"Two years ago today, during Ramadan, my son woke up terrified to the loud sound of bombings and explosions just outside our building, which I thought was a random sound of an accident nearby. Little did I know back then, my son and I were witnessing the beginning of the Sudan war (armed conflict between rival militaries) on April 15, 2023," reads Maya Gadir's Instagram post.

The war didn't knock. It kicked down the door.

On April 15, 2023, the first Saturday of Ramadan, Gadir was home in Aramat, Khartoum, an eighth-floor apartment, not far from the airport that the RSF first targeted and took over. It was early morning when the windows began to shake. First, a dull thud. Then a louder blast. Then silence — the kind that suffocates.

"We didn't even know it was war," she tells OkayAfrica. "We thought maybe it was an accident nearby, until the second explosion hit harder. Then it didn't stop."

Gadir is Sudan's first woman English-language radio broadcaster and a well-known figure at Capital Radio 91.6 FM. She made history hosting the nation's Independence Day celebration in 2019, which was broadcast live to 17 international news outlets. She presented presidential ceremonies for heads of state like Rwanda's president, Paul Kagame, and Ethiopia's prime minister, Abiy Ahmed, at the Republican Palace in Khartoum. She built a network that spanned borders and led a women's initiative called The Circle.

Yet, when war broke out two years ago, none of that protected her.

She lived with her 11-year-old son, who has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair. When the city exploded into chaos, they became trapped. No electricity. No food. No way out.

"We lived in Amarat area on the 8th floor, so every time an explosion took place at the airport or around our area, our windows shook violently to the extent that out of utter fear for my son's life, I went knocking on my neighbours' door, crying my eyes out, asking them to give us refuge."

For almost two weeks, Gadir and her son lived with neighbours on the safer side of the building — in defiance of everything she'd grown up practicing. "It was Ramadan. Men and women aren't meant to mix like that,” she explains. “But this was war. Protocol didn't matter anymore. My son's safety did."

Outside, Khartoum burned. The RSF, Sudan's paramilitary Rapid Support Forces, moved into neighbourhoods, looting shops, and taking over buildings. From their windows, they watched trucks roll past with mounted machine guns. They watched the city implode. Bullets zipped by the alleyways, cracking into their building's walls.

On days when the power would flicker on and off like a stubborn lighter, Gadir would access the outside world through her phone. "Although my family, who were all living outside Khartoum and Sudan at that time, kept calling me to boost my morale, it was difficult to see an escape route with my son because our area was among the worst hit as the RSF were in it."

She began preparing for the worst. "I told my son, we might die. We need to accept death. It will be over soon, and we will be okay. We should be happy — we're going to meet Allah."

The boy began sleeping with headphones on, trying to drown out the whine of warplanes. The sound of explosions was constant — some far, some terrifyingly near. "He was always scared," Gadir says. "I tried to act strong for him, but inside, I felt like a failure. I wasn't the protector I was supposed to be."

"Just a few days into the war, my only brother escaped the danger zone with his family, leaving me and my son behind. My aunt lost her life as a result of an explosion. My friends started leaving the city due to the increased bombings and shootings around heavily populated areas."

Gadir stayed in Khartoum for two weeks after the war broke out. There was no electricity, no phone signal, just the sound of shelling and the long, unspoken fear that came with every new day. But sometimes, by chance, the power would return. When it did, she would quickly check WhatsApp, those quiet digital corridors where strangers turned into guides. People shared information on where to find food, where to obtain medicine, and how to escape. It was in one of those groups that she first saw the message: evacuations were happening for British nationals.

Her son was born in the UK. His passport had expired, but he was a child with special needs. She called the number in the message. The woman on the line listened, then said gently, "Your son is a high priority. However, I can't help you reach the base. You'll have to find your way."

The base was three hours away in Omdurman.

A friend at the Egyptian border gave Gadir the number of a man with a minibus. He asked for $200. She didn't have it. But a neighbour, someone also trying to escape, lent her the money. That's how people survived back then. Through grace. Through each other.

