War is often considered a weapon used to destroy the present, but it can also be a catalyst to destroy the past. Memories, stories, aspirations and dreams fade away with each lost life, with each fallen building — erasing all traces of what was once thought permanent. 

Vahe Boghosian, a diasporan Armenian from London with family roots in Sudan, could not come to terms with the idea that his family’s history might vanish. In the midst of the war in Sudan, Boghosian began documenting the history of the Armenians in Sudan — the Sudanahyes — through a multimedia research project, sudanahye: the Sudanese-Armenian Heritage Project. 

Many are surprised to learn that Sudan once had a prosperous Armenian community, with a church, club and school. The community contributed significantly to the country’s social and economic life. It was close-knit, integrating harmoniously into Sudanese society while preserving its own identity and traditions.

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As Boghosian talked about his project and the ongoing situation in Sudan, his passion was evident. While his background in history and security studies at University College London has helped, he said that the driving force behind the project was not his mind but his heart. The following interview offers a glimpse into a fading past and hope for a future yet to be traced.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Vahe Boghosian presenting a talk at the Armenian Life in Colonial Sudan event in London

Milena Baghdasaryan (M.B.): What inspired you to start documenting the history of the Sudanese-Armenian community?

Vahe Boghosian (V.B.): My mother and her entire family are Sudanahyes. I remember, as a child, being at family gatherings where people would share these stories and tales about life in Sudan: the beauty of the blue and the white Niles, soirees at the Armenian club — but those stories stood in stark contradiction with the perception of Sudan in the media, as a place of war, famine and destruction. So, there was always this disconnect between my understanding of Sudan through my heritage and the worldview I was given in London.

At family gatherings, people retold memories and often remarked in passing that someone should write down these stories, but they remained passing comments made over an Armenian coffee, perhaps followed by a line like, “what lives we lived.” Then, in April 2023, the war started. I remember speaking to family and friends on the phone, hearing different perspectives about who was still there, what had happened and what remained. Around the same time, I realized this history was at risk — with each passing year, memories float further back in time. Understanding that my heritage was at risk physically in Sudan, and also the history that existed in the memories of those now reaching an old age, made me feel the urgency of preserving these histories to fill this gap — the absence of a documented history of the Sudanese-Armenian community.

The war in Sudan is often forgotten; the news focuses on Palestine or Ukraine, and Sudan, as per the aforementioned perception, is seen as a place in a constant state of war and thus, the scale of the crisis there is often overlooked. I wanted to challenge that narrative. The life of the Armenians in Sudan stands in stark contradiction to the image of Sudan we are shown in the West.

With support from the Gulbenkian Foundation, what began as asking my family members about the same stories they always told me — but this time, with the television off and the recorder on — evolved into a bigger project with wider aims. Most Armenians left in the decades since 1970, and the small remaining community left as the war started two years ago. Two Armenians tragically died in their homes at the outbreak of the war in 2023. Though a few hope to return in the future, the community there is essentially gone. Unless the history of this community is preserved, I see it similar to the destruction of khatchkars in Artsakh, of churches in Van or the risk to Armenian heritage in Jerusalem. Armenian heritage is at risk globally, and while we can’t physically save everything, at minimum we can document the history, make a record of it and ensure it can be remembered in the future.

Armenians gathered in Khartoum circa 1960s

M.B.: What goals do you aim to achieve with the sudanahye project? Is it mostly for documentation and preservation, or something beyond that?

V.B.: The project’s main goals are to document the community’s history, preserve its heritage and inspire art that reimagines the Sudanese-Armenian community today. It’s more than just historical research. Right now, there aren’t books, videos or museums about the community. This project aims to build something tangible, something that can be passed down or shared with people who want to know.

An important part is shedding light on the uniqueness of the Armenian community in Sudan, which contradicts the typical image of the Armenian diaspora. It shows diasporan life isn’t just about big communities in Russia, America or Lebanon but includes smaller groups like this one, who had to navigate unknown geographies, difficult climates and colonial hierarchies to survive and find belonging.

