Sudan: “We are consumed by tragedies”

Nearly a decade ago I was kicked out of Sudan. I was driven to the airport by the police, escorted onto the plane by the police, and only when I was sat on the plane was my passport given back. I had spent a total of about a year in the country, and far from being relieved to go, I was heartbroken. This was my home. I had friends in Khartoum from all walks of life. I loved revelling in the simplicity of walking the sandy back streets munching on falafel, buying peanut butter wrapped in cling film ad rapidly wilting tomatoes and aubergines from the central market, running for cover when a sandstorm hit – a wall of brown with plastic bags fluttering at the fore, and sitting on the street on an upturned plastic crate provided by a tea lady talking life, love and everything in between with friends as sweet hot tea was brewed and poured into small glasses.

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