She packed one backpack. Her son. His medicine and wheelchair. Nothing else. The driver arrived, and they left.

What should have taken three hours took six. The main roads were no longer safe, as they were overtaken by the RSF. They wound through back routes, bumping along unfamiliar ground, flinching at every distant blast. From the van window, Gadir saw her city unraveling. Shops she once knew, now gutted. Apartment buildings were crumbling. Cars were burnt to their frames. Homes emptied of life.

"I didn't want this to be my last memory of Khartoum," she says. "But it was. And it still is."

At a military checkpoint, the Sudanese army waved them through. A few kilometres later, they met the RSF. Guns raised. Orders shouted. "Everyone out!" Maya didn't move. "My son can't walk," she said. There was a tense silence, a pause where anything could have happened. Then, quietly, they were allowed to pass.

At the evacuation point, she found the line for British nationals. When they saw her son, they moved her forward, giving her emergency priority.

They were given food, blankets, and a moment to breathe. She thought they were being flown to Egypt. But when the plane landed, it was in Cyprus. Then, the UK. The Red Cross received them upon arrival, took them to a processing hall, and provided them with aid. Then they were moved to a hotel where they stayed for three weeks before being placed in a small flat in south London. Her son's condition meant the state prioritised their case. She was given a three-month visa. Later, refugee status.

They survived on state funds, food banks, and small amounts of money from families in Egypt. But the process was heavy. "You're treated like you've done something wrong," she says. "There's no kindness in it. Not like how refugees from Europe are treated. It's as if we're expected to suffer."

She remembers the day she broke. Endless appointments. Long waits. Being sent from one office to another for stamps and signatures. No explanations. No eye contact. Just that quiet erasure. She raised her voice — not in rage, but in exhaustion. It wasn't about paperwork anymore. It was about everything she'd lost. Her land. Her work. Her name. Her voice.

Since being granted refugee status, some things have settled. Their rent is covered. Her son's education and healthcare are provided for. But the toll remains. "Living on handouts humbles you," she says. "The only jobs I can get now are cleaning or caregiving. I used to host state events. Now, no one even asks what I used to do."

She often sits in silence. Not because she has nothing to say, but because there's no one to speak to.

"That first bomb in April 2023, that's the last clear image I have of Sudan. Before that, it was vibrant. Loud. Full of life. Now, it's a blur of rubble and checkpoints."

She misses the smell of rain. The noise of the street. The sense of belonging. "I feel invisible here. I feel constantly out of place. And the way people look at me sometimes confirms it. Like, I don't belong. Like I never could."

She no longer has a passport. She can't leave. She can't go back. "I'm just another refugee," she says. "That's what the papers say." But that's not who she is. She's learning to live with it. Not to accept it, but to hold it gently. "I don't want being a refugee to be the last sentence in my story."

The war in Sudan rarely makes headlines. It's quiet now, not because the violence has stopped, but because the world has turned its eyes elsewhere.

"When African countries are at war, it's treated like background noise. It doesn't trend. It doesn't stay in the news cycle. It's as if people expect Africans to suffer and be at war. So when we flee, we're not seen as survivors. Just bodies. Illegal. Other."

Maya says it softly. No bitterness.

"People forget that refugees had lives. Full, rich lives. Sometimes better than the lives of those watching from the outside." Counselling has helped. So has stillness and time. She's learning to carry both grief and hope. Every day, she wakes up not knowing what the future holds, but she is determined not to be defined by what she has lost.

Maya's journey lays bare the brutal truth: war not only displaces the poor or the forgotten. It reduces even the celebrated and accomplished to struggle, survival, and silence.

On Friday, July 4, eight men landed at Juba International Airport in South Sudan. The group included two Cubans, two Burmese nationals, and one each from Laos, Mexico, and Vietnam. Only one of them was South Sudanese. According to the U.S. government, each had served a prison sentence in America for serious crimes and faced formal removal orders upon completing their terms. A prolonged court battle over the legality of their deportation kept them detained for more than six weeks at Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti.