The Armenian story isn’t one size fits all; it’s a tapestry, and I think the story of the Sudanese-Armenians contributes beautifully to this.

Finally, I want to put a spotlight on Sudan itself. The Armenian story is also about refuge; my family sought safety and refuge in Sudan after the Genocide. Sudan was a hospitable place where we were given opportunities and were able to feel at home. Now, many Sudanese are refugees themselves in other countries. Amid the dialogues about migration and refugees, I don’t think many Armenians think of refugees from somewhere like Sudan as something to relate to, but maybe they should. We were refugees in their countries long before they were refugees in ours. I hope the project can help bridge that understanding.

M.B.: You describe sudanahye as a “multimedia research project.” What specific media do you use?

V.B.: We use a range of media to provide many entry points for different audiences — videos, photos, oral histories, social media posts, archives and community events. Instagram and Facebook are our main social media platforms. Our goal is to meet people where they are because different people consume information in different ways, and in the modern world, there are so many ways. Some prefer short reels, others photos, others longer articles. Instagram works best for us right now, but Facebook remains important, particularly for accessing older generations. We’re trying really hard to make history accessible and provide entry points for the different audiences.

M.B.: Who is your intended audience? The Sudanese-Armenians, the broader Armenian diaspora, the Sudanese community or a wider international audience?

V.B.: Our audience is wide-ranging. I would say number one is Sudanese-Armenians — the Sudanahye community. They have contributed stories, photos and collections. I see it as our project, it’s by us — it wouldn’t be possible without the efforts of the community.

Secondly, it’s the Sudanese people; with the current crisis, we hope our work offers a historical context and a point for reflection on their past. For me, ultimately, history gives us an informed lens to imagine a better future that stands true to who we were and are. If this project provides even a glimmer of hope or happiness to Sudanese people, I would be very happy.

Third, it’s Armenians more broadly; many don’t know about the Sudanese Armenian community, so it expands understanding of what diaspora can mean amongst narratives of resilience and co-existence. Finally, anyone interested in broader histories intersecting migration, empire or the history of the Middle East or Africa in the past century is also our audience. We’ve been pleasantly surprised by the interest from people outside of Sudan or the Armenian world in the project.

An Armenian play in Khartoum circa 1960s

M.B.: Could you please describe your research process? Are you collecting oral histories, or are you also going through archives, personal collections and academic sources?

V.B.: At first, I thought there wouldn’t be enough resources for this project. Before, a Google search would bring very little. The literature is limited, with existing sources mainly drawn from newspaper sources and accounts of the Armenian diaspora from the ‘60s and ‘70s. So, we turned to oral histories to widen our base of sources. Oral histories add color and personal perspectives, which are often missing in the way we tell Armenian history. Armenian history is so rich and has to cover so much that it often focuses on events, names and dates — things most young people now consider a boring way to learn history.

We’ve also turned to archival sources — in Cairo, the AGBU archives have been tirelessly organized by their archivist Maroush Yeramian and she assisted us in accessing these. We also accessed the UK’s National Archives in London and the Sudan archives in Durham. The former gave an institutional view on Armenians in Sudan, and the latter a bit more of an intimate one, as it is built from the collections of British people who ruled, worked or lived in Sudan. Then there are personal collections, photos and letters. Social media, especially Facebook groups where older Armenians and Sudanese share photos and memories, also plays a big role. 

Of course, each source has its bias; for example, the archives we studied rarely mention women. In this period, women weren’t running businesses or communicating with government officials, so at first it was invisible. But then other sources come into play, such as photographs. Photographs are sometimes controversial as a historical source, but for us, they are really powerful for giving a different view and for bringing history to life. By using a range of sources, we are making the project a well-rounded effort.

M.B.: How do you manage to find and connect with the Sudanahyes?

V.B.: My family is from Sudan, which helps a lot. The Sudanahye community peaked at around a thousand in the 1960s and remains tightly knit. I started with family members, and then, because Sudanahyes all knew each other, I quickly got leads for more interviews and materials, quickly finding myself on Zoom calls with people from Melbourne or Los Angeles. After gaining a bit of momentum, Sudanahyes would message me directly on Facebook. One time, I was doing an oral history interview in London, and the person even started calling other Sudanahyes around the world on the spot to connect me with new contacts!

