{"id":130425,"date":"2025-09-26T08:43:19","date_gmt":"2025-09-26T06:43:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/?p=130425"},"modified":"2025-09-26T08:43:20","modified_gmt":"2025-09-26T06:43:20","slug":"aswat-almadina-revolution-soudanaise","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/aswat-almadina-revolution-soudanaise\/","title":{"rendered":"Aswat Almadina, the soundtrack of Sudan\u2019s revolution"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Ibrahim Ibn Albadya (Khartoum, 1990) rarely talks about why he chose to stay in Sudan after war broke out on April 15, 2023. \u201cI usually don\u2019t share it with anyone,<\/em>\u201d he says. “The past,<\/em>” he explains, “can be a heavy burden\u2014a stone in the road you can only move forward by stepping over,<\/em>” and for him it\u2019s exactly that: a reason to keep going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like millions of Sudanese, Ibrahim eventually fled\u2014first to Addis Ababa, then to Nairobi\u2014but only after spending two months holed up in his studio in a besieged Khartoum. From the safety of his home in the Kenyan capital, he recalls those days: \u201cNo food. No hospitals. Dead bodies in the streets. So much killing. It was madness.\u201d Yet even as the bombs fell, one thing endured: his music.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ibrahim is the frontman of Aswat Al Madina, or \u201cThe Voices of the City\u201d<\/em>, a band formed in 2014 that became the soundtrack of Sudan\u2019s 2018 revolution, which toppled dictator Omar al-Bashir after 30 years in power. \u201cThere isn\u2019t a single person in Sudan who hasn\u2019t heard us,<\/em>\u201d Ibrahim says proudly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More than just a band, Aswat Al Madina brought together musicians from across Sudan to blend traditional soundscapes, reimagined through a pop lens. Their songs captured the everyday struggle\u2014youth unemployment, corruption, social injustice\u2014but also the beauty of daily life. \u201cWe weren\u2019t just creating music; we were creating messages that people used during protests,<\/em>\u201d says Ibrahim. \u201cPeople chanted our lyrics in the streets. That\u2019s how powerful it was.<\/em>\u201d He pauses before adding: \u201cBut we weren\u2019t making protest music or revolutionary music. We\u2019re artists\u2014we seek beauty.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\u00a9 Diego Menj\u00edbar Reyn\u00e9s<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Trapped in the studio<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The past, present, and future of Aswat Al Madina collapsed the moment the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), led by Hemedti, rapidly took control of much of Khartoum and established themselves in residential neighborhoods. The Sudanese Armed Forces, commanded by de facto<\/em> leader and army chief Abdelfattah al-Burhan, lost control of the capital, trapping hundreds of thousands of civilians inside it, and Ibrahim was one of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the first two months of the war, Ibrahim lived in his studio\u2014\u201ca big villa filled with amps, drums, saxophones, recording equipment, with a beautiful collection of guitars and basses<\/em>\u201d\u2014watching through his window as his city was destroyed day by day. \u201cI decided I couldn\u2019t stay silent.<\/em>\u201d With a fellow musician in El Obeid called Sarahan, he composed “An opportunity for Peace”, a track recorded remotely, trading files whenever power flickered back on amid shelling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eventually, Ibrahim fled to Gedaref in eastern Sudan, then across the border into Ethiopia, before reaching Nairobi. His bandmates scattered: some to Egypt, others to the UAE. He was the last to leave, carrying only a few clothes, a backpack, a laptop, and his sound card\u2014objects which he still keeps in his home in Nairobi.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Music as resistance<\/strong><\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Throughout his decade-long career in Sudan and now in exile in Nairobi, Ibrahim has never lost sight of his role as an artist. \u201cMusic\u2014being a musician\u2014is not just a trade. It\u2019s a calling. It\u2019s power. When you understand that this power comes from the people, you can\u2019t do it randomly anymore. Every song is a decision, a responsibility,<\/em>\u201d he says, settling back on the couch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The repressive socio-political climate under al-Bashir left no space for voices critical of the regime. Instead of directly confronting power, Aswat Al Madina learned to speak in metaphor. \u201cWe said things creatively, metaphorically\u2026 even subtly,<\/em>\u201d Ibrahim explains. One song, “Silsil Salwa”, seemed simple\u2014a girl named Salwa, a necklace\u2014but beneath it ran currents of corruption, love, resistance. During the Sudanese Revolution (2018\u20132019), a civilian uprising that lasted from December 2018 until al-Bashir was ousted in April 2019, those layers resonated deeply. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even so, their music was not spared from state repression. Ibrahim was detained multiple times, beaten, and even received death threats from Bashir\u2019s security forces. Their concerts were canceled and sabotaged, but, as he states, \u201cthey tried to silence us, but they couldn\u2019t stop it reaching the people.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aswat Al Madina became the first band to tour the country, embarking on The Journey of Love and Peace<\/em>: eleven days on a bus, playing city squares, bus stations, even airports. \u201cNot just in cities,<\/em>\u201d Ibrahim recalls. \u201cWe went to remote states. We brought music to the people. I\u2019ll never forget that.