Since they arrived in Juba, their fate has been a mystery. No reliable reports have emerged regarding their whereabouts or current condition. When pressed for details, former U.S. border czar Tom Homan said, “They’re free as far as we’re concerned. They’re no longer in our custody. Will they stay in Sudan? I don’t know,” he said in an interview.

Their removal illustrates the Trump administration’s immigrant deportation under the “third-country” removal policy, in which the U.S. sends detained illegal immigrants to nations other than their own when home governments refuse to accept them. In February and March this year, detainees were sent to Costa Rica and El Salvador’s CECOT prison.

CECOT was billed as a state-of-the-art solution to gang violence. Instead, it became a symbol of systemic abuse. Human-rights groups have documented detainees sleeping on concrete floors, being denied medical care, and subsisting on spoiled food. Venezuela’s Attorney General opened an investigation into allegations of torture and sexual violence against more than 250 of their citizens sent there. The resulting outrage damaged El Salvador’s standing and raised questions about accountability at facilities run by private contractors.

By sending eight unrelated migrants to South Sudan, Washington made Juba its latest African partner in U.S. immigration policy. South Sudan is a young nation still wrestling with civil conflict, famine, and mass displacement while its institutions struggle to deliver basic services. Ironically, Juba agreed to accept these men just months after Washington revoked all South Sudanese visas in April 2025 over a dispute about repatriating a Congolese national.

Last week, five more detainees landed in Eswatini under the same U.S. immigrant deportation policy. They are citizens of Vietnam, Jamaica, Cuba, Yemen, and Laos, and U.S. officials say their convictions include murder and child rape. Eswatini’s government has placed them in solitary confinement at undisclosed prisons while it arranges repatriation through a U.N. agency.

Other African states have faced similar discussions. Rwanda held exploratory talks with Washington about hosting deportees, though no deal was signed. And most recently, Nigeria’s foreign minister rebuffed Washington, saying his country “has enough problems of its own” and would not accept third-country removals.

These developments reveal a troubling pattern. Washington is using its economic and diplomatic weight to enlist developing nations in enforcing U.S. immigration policy. For fragile states across Africa, agreeing to host detainees can mean aid boosts, security support, or eased visa rules. Yet these same governments often lack the legal frameworks and oversight to ensure fair treatment. If they follow El Salvador’s model, they risk swift global criticism and continued reputational risk should reports of abuse emerge.

As more countries sign on — and it seems likely — the continent risks becoming a dumping ground for America’s crackdown on migration. African leaders and regional bodies must demand transparency and push back against coercive deals. Otherwise, smaller, less powerful states will succumb to U.S. pressure while their own citizens are deprived of essential services and protection.

In January, Sudan’s army-backed government issued a new 1,000 Sudanese pound banknote, sending people into panic and the banking system into chaos. The streets of Port Sudan, the de facto wartime capital, were filled with citizens scrambling to file cash into their bank accounts, which should then be turned into the new currency.

“The process of exchanging old currency for new proved to be highly inefficient and cumbersome,” Dr. Mohamed Osman, who works at the Bank of Sudan, tells OkayAfrica. “A very short timeline was set for the exchange, leading to overcrowded banks, a severe cash shortage, and a general paralysis of commercial activity.”

The first images of this political decision were long lines of people who would sometimes wait outside their bank branches for days with no success exchanging their money. The second group was the same disbelieving citizens who were left without cash when the government realized that the banks could not print enough new notes to replace the old ones.

As a result, grocers, gas stations, and rickshaw drivers no longer accepted the old currency, but citizens did not have the new one to pay for necessary amenities. Banks began relying on digital currency, and in an unexpected turn, a country ravaged by war underwent a rapid transformation towards online banking.

“Following the deterioration of Sudan's economy, the government implemented a plan to bring money back into the banking system,” says Osman. “This was crucial because, since the Omar al-Bashir regime, most of the circulating currency had been held by individuals. Recovering these hoarded funds was seen as a potential way to revitalize the economy.”

