This email series highlights voices of peace from around the world, to help you find yours.
This month’s Voice of Peace is Khawater Makki Mustafa, Search’s Country Director for Sudan.
“What do you think of gender diversity and inclusion?”
When this question was posed to me during my job interview with Search for Common Ground, I didn’t hesitate to reply. “I am the definition of it,” I said. It’s not the answer I expected to give nor the most professional one, but it was the truth.
I grew up amidst an era of patriarchal culture in Sudan, where women have few choices and men are confined to strict gender norms. There’s a saying in my country: “Whether she sits or stands, she is still a woman.” It’s meant to diminish women’s power, a lesson girls imbibe at a young age. But my father made sure I learned a different lesson. Among five sisters, I grew up in a home that valued education and varied perspectives. My father sent us to the best schools in the country he could find, and when men in our home were discussing important matters, he made sure my sisters and me were right there at the table.
I knew I had a voice and that it mattered, but I didn’t always know how to use it. I still held fear about how I might be condemned or ostracized for what I said. It was other women who continually gave me strength—who helped me find my voice when it felt easier to stay quiet. They reminded me through their actions that silence isn’t always strength, and that even a muted voice can move mountains when spoken with conviction.
I remember one moment clearly. I was working on a community dialogue project in Darfur that brought together farmers and herders—groups often in conflict over land and water. During the planning, a female colleague firmly insisted that each working group include at least two women. It might sound simple, but in that room, it wasn’t. Several men resisted. They questioned, they pushed back. But she stood her ground—with quiet confidence and unwavering resolve. She didn’t shout. She didn’t argue. She simply held the line.
That moment has never left me. It showed me what courage looks like in everyday action. It taught me that using your voice doesn’t always mean being the loudest in the room—it means speaking with purpose, even when your voice shakes. Especially for young women: your voice is powerful, even when the world tries to quiet it. Use it. Hold your ground. You never know who’s watching and finding strength in your example.
When I left Sudan in 2010 to pursue a masters degree in peace and conflict studies, I lost some of my connection with the country. But then the revolution began in 2018, and it was led by women. They formed a massive campaign of nonviolent resistance and developed coalitions that, despite incredible repression and violence from government forces, eventually brought the president’s unconstitutional rule to an end. I felt proud to be Sudanese, and proud to be a woman.
When the war erupted, it was this sense of pride that led me to return home. As my country was breaking into pieces, I began working with Search to build peace. Now, a year into this role, I can tell you that the strength and resilience I saw in those women leading the revolution is the same spirit that resides within each and every one of my colleagues. If someone was not passionate about and dedicated to peacebuilding, they would not stay in this harsh environment and battle such difficult circumstances. But our team is driven, resilient, and strong. When they’re forced to flee violence and work on the move, they gather under a tree for an “organic” staff meeting. When electricity is cut off for days, they find a plug at a petrol station to charge their laptops. When a project they’ve initiated collapses due to the war, they adapt and rebuild. They are the most resilient people I have ever worked with. I’m deeply honored to lead such an incredible team, and they inspire me every day. If I could, I would work with them forever.
Whether they live within or outside of the country, every Sudanese feels the sting of this war, and working among war’s horrors has come at a cost for each of us. I see the way it has traumatized my colleagues and affected their families. Sometimes we gather to share about these experiences, and we all—men and women alike—weep from the pain. We are displaced people supporting displaced communities and, despite the challenges, we’re committed to keeping the necessity of peacebuilding front and center.
Like many others, our society is fragmented, divided along ethnic and tribal lines. It inspires people to see our team: a group that reflects these differences but is not divided by them. We’re determined to embody a different narrative, starting within our team and families, and extending to the broader community.
My husband isn’t Sudanese. Sometimes when I say something he doesn’t quite understand and I struggle to explain it, I just say, “I’m being Sudanese.” Because being Sudanese means carrying the weight of history, resilience, and hope all at once. It means having endured so much, yet still choosing to stand tall with grace. As a Sudanese woman, I know how powerful and necessary our voices are—shaped by struggle, but full of strength. And as a Sudanese Searcher, I hold on to the belief that peace isn’t just an ideal—it’s our responsibility, and we have the power to make it real.
The post May 2025: Why I returned to Sudan, and why I stay. appeared first on Search for Common Ground.