M.B.: How do you structure your research? Do you focus on specific time periods, geographical locations (e.g., Khartoum) or specific themes?

V.B.: We use a chronological approach because I feel Sudanese history breaks down into eras, and within each of these, the Armenians had a different life. First, the Turco-Egyptian rule, followed by the British colonial period up to 1956 and then independent Sudan. Within these periods, the project explores themes such as Armenian cultural, social and institutional life.

Geographically, Armenians were spread across Sudan but became increasingly centralized in Khartoum, partly because the community institutions developed in Khartoum but also because the British put emphasis on Khartoum as a city they would build in their colonial vision. This gave the Armenians commercial opportunities. Smaller communities existed in places like Kassala and Gedaref, where there was even an Armenian school, though it is harder to find their histories.

Armenian Life in Colonial Sudan Photo Exhibition in Amsterdam

M.B.: How has the recent conflict in Sudan impacted your work?

V.B.: For one, the war makes the project urgent. The heritage is at risk if it’s not done now. After starting the project, I discovered that many different Sudanese projects exist to preserve different elements of their history in light of the risks, so this project is also one of those, but specifically looking at the Armenian angle.

Many Sudanese left with just backpacks, hoping to return. In addition to losing homes and livelihoods, their possessions and family photos have been destroyed or stolen. Some Armenians took family photos with them when they migrated in the ‘60s or ‘70s; many didn’t. The Armenian community, which remained up until the war in 2023, also lost everything. They are also now scattered, making contact and research harder. That said, it underscores why preserving history is so vital now.

M.B.: What have been some of your biggest takeaways so far? What’s been the most mind-blowing story you’ve come across?

V.B.: It’s been really touching speaking with the older members of the community. The world seems to be a young person’s world, with things accelerating at such incredible speed. Older people have a very grounded view of things, and by speaking to them, I am able to reconstruct their world. A simpler time where values, community and family meant different things than what they do today.

Of course, there is this powerful nostalgia: “those were the days;” those beautiful moments of the past that exist only in their memory and perhaps in a photograph.

But certain themes are repeated again and again, and they aren’t the stories about making money or problems between people — they’re usually about the Armenian club, about community, family and culture.

 The love for their community, the bonds with family, the culture they shared — that’s what people cherish and remember most vividly. It reminded me that in our busy lives, we often get caught up in the daily rush and forget the things that really matter.

M.B.: Many people associate social media with trends like dancing and selfies. How did you manage to build a following for a more historical project?

V.B.: Social media has been a steep learning curve. In that learning curve, I have learned that aesthetics and authenticity are essential. The content six months ago wasn’t as good or visually appealing as it is today. We have come to understand that there is a balance between the history being engaging but also visually appealing, between depth and aesthetic appeal. Our following is niche but engaged, and it feels like a community — a community with whom many have become personal friends via social media, including our archivist Fatma Salah, who is from Khartoum and I initially met via Instagram.

M.B.: What are your future plans for the sudanahye project? Will it perhaps turn into a book, a documentary, a physical archive or something else?

V.B.: We are continuing the research and will share this journey of discovery via social media. Recently, we had a photo exhibition in London and Amsterdam. It was incredible to see so many people show up from our different audiences and have a special evening. Those events presented our research up until now, which covers up until 1956 when Sudan won its independence. We want to continue holding this event and give everyone an opportunity to engage in our research. 

In the future, we would love to hold a more encompassing event on Sudanese-Armenian history — something larger that leverages other types of material, beyond photographs. Long-term, a book makes sense to contain all the research and wrap up the project. A documentary would be an excellent format to combine the story, our research journey and the current realities in Sudan now, which gave rise to this project. Through these different formats, the project is evolving into a lasting legacy, and I know that all of us in the Sudanese-Armenian community are so proud to have this and be able to share it.

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For updates on the Sudanese-Armenian Heritage Project — including when an event may come near you — check out its website, Facebook and Instagram pages.

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