This was the official narrative, but replacing 500 and 1,000 Sudanese pound banknotes (worth around $0.25 and $0.50 respectively) with new ones was widely understood to be a political strategy by the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) amidst their ongoing war with the Rapid Support Forces (RSF).

“Another objective of the currency change was to recover stolen balances and funds in Khartoum and Al Jazirah states and return them to the banks,” says Osman. After the RSF had looted banks, the SAF wanted to regain control of Sudanese cash flows, implementing a currency that could not be used in RSF-controlled states.

Even before this war divided Sudan into a two-currency country, it caused the world’s worst humanitarian crisis, widespread famine, and soaring inflation. From 500 Sudanese pounds to the US dollar in April 2023, it just reached 3000, showing no sign of stabilizing despite the new bank notes.

“The people of Sudan started a revolution against Omar al-Bashir because the bread price was raised from 4 [loaves of] bread for one pound to 2 [loaves of] bread for one pound,” Almuthanna Abdulmoneim Alryeih Abdulgabbar, an electrical engineer from Port Sudan, tells OkayAfrica. “Now they buy one [loaf of] bread for 150 pounds.”

Presently, most Sudanese in areas controlled by the SAF rely on bank apps for their money transactions. The Bank of Khartoum’s “Bankak” is most widely used, but other banks have created their own apps, such as Faisal Islamic Bank’s “Fawry” and Omdurman National Bank’s “Ocash.”

“[These apps] were initially not accessible to everyone and performed poorly,” says Osman. Once again, people were crowding around their bank branches, waiting for hours to simply activate the apps.

Engineer Muhannad Hassan, who developed Ocash, explains to OkayAfrica that these issues stem from the banking systems, not the applications’ design.

“Obstacles for the user in using the application generally arise when the application system is updated,” he says. “This is when the user faces difficulty completing transactions and transfers through the application, as the update originally comes from the bank's databases.”

Accordingly, whenever the system is updating or down, people cannot pay for necessities. In a war-torn country, this reliance on digital banking puts citizens, who are already suffering in the economic crisis, in an even more fragile position.

“Amidst this changing currency landscape, a new type of trade has emerged: the exchange of cash currency for balances transferred via applications, with financial benefits,” says Abdulgabbar. “For example, if you want to receive 100,000 Sudanese pounds, the profit from the transaction could be up to 10,000 Sudanese pounds, where you transfer from any application and receive the amount in banknotes.”

This process, which Abdulgabbar calls “nothing but plain usury,” is forbidden in Islam, Sudan’s primary religion.

He agrees that moving banking to the digital sphere is good in general, but says that it was implemented at the wrong time in Sudan, and for the wrong reasons. Like many others, he believes that the currency change’s purpose was to benefit the army, not the people who have nonetheless adjusted to this new system.

Osman strikes a more positive note. “Despite the initial challenges, there has been a clear improvement in the transaction system since the initial period, with the process of opening bank accounts becoming easier for the general public,” he says.

The Republic of South Sudan has been asked to pay a total of $74.32 million penalty after an international tribunal...

Source

A plane carrying the first batch of white South Africans granted refugee status by the U.S. government landed near Washington, D.C. today, Monday May 12, 2025. The 49 Afrikaner refugees are entering the U.S. at a time when the Trump administration is bent on dismantling most of the country’s refugee resettlement programs and generally laying siege on immigrants and immigration rights.

Earlier this year, U.S. President Donald Trump claimed that South Africa’s government is persecuting its minority white population and proceeded to sign an executive order stopping all financial aid to South Africa. Trump also offered resettlement to white South Africans, and about 70,000 people reportedly indicated interest in relocating to the U.S. as refugees.

The first batch of refugees is part of a “much larger-scale relocation effort,” according to White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller. The Trump administration’s acceptance of Afrikaner refugees is the latest escalation of its strained relationship with South Africa, even though its stance is partly based on gross misinformation.

