Rahmi Mohammed Sulaiman: The Monk of Sudanese Journalism
By Sidiq Mihesi
Rahmi Sulaiman, the monk of Sudanese journalism as dubbed by the seasoned journalist Yusuf Al-Shanbli, lived a poor life and passed away in poverty. To him, poverty was not about material wealth, but rather about poverty of mind and spirit. He was as delicate as a thin oud tree that rain never touched. He had thick glasses that shaded his eyes in a reddish twilight hue. A redness born from hard work, struggle, and the hardships of life, yet they revealed a pure and illuminated life.
In the Arab market on the first floor, the Al-Akhbar newspaper was there, and Rahmi Sulaiman was there. We came to visit him and get to know him. The poet Mohammed Abdul Hai, Sharif Matar, Saeed Ahmed Khair, and the author of these lines were present.
It was in the early 1960s. Abdul Hai was in his early college years, Saeed was studying in Yugoslavia, and I was coming from Medani to join the University of Cairo. Sharif Matar was an arts college student. We carried poetic verses in our pockets, intended for publication, to present to the esteemed literary editor, the great poet Munir Saleh Abdel Qadir.
We met Rahmi, who welcomed us warmly as he read our hesitant poetic expressions in his weekly newspaper. Al-Akhbar was the intellectuals newspaper, or rather the bourgeoisie newspaper. It was a platform for creators, featuring writers like Gray Mustafa Sandal, Salah Ahmed Ibrahim, Abdul Rahim Abu Zekri, Ali Abdul Qayyum, Abu Amina Hamed, and Sayed Ahmed Al-Haridlo.
From the very first moment, Rahmi insisted that we share a lunch with him. We could hardly believe it. Were we in the presence of this great monk of journalism? We went with him in his old car to Dem, where he and his mother lived alone after his fathers departure.
He narrated his life story to us. He was born in Khartoum in 1929 and joined the Coptic College, graduating in 1946. He said that his father suddenly passed away, He was the epitome of youth and vitality. Instead of going to France, he chose the judicial path and became a clerk.
In 1955, Rahmi submitted an application to the British administration, which granted him permission to establish a new newspaper, Al-Akhbar. Amid the nationalist movement, Al-Akhbar was closed multiple times. Its owner even stood before the courts on charges of publishing news that criticized the British administration. The newspaper faced closures and fines even during the era of national rule.
Al-Akhbar continued to sporadically publish due to financial difficulties. However, in May 1969, during the military coup, the press was nationalized. Rahmi did not receive any compensation except for the license to publish the newspaper. He didnt own a printing press or offices. Amid the chaotic journalistic situation after the nationalization, Rahmi found himself outside the battle and went unnoticed. He turned to translation to make a living and worked with his student in journalism, Mohamed Hassan Mahdi, in a private office for advertisements and publishing. Mahdi continued to assist him even after leaving the job.
After facing displacement and hardship, Rahmi was chosen as the deputy chief editor of Al-Ayyam newspaper in 1970 and remained in this position until the popular revolution that toppled Nimeiris regime.
Veteran journalist Sadiq Al-Shanbli described him, saying, He lived in poverty, yet he carried himself with dignity. He never begged from people, despite owning the corner of his pen for a long time. He could have rented out his writing for a comfortable life. He compensated for that with an aristocratic inclination, using elaborate and grandiose words. However, he was never one of the white-collar elites, even though he frequented the capitals salons, hotels, forums, politicians houses, and diplomatic receptions. It wasnt easy to ignore or overlook Rahmis presence at events. This was because people sought inspiration from his ideas and insights into political events and various aspects of life.
He didnt belong to any political faction. He always swam in the middle ground, finding himself close to both conservatives and liberals. He was also considered a son of Khartoum. He admired Yahya Al-Fadli, a candidate from the constituency. While Al-Fadlis body was transported from Bayt Al-Awqaf (House of Religious Endowments), Rahmis body left a rented house, half of it made of mud, which collapsed when the devastating rain hit the capital in 1988. When his friend, the late Saleh Araby, rushed from his threatened home that night, both exploded into hearty laughter in a comic scene as they exclaimed, Like someone escaping the heat by jumping into the fire. Despite the scorching lightning and thunder, they insisted on sipping two cups of coffee on a hill outside the house untouched by the floods.
We collaborated on two journalistic projects after the uprising, the Al-Dostour magazine and the Al-Telegraph newspaper. One day, in the afternoon, he entered my office accompanied by four English youths wearing overalls. They came with Mr. Lad, the head of Al-Dostours London office, to install a printing press in Khartoum. I introduced the young men to Rahmi as our respected professor, who had conducted an intriguing interview with Rita Hayworth. She had spent a night at the grand hotel in Khartoum while on her way to London after filming one of her movies in the African forests. Many newspapers worldwide republished the candid interview, as it wasnt easy for any journalist to reach this talented actress, who shrouded her movements in secrecy and had strong guards surrounding her. The young men didnt show any surprise, as I had anticipated. They wondered amongst themselves, Who is this Rita Hayworth? I told them that this actress currently had three movies showing in Egypt based on the Akhbar Al-Youm newspaper, which I held before me, and two in Khartoum. She was even counted among the British crowns jewels. Here, Rahmi burst into a hearty laughter, saying in a humorous tone, These are people who keep silent, as if theyre cartoon characters. Do you think any person with green eyes could understand? We have intellectuals more cultured than them.
