In residence: “Literature is the only way to talk about war”

Sudanese writer Abdelaziz Baraka Sakin (63) places community at the heart of his work, even when writing about one of the world’s greatest humanitarian crises. During his residency at Passa Porta in March 2026, he writes and looks back on his life in Darfur, his exile and the role of literature in times of violence.

By Savannah Petrieux, Willem Bakelants and Lisa van Leeuwen (MA Journalism KULeuven)

Sakin, born in Kassala and with roots stretching across Chad and Ethiopia, embodies the complex identity of Sudan. His work was banned by the regime, but still circulates clandestinely in his homeland. “I am not a refugee,” he says. “I am an exile.”

Writing from fear and testimony

His most famous novel, The Messiah of Darfur, did not arise from ambition, but from the continual confrontation with reality. While working in Darfur for organisations such as UNICEF, he witnessed the consequences of war on a daily basis. “My greatest source of inspiration is fear,” he explains. “When I write, I have no fear. But afterwards I get scared.”

One image stayed with him: a woman who waited for her children outside a school every single day, even when they had been murdered by Janjaweed militias. “I thought: if I don’t tell her story, what else is there for me to write about?”

These personal stories form the core of his work. His novel depicts not only violence, but also resilience, with strong female characters who persevere in extreme circumstances. “This book isn’t for lazy readers,” he says. “I want them to make an effort.”

For Sakin, literature is more than art: it is a necessary form of testimony. In a context where journalism is often impossible, fiction takes on that role. “Journalists are not allowed to work freely in Sudan. The government does not want the world to see how communities are being destroyed,” he says. “Literature can show what they do not see.” According to him, journalistic analyses often remain superficial and politically biased, whilst literature delves deeper into human experiences. “It is the only way for me to speak about war.”

A country that was never truly one

Sakin places the conflict in Sudan within a broader historical context. In his view, the country has never really been a unified whole. Colonial borders, drawn by European powers, brought together diverse peoples without taking their differences into account.

“My people, the Massalit, were simply split in two between Chad and Sudan,” he says. “We had our own systems, our own leaders.”

That diversity — ethnic, religious and cultural — makes governance complex. Sakin is therefore critical of the idea that Western democracy is the solution.

“Democracy is part of your history, not mine,” he argues. “In my community, a system with a sultan and a council of villages works. That is representation as well.”

He emphasises that his criticism of democracy is not a rejection of human rights, but of what he sees as a model that is not universally applicable. In this regard, he refers to thinkers such as Frantz Fanon and Noam Chomsky, and the idea of the “white mask”: the adoption of European conceptual frameworks without questioning them.

War, power and international silence

According to Sakin, international interests play a major role in the continual absence of an effective intervention. Although Sudan is rich in natural resources, he sees how external powers are indirectly involved. “Other countries are already waging the war,” he says. “They send weapons in exchange for gold, fertile land and access to the Red Sea.” He is critical of international organisations and the media, which he believes often fall short. “Real change only comes when a country becomes of interest to them.”

Since his exile in 2016, Sakin has been writing increasingly about exile. He describes life as a migrant as a state of permanent uprooting.

“As a stranger, you no longer belong anywhere — not in time, not in space, not in language,” he says. “In my village, I knew every tree, every season. That is the language of a place.”

He also challenges stereotypical images of refugees. “People think everyone comes to Europe for money. But many Europeans are poor themselves. Those clichés aren’t true.”

Community as a brace

Despite everything, community remains a central theme in his work. Where politics fails and violence prevails, Sakin sees human connection as a form of resistance. His writing serves both as a warning and a reminder — of what was lost, but also of what endures. “I tried to warn my people,” he says. “Nobody believed me. So I left. I am not a fighter. I am a writer.”

With thanks to Catherine Vuylsteke
Translated from Dutch by Nina Vannieuwenhuyse