact art can have on the human soul. From this perspective, Al-Abnusa (her nickname) affirms, directly or indirectly, that art exists for the people, not for art’s own sake.

Fadwa Farid stands among the great women of my country. It is no coincidence that one receives a share of their name. Fadwa is truly unique in her art, distinctive in her rhythm, sincere in carrying her artistic message. One cannot help but ask how her words achieve such a deep effect on the listener’s ear. In “Balayto Blani,”, she sings:

“No regionalism among us
We all descend from Adam
Our dreams gather us
We heal and reconcile
We must throw down our weapons
And rebuild the homeland again
You afflicted me with calamity
You destroyed my Sudan.”

In this song, she dismantles the slogans of war among compatriots and offers a vision that lays the groundwork for unity. This is followed by the calmer melody of “Sab Al-Balad,” where she declares that rebuilding ruins is only possible once war comes to a halt. As long as gunfire speaks, no construction or renewal can begin. With gentle language, she leaves a deep mark on the listener’s soul.

In the song “Al-Nas bil-Nas,” she sings, “I am a wounded zoul searching for a homeland.” She chooses the word “zoul” rather than “human” to signal that she speaks specifically of the Sudanese person. Among the peoples of the world, Sudanese alone use this word as a marker of linguistic identity.

All that has been presented here stems from a purely artistic perspective. Naturally, some of these songs can also be interpreted through a political lens. Yet such readings risk stripping the words of their purity or diminishing their beauty. For this reason, I chose to frame this discussion within an artistic, patriotic, and human context. This is the depth of Al-Abnusa’s art. A single song can yield not one meaning, but many, depending on how it is read and understood.

In this way, she has offered Sudanese music a small number of words and an abundance of meaning. Fadwa views art as a noble message meant to raise social awareness and as a human bridge that gathers scattered hearts. Her work builds an artistic passage toward deeper understanding between communities.

She has never sung for war because Sudan’s social fabric, now more than ever, needs a voice like hers. Such voices can form the foundation of a society reconciled first with itself and then with others. It is as if her songs quietly suggest that a little music can heal, and a little rhythm can mend wounds. Al-Abnusa remains a voice that reflects Sudan’s harsh reality, reshaped into a distinctive musical expression. Her artistic structure rests on five pillars: questioning, love, freedom, homeland, and peace. Her music is a language, and her ultimate message is peace, and then peace once more.