Earlier this year, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa signed a land expropriation bill that gives the government the power to take over lands that haven’t been used for long periods and lands not being adequately utilized. Following loud complaints by the Afrikaner-representing civil group Afriforum, Trump went on to state that land is being arbitrarily taken away from white South Africans and also claimed that the Afrikaner population is being targeted through racist policies.

While many white South Africans have ridiculed the idea that they need to be rescued and seek asylum in the U.S., the Trump administration has made the refugee program for Afrikaners a priority. This is happening at a time when refugees and protected immigrants are having their rights to remain in the U.S. revoked.

Last month, the U.S. Department of Homeland Security (DHS) announced that it would not renew the temporary protected status (TPS) of some 7,900 Cameroonians. TPS, granted to people from countries dealing with armed conflicts and other dire circumstances, is routinely renewed every 18 months. The decision to end the TPS designation for the thousands of affected Cameroonians could lead to forced removals from the U.S. by late June.

Over half a million migrants from Afghanistan, Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua, and Venezuela have had their TPS designation revoked.

Also, last month, the U.S. government announced that it had revoked the visas of all South Sudanese and placed travel restrictions on the East African country. It cited South Sudan’s unwillingness to accept the return of its citizens in “a timely manner.” South Sudan’s government had initially rejected the deportation of an individual from the U.S., stating that the person was from Congo.

However, following strong words from U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, South Sudan accepted the deported individual, hoping to undo the visa revocation announcement, which didn’t happen. South Sudan, the world’s youngest country, is in danger of plunging into another civil war, and the visa revocation endangers the lives of those who successfully sought asylum in the U.S. and could be forcefully deported.

Trump’s stance towards Africa (and the global south) has mainly been antagonistic. He infamously referred to African countries as “shithole” countries during his first term. This makes the extension of refugee status to white South Africans a curious case, if not disturbing.

South Africa’s former ambassador to the U.S., Ebrahim Rasool, was expelled by the American government after he suggested that white supremacy plays a role in Trump’s relationship with South Africa.

According to a draft list, 22 of the 43 countries that could face travel restrictions to the U.S. are African countries. Libya, Somalia, and Sudan are among eight countries that could face an outright travel ban. Eritrea, South Sudan, and Sierra Leone would face travel restrictions, and citizens from 16 other African countries would need two months to clear serious security checks.

Sudan's bid to sue the United Arab Emirates (UAE), alleging that the UAE is providing the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) with weapons that are being used to commit genocide in Darfur, has been dismissed by the International Court of Justice (ICJ).

On Monday, May 5, the United Nations' top court in The Hague announced that it "manifestly lacked" the authority to continue the proceedings. Sudan had requested emergency measures to prevent genocidal acts against the Masalit tribe, which has been subject to ethnic-based attacks by the RSF and its allied Arab militias.

Since April 2023, the RSF has been in armed conflict with the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF), plunging Sudan into the world's worst humanitarian crisis. While both parties stand accused of committing war crimes, the RSF has explicitly been inflicting widespread sexual violence on women and girls and terrorizing communities across the country.

On March 5, Sudan filed the case with the ICJ, asking that provisional measures be taken and for the UAE to do all it can to prevent the killing and targeting of the Masalit people in Darfur. On April 11, the RSF descended onto Zamzam camp in West Darfur, home to half a million displaced persons, killing at least 400 people, looting and burning homes.

People are voicing their anger over the ICJ's dismissal on social media. "Lack of jurisdiction? It's the INTERNATIONAL court of justice; their jurisdiction is the whole globe," wrote one user on Instagram.

However, lack of jurisdiction refers to the fact that, even though both countries are signatories to the 1948 Genocide Convention, the UAE made a reservation against Article 9 of the Convention. Accordingly, other states cannot sue it over genocide allegations. The ICJ rejected the request for provisional measures by a 14-2 vote and ordered the case removed from its docket by a 9-7 vote.

