{"id":38163,"date":"2025-09-05T12:42:45","date_gmt":"2025-09-05T10:42:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldsite\/?p=38163"},"modified":"2025-09-05T18:15:36","modified_gmt":"2025-09-05T16:15:36","slug":"why-wouldnt-we-go-mad-sudans-war-displacement-illusions","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldsite\/why-wouldnt-we-go-mad-sudans-war-displacement-illusions\/","title":{"rendered":"Why Wouldn\u2019t We Go Mad? Sudan\u2019s War, Displacement, Illusions"},"content":{"rendered":"<h5><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">I spoke with Maab L., a Sudanese mental-health worker now living abroad, who runs improvised psychological first-aid sessions for people trapped inside Sudan\u2019s war.\u00a0 Once a volunteer with the Bahri Emergency Room in Khartoum, she now counsels rape survivors, displaced families, and even fighters through WhatsApp and Telegram. Her work raises a difficult question: in a country where trauma never ends, is \u201cmadness\u201d an illness \u2014 or the only sane response?<\/span><\/h5>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Robert Bociaga<\/span><\/h4>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">The body forgets to sleep.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">It lies awake in a hut stitched from tarpaulin and nylon, ears straining against silence. Silence, here, isn\u2019t peace \u2014 it\u2019s suspense. The breath before the airstrike. The pause between raids. You count your ribs with your fingers and remember your cousin\u2019s name but not the date. No one knows what day it is in Arkoum anymore. Time was shelled with the last schoolhouse.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">There\u2019s a woman a few tents away who hasn\u2019t spoken since the border crossing. Her daughter was taken before they reached Adr\u00e9, a town on the border with Chad. Some say she sings at night, softly, to herself. Others say she just stares at the sand.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">And then there\u2019s Maab.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">She answers phones from inside a shadow. Not just anyone\u2019s phones \u2014 those of the broken, the hunted, the guilt-stricken. From a hidden location abroad, Maab offers psychological first aid to survivors still stuck inside Sudan. Across Sudan\u2019s borders, in refugee camps and bombed cities, thousands live through unimaginable loss.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Over 1.5 million Sudanese have fled since April 2023, many arriving in places like eastern Chad with no food, no shelter, no names for what they feel. But what if our framing of mental illness is an illusion?<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">She calls it \u201cholding space for their madness.\u201d<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">She has no funding. No office. No protection.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Just a cracked smartphone and a Facebook page linked to the Bahri Emergency Room.<\/span><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4><b>Grief<\/b><\/h4>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">The word \u201ctrauma\u201d has grown thin. It fails to hold the weight of a woman who watched her house collapse with her sons inside. It cannot contain the eyes of men who dig shallow graves for strangers because no one else will. Trauma suggests a moment, a before and after. But in Sudan, the horror is ongoing, unpaused, recursive. What name do you give to something that won\u2019t stop?<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">In makeshift clinics and WhatsApp support groups, mental health volunteers like Maab are learning to speak a new language. One that doesn\u2019t presume recovery. One that doesn\u2019t impose the word <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">resilience<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> like a stamp of approval.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cPeople don\u2019t want to be told to be strong,\u201d Maab says. \u201cThey just want to not be alone.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Her clients include rape survivors from Gezira, IDPs from Bahri, even militia fighters trying to sleep. She sends them breathing exercises when the internet allows, short voice notes recorded under a mosquito net: \u201cYour pain is not a mistake. Your breakdown is not betrayal.\u201d Sometimes she never hears back.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">In Sudanese culture, there is strength in not speaking. Men are especially good at this. Maab has seen it too many times \u2014 grief buried under jokes, under religious phrases, under stubborn silence. But she knows what unspoken grief does. \u201cIt chews at you,\u201d she says. \u201cAnd eventually, it comes out in ways you can\u2019t control.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4><b>The sanity of collapse<\/b><\/h4>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">In the West, madness is a failure of the mind. A disorder to be corrected. An aberration from the statistical curve of acceptable behavior. It is medicalized, medicated, made quiet. But what if that curve was always a lie?<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">In Sudan, reality is an open wound. Logic disintegrates at checkpoints. Time is not linear, and safety is fiction. \u201cMadness\u201d here isn\u2019t an interruption of life \u2014 it <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">is<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> life. Or rather, it is the only response that makes any moral sense.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cIf you saw what I saw,\u201d one young man in Port Sudan told Maab, \u201cyou would question why anyone is still sane.\u201d He wasn\u2019t speaking metaphorically. His uncle\u2019s body had been used to threaten the rest of the family. The killers returned two days later to ask if they\u2019d received the message.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">We call it PTSD, but what happens when the trauma is ongoing? What happens when the war enters its second year and you still haven\u2019t found your brother\u2019s body? When you still smell the sulfur in your food and your children dream of militia boots? Can there even be \u201cpost\u201d trauma when the future has collapsed?