During a recent social visit, an unwell elderly woman speaking to my mother said that, due to her inability to attend social obligations – or mujamalat, as we say in Sudan – she has asked her daughter to attend on her behalf.
She passed the torch to her daughter, expecting her to fulfil the request and take her place. This is a practice many women pass on to their daughters, beginning at an early age, when mothers take their young daughters, and even sons, with them on social visits to family and friends. Through this, children are taught how to be social, the importance of social obligations, and their role within the community. This is based on the foundation of what Sudanese people refer to as a’dat wa taqaleed, meaning “culture and tradition.”
Fulfilling social obligations, or mujamalat, such as weddings, funerals, births, graduations, and other occasions, is a pillar of traditional Sudanese life. In Sudan, each occasion is not a ne-day event but a series of events. A wedding, for example, is not limited to attending the wedding day itself; depending on how close you are to the family, it can mean being present for at least a month beforehand, participating in various activities to help prepare for the wedding day—or days, or even an entire week of celebrations.
Some children accept the responsibility and try to live up to their parents’ expectations and standards of social obligations. Others do not, either by choice or because they are simply unable to. When it is a choice, these social obligations can become overwhelming, leaving individuals feeling burdened and burnt out, physically, mentally, emotionally, or even financially.
For those who easily accept the responsibility and follow in their parents’ footsteps, it comes more naturally because they have been taught from a young age. It is something they have accepted, expected, and become accustomed to without resistance; as a result, the responsibility does not feel like a burden.
Some feel burdened by the responsibility and expectations that come with being entrusted with mujamalat; not only those placed on them by their parents, but also those imposed by others who expect them to follow in their parents’ footsteps. In essence, they are being watched and judged to see whether they will successfully fulfil their parents’ place in society.
Some refuse to accept the responsibility, essentially rejecting the exhausting and overwhelming family legacy of mujamalat, believing it is impossible for them to carry it on for various reasons. And in fact, the legacy is dying as newer generations are less inclined or are simply unable to carry it on. Today’s fast-paced, time-consuming world makes it nearly impossible to find time for themselves, let alone for social commitments. People are hustling more than ever to make ends meet, with both fathers and mothers working long hours. As a result, the limited time left to enjoy life is spent selectively, focused on close family and friends, or on long-delayed personal errands. The only social obligations they attend are those they deem absolutely necessary.
There is beauty in a’dat wa taqaleed, and in being mujamil or mujamila. In Sudanese society, being described as mujamil or mujamila is among the most respected and admired qualities. It refers to someone who is social, always present for others in both good and difficult times—someone deeply valued by the community. Such a person is considered upstanding, and this character and reputation are what traditional Sudanese men and women strive to live up to. It is almost sacred.
Fulfilling social obligations is a core cultural value in Sudanese society, rooted in a deeply hospitable nature and a strong sense of responsibility toward others and their well-being. As I previously wrote in my column, Society, Culture and Tradition Above All: More Sacred Than Life Itself?, traditions, as a key part of culture, offer a sense of connection and continuity, linking us to both our past and our future. This is why we cling so tightly to society and its cultural norms: together, they provide a strong and enduring sense of identity.
Carrying on a legacy of mujamalat should be an individual’s choice, not one dictated or heavily imposed by family or societal expectations. Overbearing pressure can take away from the beauty, genuineness, and authenticity of mujamalat, one of the most vital aspects of what makes us Sudanese. While a legacy of being mujamleen holds value, it should not be placed too heavily on younger generations, especially in a society that often asks people to give more than they can, sometimes at the expense of their own well-being. Younger generations should be able to find a middle ground: not abandoning mujamalat, but fulfilling what truly needs to be done—being there for others while also being there for themselves.
Ola Diab is the new founder and editor of 500 Words Magazine, and the deputy editor of Marhaba Information Guide, Qatar’s premier information guide. Based in Qatar, the Sudanese journalist graduated from Northwestern University in Qatar (NU-Q) in 2012 with a Bachelor of Science in Journalism and has since built a successful career in the print and digital media industry in Qatar. Find her on X (formerly Twitter) @therealoladiab or on LinkedIn.