"The Court concludes from the foregoing that, having regard to the UAE's reservation to Article IX of the Genocide Convention, this Article cannot constitute, prima facie, a basis for the jurisdiction of the Court in the present case," the court said in its order.

Amongst Sudanese, the UAE's relationship with the RSF is a well-known, undisputed fact. While there is no direct evidence of the UAE's involvement in the RSF's warfare, Sarah Nouwen from the European University Institute tells DW that Sudanese claims are based on suspicious activity.

"Flights are going from the United Arab Emirates in that direction," she says. "One cannot really explain what else would be there. The United Arab Emirates says it's humanitarian aid, but there isn't much humanitarian aid coming in. Many Sudanese say this must be arms. Otherwise, we can't explain how the RSF has been so successful militarily."

While online users doubt that the ICJ holds any actual power or significance after it failed to stop the genocide in Palestine, the court's decision to abstain from the horrors being committed in Sudan deals another blow to its fragile reputation and closes another pathway for Sudan to leave its hellish war.

When U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio announced in April that President Donald Trump's administration had revoked visas for all South Sudanese citizens, citing South Sudan’s failure to accept deportees “in a timely manner,” it sounded like South Sudan was being punished for refusing to cooperate.

But the reality was far more ridiculous and unfair.

The problem centered on a single passenger: a man on a U.S. deportation flight whom South Sudan refused to accept because he was Congolese, not South Sudanese. Yet America didn’t care.

Even after South Sudan capitulated days later and agreed to take in the Congolese man, “in the spirit of friendly relations,” the U.S. has kept the visa revocation in place. Friendly relations, it seems, are one-sided.

Across social media, South Sudanese described it as American bullying. South Sudan’s Information Minister, Michael Makuei Lueth, told the media that the U.S. was “attempting to find faults with the tense situation” in the country.

“No sovereign nation would accept foreign deportees,” he said.

South Sudan is the world’s youngest country and is on the brink of renewed civil war, threatening over 11 million people.

And yet, from the African Union and other African heads of state? Silence.

That silence is telling and extremely dangerous.

South Sudan’s visa crisis came amid rumors of a draft U.S. travel ban list in which most of the countries are African.

This is just one example of how Trump’s second-term “America First” agenda has hurt Africa, with little pushback from leaders. Since returning to office, he has frozen billions of dollars in aid, ended Power Africa, and imposed new tariffs that threaten African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA) trade and jobs across the continent. His policies are also threatening African students studying in the U.S.

Even South Africa, already punished after Trump suspended aid and controversially offered asylum to white Afrikaners, stood alone as it expelled the U.S. ambassador. There is no solidarity from neighbors. No AU statement.

Some may see America stepping back as a push toward self-reliance or simply wish to avoid Washington’s ire. And the African Union may still be adjusting under new leadership. The newly elected AU Commission Chairperson and commissioners took office in March.

But history shows the AU can speak up. In 2017, then-AU Commission Chair Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma condemned Trump’s travel ban on several Muslim-majority countries.

“The very country to which many of our people were taken as slaves during the transatlantic slave trade has now decided to ban refugees from some of our countries,” she told the AU summit in Addis Ababa. “What do we do about this? Indeed, this is one of the greatest challenges to our unity and solidarity.”

Today, the challenge remains, but unity and solidarity seem missing.

If Africa’s institutions won’t stand up for their citizens, who will?

It is common knowledge in the Arab world that Egyptians tend to overstate their cultural achievements. They successfully exported their films and music to the rest of the region, asserting themselves as an artistic hub for decades (and sometimes forgetting that they are not the only ones creating good art).

Growing up with Ramadan mosalsalat, other Arabic speakers usually switch to the Egyptian dialect when talking with an Egyptian because most Egyptians only understand their own dialect. As a result, there is a certain resentment when Egyptians dominate cultural spheres.

This is to say that I am aware of how controversially Egyptian April’s list of best North African songs is. But denying that the catchiest, most interesting music came out of Egypt this month would be a lie. So, at the risk of being part of the Egypt-centric problem, here are this month’s song recommendations.