<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Maab doesn\u2019t pretend to have answers. She works in fragments.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">One day she listens to a woman describe the taste of rape. The next, she sends breathing techniques to a teenager hallucinating gunfire. Sometimes she simply sits with someone as they cry. There are no goals in these sessions \u2014 only presence.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cWestern models tell us that healing is linear,\u201d she says. \u201cThat we move through stages \u2014 shock, grief, acceptance. But I see people circle these feelings like a whirlpool. And sometimes, they go under.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">She\u2019s read the NGOs\u2019\u00a0 training manuals. She knows the buzzwords \u201cresilience,\u201d \u201ccommunity-based coping,\u201d \u201cpsychosocial scaling.\u201d But the manuals don\u2019t account for what happens when the very concept of <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">a future<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> is gone. \u201cThey want us to be stable,\u201d she says. \u201cBut why? So we can return to a stable nightmare?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4><b>What does breaking mean?<\/b><\/h4>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">One night, Maab received a call from a former midwife. The woman had delivered babies in Darfur for twenty years. Now she could barely speak. Her village had been burned. Her daughters were missing. She had found a dog chewing on an infant\u2019s hand.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">She didn\u2019t want therapy. She didn\u2019t want closure.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">She wanted to scream without being institutionalized.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">This, Maab thinks, is what the world misunderstands.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">That sometimes, to go mad is not to lose yourself \u2014 but to stop lying to yourself.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">To admit the world is unbearable. That death has become architecture. That no amount of breathing exercises will make your house grow back.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">In this way, madness is clarity. A refusal to conform to illusions.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">It is not illness. It is <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">intelligence<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> in crisis.<\/span><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4><b>If the world were sane<\/b><\/h4>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">In Sudanese folktales, madness was not always pathology. It was often a sign. A curse, perhaps, or a warning. In some stories, madmen walked through villages speaking truths no one else dared voice. They were feared, yes, but also respected. Because they <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">saw<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">In Sufi cosmology, madness was sometimes a veil \u2014 a way to see what others refused to look at. A dervish spinning in ecstasy, a prophet exiled to the desert, a widow who speaks to the dead. Madness wasn\u2019t exile. It was return.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Today, in the camps and crumbled towns, those ancient myths feel strangely contemporary&#8230;<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">A sheikh gone mad might speak in riddles. A woman talking to rivers might be touched by djinn. But no one assumed their minds were broken. The world, perhaps, had broken around them.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Today, again\u2026. People wander in shock, muttering. Women sing to invisible children. A young man in Kassala wears his brother\u2019s uniform every day, waiting for a body that will not return. These aren\u2019t clinical cases. These are stories no one should have to carry.<br \/>\n<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cWe say \u2018!\u062e\u0644\u0627\u0635\u2019 a lot,\u201d Maab says. \u201cIt means: enough, it\u2019s over. But it also means: I can\u2019t feel anymore.\u201d<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">She hears this word from men who used to organize protests. From women who used to run kitchens for the resistance.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cI don\u2019t think they\u2019re sick,\u201d she says. \u201cI think they\u2019re speaking the truth.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Because how else do you survive the grotesque absurdity of war \u2014 where the Rapid Support Forces demand allegiance and then burn the house they slept in? Where neighbors turn into looters and no one calls it betrayal, because betrayal is now strategy? Where the absence of gunfire feels suspicious, not safe?<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">So she asks:<\/span><\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\"><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">If the world were sane, would we still call this madness?<\/span><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4><b>Healing: not hope<\/b><\/h4>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Amid this collapse, there are still gestures. Small ones. A shared phone battery. A borrowed SIM card. A water jug carried across a checkpoint. These are not acts of hope. Hope, too, has become a lie.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">These are acts of presence. Of staying. Of saying: <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">you haven\u2019t vanished yet<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Maab helps organize support threads for displaced Sudanese on Telegram. The chats go dead for days \u2014 then flood again with voice notes, crying, prayers. Sometimes someone shares a Sufi poem. Or a grandmother\u2019s lullaby. Memory, too, becomes a kind of medicine.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cIn our culture, we talk to the dead,\u201d Maab says. \u201cWe ask for guidance. We believe the soul doesn\u2019t leave right away. That it lingers.