This is a a wide-ranging 730-page account of traditional Sudanese medicine.I was born in the Sudan of Sudanese Muslim parents in Al-Dueim, on the west bank of the White Nile, central Sudan. I spent my early years in this town, and I went to school there. Since then, I have visited many towns and villages throughout the country. My mother tongue is Arabic, the main language of the country. I had a typical Sudanese childhood. I shared the daily life and activities of the people. My basic norms and values, I dare say, are those of the communities I describe in this book.At the age of four, I joined the khalwa (Quranic School), learned rudimentary Arabic, and memorized the first short chapters of the Holy Book. While I was there, I gained my first insight into the inner circle of religious healers, and at an early age, I saw the maseed (colloquial for mosque) and the Sufi followers.Many families in the Sudan have their patron saints that they consult or invoke in times of stress and need. Al-Mikashfi Abu-Umar of Shikanieba village, central Sudan, is the patron shaikh of our clan. At the age of five, my parents took me to his shrine, half a day's journey from my hometown. There, I saw the local asylum, for the first time, and was excited to see the mentally ill inmates under treatment. I had my first haircut there. My parents, with other worshippers, paid homage to the holy man. An impressive scene remained deeply engraved in my memory.During my childhood, I suffered every summer from attacks of epistaxis; I bled through the left nostril. Hospital treatment did not help. One morning my father decided to try his friend shaikh Awad Rahama, a laundry man in the market place, who was known as a traditional healer as well. He was particularly noted for his effective recipes for nose bleeding. The shaikh welcomed us and asked me to sit. He washed my forehead with water, and on it wrote some Quranic verses in copying pencil. He then gave me a hijab (amulet) to wear. That was the last time I ever had epistaxis!During my early life, I wore a variety of amulets. Some were to combat the evil eye, some to ensure success at school, while others were hafidhas (protectors). Some were paper hijabs, and others were mihaya (erasure of holy verse) that I had to drink or bakhra to burn and fumigate myself with.Several types of treatment and healing séances are vivid in my memory. For example, I saw the bonesetter in action. There was one in every neighbourhood in every village or town. Many were notably skilful and experienced. They used no painkillers while setting a broken bone or manipulating a sprained joint, because they knew none, and, hence, had to work dexterously. I remember Al-faki Al-Zubair and Al-faki Hamoda, the two notable religious healers in our neighbourhood. They also led the congregation prayers, taught the Quran, and stood as masters of ceremonies in weddings. I joined the Quranic School of the first, and had many amulets and bakhras from the second.The therapeutic musical extravaganza of the zar is a popular feature in northern Sudan. The zar is an exclusively women's congregation in which lavish musical ceremonies are performed. Several times, I escaped my parents' notice, and sometimes-even school, to sneak into one of the zar houses. I found the ceremonies fascinating, and still remember them vividly, and with pleasure. The rhythm of the zar music and the heavy fragrances that escape from the ceremony houses are unforgettable.Many Muslim Sudanese towns have religious Sufi fraternities called turuq Sufiyya (Sufi orders). In these turuq, people perform zikr, remembrance chants in praise of the Prophet Muhammad and Sufi saints. The ceremonies range from the highly rhythmic type of the Qadiriyya order, to the quiet melodies of the Burhamiyya. We joined the zikr circles whenever there was a ceremony in the neighbourhood; we danced, chanted, and always waited for that dervish who would dance himself into a trance.

This report is structured in five parts: national framework for traditional and complementary medicine (T&CM); product regulation; practices and practitioners; the challenges faced by countries; and finally the country profiles. Apart from the section on practices and practitioners the report is consistent with the format of the report of the first global survey in order to provide a useful comparison. The section on practices and practitioners which covers providers education and health insurance is a new section incorporated to reflect the emerging trends in T&CM and to gather new information regarding these topics at a national level. All new information received has been incorporated into individual country profiles and data graphs. The report captures the three phases of progress made by Member States; that is before and after the first WHO Traditional Medicine Strategy (1999?2005) from the first global survey to the second global survey (2005?2012) and from the second survey to the most recent timeline (2012?2018).

In developing countries, traditional fermentation serves many purposes. It can improve the taste of an otherwise bland food, enhance the digestibility of a food that is difficult to assimilate, preserve food from degradation by noxious organisms, and increase nutritional value through the synthesis of essential amino acids and vitamins. Although "fermented food" has a vaguely distasteful ring, bread, wine, cheese, and yogurt are all familiar fermented foods. Less familiar are gari, ogi, idli, ugba, and other relatively unstudied but important foods in some African and Asian countries. This book reports on current research to improve the safety and nutrition of these foods through an elucidation of the microorganisms and mechanisms involved in their production. Also included are recommendations for needed research.

In the first half of the twentieth century, a pioneering generation of young women exited their homes and entered public space, marking a new era for women's civic participation in northern Sudan. A provocative new public presence, women's civic engagement was at its core a bodily experience. Amid the socio-political upheavals of imperial rule, female students, medical workers, and activists used a careful choreography of body movements and fashion to adapt to imperial mores, claim opportunities for political agency, and shape a new standard of modern, mobile womanhood. Khartoum at Night is the first English-language history of these women's lives, examining how their experiences of the British Empire from 1900–1956 were expressed on and through their bodies. Central to this story is the tobe: a popular, modest form of dress that wrapped around a woman's head and body. Marie Grace Brown shows how northern Sudanese women manipulated the tucks, folds, and social messages of the tobe to deftly negotiate the competing pulls of modernization and cultural authenticity that defined much of the imperial experience. Her analysis weaves together the threads of women's education and activism, medical midwifery, urban life, consumption, and new behaviors of dress and beauty to reconstruct the worlds of politics and pleasure in which early-twentieth-century Sudanese women lived.

Arrest of Church Leaders