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Sudan's virtual cities
The popularity of social media platforms as a means of communicating between Sudanese is evident for example in the way the sites are used in lieu of physical closeness during social occasions.
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According to the Human Geography Lab Manual cities are characterised by having ‘downtown areas, buildings, highways, and other transportation networks.’ They also have ‘businesses, a large population, and a unique cultural landscape.’ In the age of social media and ubiquitous online platforms, can we say we are living in virtual cities identifiable by the same, or similar, characteristics as physical cities? And if so, is there a city, or cities, inhabited specifically by a Sudanese public.
The popularity of social media platforms as a means of communicating between Sudanese is evident for example in the way the sites are used in lieu of physical closeness during social occasions. Sending a weeping emoji or a voice message of crying and lamenting the loss of a loved as is done during the bikka via the favoured WhatsApp site to offer condolences to the family of a deceased is extremely common. These virtual ‘highways,’ bring one person in contact with another or a group of others. And it is in this collective space of WhatsApp groups, Club House rooms or X’s spaces, that these social media sites start to resemble physical cities. People with a particular connection or interest come together to discuss, find out news or buy items or services the familiar way they head to physical buildings to do the same.
This is a city whose downtown areas are sites like TikTok, where the excitement of the 24-hour entertainment space, attracts young Sudanese wherever they. The older, educated elites meanwhile gather in their virtual ‘cafes’ to theorise and pontificate about how to solve all of Sudan’s problems. As for businesses, these have thrived with traffic in this area mostly being driven towards Facebook accounts advertising their goods or services. From the latest fashion in women’s tobs to Eid biscuits, from property to cars and a plethora of services. This is a marketplace open to all so long as you have the ‘vehicle’ of access to internet and website.
This virtual city has the capacity to channel its users either knowingly, or via inbuilt algorithms, into the proverbial ghettos of echo chambers where they are cut off from the multiplicities of culture, language and ethnicity that characterise the centres of cities. And just like in the real world, only those who have the tools and means to get into and engage with the city can actually reap its benefits. Thus, while many Sudanese are ‘online’, many more are not. However, these unrepresented individuals and sometimes ‘neighbourhoods’ often have access via a relative or friend or when social media crosses over to print and broadcast media where it is talked and written about.
The unique cultural landscape of the virtual Sudanese city is arguably distinguishable by its idiosyncrasies and cultural and linguistic references and mannerisms. Hashtags are created to boost the latest trends and events using words that resonate with the targeted Sudanese audience. And now since the outbreak of war, this virtual Sudanese city has taken on a new more visceral significance as a place where the literal loss of the city with its familiarity and sense of belonging can be compensated even in a small way.
Cover image © Sara Elnagar
According to the Human Geography Lab Manual cities are characterised by having ‘downtown areas, buildings, highways, and other transportation networks.’ They also have ‘businesses, a large population, and a unique cultural landscape.’ In the age of social media and ubiquitous online platforms, can we say we are living in virtual cities identifiable by the same, or similar, characteristics as physical cities? And if so, is there a city, or cities, inhabited specifically by a Sudanese public.
The popularity of social media platforms as a means of communicating between Sudanese is evident for example in the way the sites are used in lieu of physical closeness during social occasions. Sending a weeping emoji or a voice message of crying and lamenting the loss of a loved as is done during the bikka via the favoured WhatsApp site to offer condolences to the family of a deceased is extremely common. These virtual ‘highways,’ bring one person in contact with another or a group of others. And it is in this collective space of WhatsApp groups, Club House rooms or X’s spaces, that these social media sites start to resemble physical cities. People with a particular connection or interest come together to discuss, find out news or buy items or services the familiar way they head to physical buildings to do the same.
This is a city whose downtown areas are sites like TikTok, where the excitement of the 24-hour entertainment space, attracts young Sudanese wherever they. The older, educated elites meanwhile gather in their virtual ‘cafes’ to theorise and pontificate about how to solve all of Sudan’s problems. As for businesses, these have thrived with traffic in this area mostly being driven towards Facebook accounts advertising their goods or services. From the latest fashion in women’s tobs to Eid biscuits, from property to cars and a plethora of services. This is a marketplace open to all so long as you have the ‘vehicle’ of access to internet and website.
This virtual city has the capacity to channel its users either knowingly, or via inbuilt algorithms, into the proverbial ghettos of echo chambers where they are cut off from the multiplicities of culture, language and ethnicity that characterise the centres of cities. And just like in the real world, only those who have the tools and means to get into and engage with the city can actually reap its benefits. Thus, while many Sudanese are ‘online’, many more are not. However, these unrepresented individuals and sometimes ‘neighbourhoods’ often have access via a relative or friend or when social media crosses over to print and broadcast media where it is talked and written about.
The unique cultural landscape of the virtual Sudanese city is arguably distinguishable by its idiosyncrasies and cultural and linguistic references and mannerisms. Hashtags are created to boost the latest trends and events using words that resonate with the targeted Sudanese audience. And now since the outbreak of war, this virtual Sudanese city has taken on a new more visceral significance as a place where the literal loss of the city with its familiarity and sense of belonging can be compensated even in a small way.
Cover image © Sara Elnagar