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\u00a9 Diego Menj\u00edbar Reyn\u00e9s<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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A future in exile<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Hundreds of food vendors in pale jalabiyas run stalls in Nairobi West, a neighborhood where Sudanese communities have long settled. Children kick a ball around in front of Ibrahim\u2019s two-story home, its living room lined with instruments resting against the walls. Sitting on his couch, he lights a cigarette before speaking. He takes his time to answer, he says, because he\u2019s aware of the weight of his words\u2014their reach, but above all, the responsibility they carry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not going back<\/em>,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Though an optimist by nature\u2014he\u2019s rebuilt his life more than once through music\u2014he admits he\u2019s worn down. \u201cThe war is just the cherry on top, but it\u2019s not all. It\u2019s everything before. Years of trying, hoping\u2026 I\u2019m proud of what we did, but I can\u2019t lose more years trying again.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nairobi is now his new base. \u201cWhen I arrived, I started working again\u2014gigs in cafes, music events\u2026 I had a few connections, so I started producing again.<\/em>” He began collaborating with local artists, carving out a space in Kenya\u2019s music scene, though without ever forgetting his roots: \u201cMy music is, always, by and for the people of Sudan.<\/em>\u201d Still, he admits that exile, the war, and having to rebuild everything time and again \u201cshaped how I write, how I perform, how I connect with people.<\/em>\u201d The conflict has crushed many hopes that, he says, people still can\u2019t shake off: \u201cThis needs to end.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Keeping Sudan\u2019s sounds alive<\/strong><\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The lives of millions of Sudanese have changed beyond recognition. So has Ibrahim\u2019s, but not the reason he\u2019s always made music: to endure. \u201cI don\u2019t release a lot of songs now because if it doesn\u2019t add value, it doesn\u2019t matter to me. I want my music to matter, to be remembered.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That desire to endure led Ibrahim, after arriving in Nairobi, to collaborate with  Safeguarding Sudan Living Heritage<\/em>, a project aimed at preserving and documenting Sudan\u2019s traditional instruments so they aren\u2019t lost. It\u2019s a worldwide digital library where producers can access plugins he has developed. The bongoz, daloka, rababba, among others, are the instruments Ibrahim is digitizing\u2014and thus immortalizing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\u00a9 Diego Menj\u00edbar Reyn\u00e9s<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Ibrahim left Sudan, and though he is certain he won\u2019t return, he knows a new generation is pushing to keep the country\u2019s music alive. One of the names that has spread most in recent years is zanig, a vibrant, synth-based popular genre\u2014usually played on a Technics 2000<\/em>\u2014whose influence has grown from urban areas to rural ones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI consider zanig music to be revolutionary, youthful, and deeply rooted in African rhythms, with a direct connection between Sudan and the rest of Africa. Zanig has faced widespread criticism, but its impact on Sudanese youth has been great,<\/em>\u201d says Ibrahim, who notes that Aswat Al Madina incorporated Zanig into their songs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The consequences of Sudan\u2019s war are immeasurable. It is a conflict not forgotten, but ignored by the international community, a war unfolding out of sight of the world, which the United Nations has called the \u201cgreatest humanitarian catastrophe on the planet.\u201d Among its many casualties is a cultural loss seldom counted: that of art and artists\u2014destroyed, silenced, or forced to flee. \u201cArtists are messengers, and when we\u2019re gone, there\u2019s an absence. But someone will always come. A new generation will carry the message,<\/em>\u201d he concludes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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With a strong presence in Sudan since the 2019 coup, PAM | Pan African Music released Gidam (Until the End)<\/em><\/a> in 2022, a documentary film by Arthur Larie and Bastien Massa. The following year, we presented a short documentary dedicated to the Tonjela<\/a> project, which aims to collect and promote the country’s immense musical heritage in all its diversity. In Sudan, as elsewhere, music is political and social.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Ibrahim Ibn Albadya is keeping the music that once fueled the Sudanese revolution alive. In exile, his songs carry both memory and hope.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":156,"featured_media":130411,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[11036,10913,7833],"tags":[],"location":[8280],"yst_prominent_words":[8403,8932,8407,8414,16257,8447,8402,8435,8543],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/130425"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/156"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=130425"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/130425\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/130411"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=130425"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=130425"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=130425"},{"taxonomy":"location","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/location?post=130425"},{"taxonomy":"yst_prominent_words","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pan-african-music.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/yst_prominent_words?post=130425"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}