\u201d<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">So sometimes she asks her clients: \u201cWho do you talk to when it\u2019s unbearable?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">And the answers come:<\/span><\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\"><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cMy mother.\u201d<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cThe river behind our house.\u201d<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cNo one. I just whisper into the night.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">She believes healing might start here \u2014 not with diagnosis or pills, but with permission.<\/span><\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\"><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Permission to break.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">To not be okay.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">To mourn out loud.<\/span><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4><b>Vocabulary<\/b><\/h4>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">In the camps, people don\u2019t ask, <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">How are you?<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> They ask, <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Are you still there?<br \/>\n<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">A mother might answer by showing her son\u2019s sandals. A boy might respond by handing you a cracked photo. Presence is not assumed here \u2014 it must be proven.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Maab continues her sessions through low-signal calls and WhatsApp threads that flicker like candlelight. She still receives messages from inside Khartoum, from Wad Madani, from places where aid cannot reach but grief always does.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">And she listens.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Sometimes she teaches clients to breathe with their hands on their chests, to name the colors in their rooms. But often, she just waits. She\u2019s learned that in trauma, silence is not absence \u2014 it\u2019s survival.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cI don\u2019t tell people to get better,\u201d she says. \u201cI ask them what they can carry today. Even if it\u2019s only their own name.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Outside formal therapy, mental health remains coded in Sudanese daily life \u2014 in <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">hakamat<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> chants, in tea circle gossip, in the Sufi dervish\u2019s spin. These rituals hold more than cultural value. They are systems of release. Ways to scream without making a sound.<\/span><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4><b>No one is coming<\/b><\/h4>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">There\u2019s a line Maab no longer says: <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Help is on the way.<br \/>\n<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">She stopped saying it when the ceasefires failed.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">When the international community looked away.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">When refugee camps swelled and Sudan became another headline people forgot how to pronounce.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Instead, she says:<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cWe\u2019re the ones we have.\u201d<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">It\u2019s not meant to inspire. It\u2019s a fact.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">What if madness isn\u2019t a crisis? What if it\u2019s an inheritance? A form of knowledge passed down in stories that no longer fit on aid reports? What if the women whispering into the dark are not broken \u2014 but <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">tuned in<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> to a frequency the world has chosen to ignore?<\/span><\/p>\n<h4><b><br \/>\nWhy wouldn\u2019t we go <\/b><b><i>mad<\/i><\/b><b>?<\/b><\/h4>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\"><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">And so this ends where it began.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Not with resolution.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Not with strength.<br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">But with a question that refuses to be answered.<\/span><\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\"><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">When<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> all that is sane has crumbled and passed,<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"><br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">When <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">truth<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> wears the mask of a lunatic&#8217;s cast,<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"><br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">When survival <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">feels<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> twisted, cruel, and unclean\u2014<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"><br \/>\n<\/span><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Then <\/span><i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\">madness<\/span><\/i><span style=\"font-weight: 400;\"> may not be the foe it may seem.<\/span><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>A former volunteer in Khartoum questions if &#8220;madness&#8221; is an illness or a rational response in a trauma-ridden country.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":913,"featured_media":38234,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[12,4734],"tags":[525,1069,1624,1712],"coauthors":[4349],"class_list":["post-38163","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-essay","category-tmr-53-out-of-our-minds","tag-displacement","tag-madness","tag-sudan","tag-trauma","entry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.8 (Yoast SEO v27.3) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Why Wouldn\u2019t We Go Mad? 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