Carly Gibert, Lella Fadda - “Everything new [remix]” (Egypt, Spain)

Egypt’s most-streamed female rapper Lella Fadda jumps on a remix of Spanish singer Carly Gibert’s “Everything New,” rapping in Arabic and Italian over the track’s industrial beat. With its ethereal back vocals and harp-like synths, “Everything New” is at once a hopeful spring song and a badass rap collaboration.

Nadah El Shazly - “Kaabi Aali” (Egypt)

“Kaabi Aali” teases the upcoming second album of Egyptian-born, Montreal-based producer, vocalist, and composer Nadah El Shazly, titled Laini Tani, set for release on June 6. As with her previous offerings, El Shazly creates a hypnotic, multi-layered soundscape, fusing experimental electronics and Egyptian rhythms over which she delivers haunting vocals. “This song takes place amidst Cairo’s neon green city lights and should definitely be listened to at high volume in the car,” says El Shazly.

Wegz, Tayc - “Girlfriend” (Egypt, France, Cameroon)

Rapper Wegz teams up with French Cameroonian R&B singer Tayc for Afro-R&B track “Girlfriend,” demonstrating Wegz’ versatility; the single dropped only a few days after a nostalgic return to his 2019 trap roots on “ElWa3d.” While the track is an interesting, unusual conversation between artists from different worlds, I would have loved Wegz to do a dance scene like Tayc for real revolutionary appeal.

Mazin Hamid, Eiman Yousif - “Ya Jamal Alneel” (Sudan)

Sudanese musician and actor Eiman Yousif, best known for her role in Goodbye Julia, collaborates with Mazin Hamid for “Ya Jamal Alneel,” an ode to the beauty of the River Nile. Over simple guitar and melodica chords, this heartfelt duet remembers Khartoum as the place where the White and the Blue Nile converge, invoking memories of joyful afternoons at the riverbank before the outbreak of war.

Dallo - “Ghara (Remastered)” (Egypt)

Cairo-born electronic music producer Dallo returns with “Ghara (Remastered),” a hypnotic journey that links sufi chants with electronic experimentation and plays with the voice as a soundscape.

Warchieff, Freek, Ma-Beyn, The Hws, TUFF - “Mahzla” (Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Somalia, Syria, Palestine)

On “Mahzla,” Saudi producer Warchieff brings together a powerful group of up-and-coming rappers from North Africa and the Levant. The track features Freek, Ma-Beyn, The Hws, and TUFF, blending their high-energy bars and various Arabic dialects with hard-hitting trap beats and an experimental soundscape built on an unsettling bassline.

DJ Habibeats, Felukah - “Hayati” (Egypt, Palestine, US)

Taking us back to the early 2000s, Palestinian American DJ Habibeats and Egyptian rapper and singer Felukah throw a garage party on “Hayati,” a dance track that makes me yearn for summer. Over Habibeats’ trap rhythms and R&B textures, Felukah delivers bilingual Arabic and English vocals that explore diasporic identity, a theme relevant to both US-based artists. The mood switch halfway through the track makes me want to hit repeat every time it ends.

Marwan Moussa - “Bosakber” (Egypt)

Egyptian German rapper Marwan Moussa, the country’s third most streamed rapper, is preparing to release his most personal album. The album is split into five parts, each section tracing the stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—after the loss of his mother. “Bosakber” is the second preview single, a fusion of hip-hop beats, sufi elements, oud arrangements, and shaabi that narrates the experience of heartbreak, trust issues, and spiraling mental chaos. The music video is a testament to Moussa’s love for film, which he studied in Rome.

Obie - “AS7a” (Sudan)

Obie is a Sudanese teenager with a promising flow. On his latest track, “AS7A,” he reintroduces himself to the scene after releasing his Supernova EP last year, and I am intrigued. Mixing fast, playful beats inspired by Afrobeats and Amapiano, paired with his effortless, assertive bars, Obie sounds older than he really is.