Sufi Whirling Dervish Beads At Omdurman Sheikh Hamad El Nil Tomb, Khartoum, Sudan
Hamed-al-Nil mosque in Omdurman, located in the capitol’s suburbs. The Sufis, all dressed in green, come here every week to celebrate their saints. The first echoes of the drums ring out, the crowd forms into a large circle of regulars and onlookers, and the chanting begins. The atmosphere is both solemn and joyful. The cyclical chant grows in intensity, somewhere between a prayer and an incantation. Suddenly, some men break free from the perfect circle and run to the center. They start spinning, arms spread out wide, and their eyes half closed. They will do so until they wear out, under the spell of devotion and egged on by the crowd’s cheers. For an hour, they nearly fall over, but manage to keep their balance. The chant accelerates. The believers, as well as the infidel that I am, can feel it in their gut as the same sentence is repeated over and over, “God is alive”.
A dervish collapses at my feet, and doesn’t get up… The crowd spreads out to give him some room to breathe. The sun disappears over the horizon, the call to prayer rings out, and the ceremony comes to a close. I then discover the extreme social range of the Sufis: businessmen rub shoulders with paupers. Ali, a rich businessman explains to me that the Sufis preach peace and a moderate Islam. “We are a bit like the hippies of Islam!” he tells me with a laugh. Some of the hair-dos around me, made from dreadlocks, remind me more of the Rastafari!
© Eric Lafforgue
Sufi Whirling Dervish Beads At Omdurman Sheikh Hamad El Nil Tomb, Khartoum, Sudan
Hamed-al-Nil mosque in Omdurman, located in the capitol’s suburbs. The Sufis, all dressed in green, come here every week to celebrate their saints. The first echoes of the drums ring out, the crowd forms into a large circle of regulars and onlookers, and the chanting begins. The atmosphere is both solemn and joyful. The cyclical chant grows in intensity, somewhere between a prayer and an incantation. Suddenly, some men break free from the perfect circle and run to the center. They start spinning, arms spread out wide, and their eyes half closed. They will do so until they wear out, under the spell of devotion and egged on by the crowd’s cheers. For an hour, they nearly fall over, but manage to keep their balance. The chant accelerates. The believers, as well as the infidel that I am, can feel it in their gut as the same sentence is repeated over and over, “God is alive”.
A dervish collapses at my feet, and doesn’t get up… The crowd spreads out to give him some room to breathe. The sun disappears over the horizon, the call to prayer rings out, and the ceremony comes to a close. I then discover the extreme social range of the Sufis: businessmen rub shoulders with paupers. Ali, a rich businessman explains to me that the Sufis preach peace and a moderate Islam. “We are a bit like the hippies of Islam!” he tells me with a laugh. Some of the hair-dos around me, made from dreadlocks, remind me more of the Rastafari!
© Eric Lafforgue