A Personal Reflection on Pakistan and Sudan
Some friendships quietly become part of one’s life until they feel like family. Ours is one such friendship.
Since 2005, our families have known one another in Norway. Our children grew up together at Oslo International School, sharing classrooms, birthdays, celebrations, and the ordinary moments that often build extraordinary bonds. Over the years, we have come to know each other not merely as friends but as one extended family.
Last week, it was our privilege to host them once again.
Our dear friend, Dr. Majduline El Haj El Tahir, comes from a distinguished Sudanese family. She is the daughter of the late El Haj El Tahir Ahmed, a respected Sudanese lawyer and politician whose service to his country remains remembered with admiration. Her British husband, Dominic Michael O’Fahey, was born and raised in Norway and serves a Chief Judge at the Norwegian Immigration Appeals Board. Together they represent a beautiful meeting of cultures while remaining firmly grounded in timeless values of kindness, humility, and respect.
They arrived carrying beautifully presented Pakistani mangoes together with other seasonal fruits. It was a thoughtful gesture, yet what touched us most was not the gift itself but the tradition behind it.
As we talked during the evening, we discovered something remarkable.
In Pakistan, when we visit family or close friends, we rarely arrive empty-handed. We carry fruits, sweets, homemade food, or sometimes even a chicken or a young goat for the household, particularly when visiting our closest relatives or during special family occasions. These are not expensive gifts. They are expressions of affection, care, and belonging. They quietly say, “Your home is our home.”
To my delight, our Sudanese friends smiled and said, “We do exactly the same.”
In many Sudanese families, visits are marked by the same beautiful spirit of generosity. People often arrive carrying fruits, food, bags of groceries, chickens, and, on special occasions, even a sheep to honor the family they are visiting. It is not about the value of the gift; it is about sharing blessings, strengthening family ties, and expressing love through thoughtful generosity.
For a moment, it felt as though Pakistan and Sudan were not separated by continents at all.
That conversation reminded me how deeply our two societies resemble one another.
Both are rooted in Islamic values, where generosity is considered an act of worship rather than a social obligation. Both cherish the extended family, where grandparents, cousins, uncles, and aunts remain active parts of daily life. In both countries, children are raised not only by parents but by an entire circle of relatives and family friends who feel responsible for one another’s well-being.
Hospitality occupies a special place in both cultures. Guests are welcomed warmly, offered tea or coffee, invited to share meals, and made to feel that they are not visitors but members of the household. Respect for elders, kindness toward neighbours, and care for those in need remain deeply woven into everyday life.
Pakistan and Sudan also share a rich agricultural heritage. Rural communities in both countries understand the value of harvests, livestock, and food as blessings to be shared. Perhaps that is why carrying fruits or food to someone’s home feels so natural in both cultures. It is generosity in its most human form.
Our two nations also carry similar historical experiences. Both emerged from British colonial rule, both value education as a path toward national development, and both possess vibrant traditions of music, poetry, storytelling, scholarship, and intellectual life. Above all, both societies continue to place family before individualism and community before isolation.
These are not merely cultural similarities.
They are universal values.
In today’s fast-moving world, many beautiful customs quietly disappear. Digital messages replace personal visits. Convenience replaces thoughtfulness. Material gifts often replace meaningful gestures.
That evening, I made two promises to myself.
The first was to keep these traditions alive-not because they belong only to Pakistan or Sudan, but because they belong to humanity. A basket of fruits carried to a friend’s home may appear small, yet it signifies something far greater than its contents. It signals affection, gratitude, humility, and the simple joy of sharing.
The second promise is one I sincerely hope to fulfill very soon. I will visit the Embassy of Sudan in Norway carrying a beautifully presented basket of Pakistani mangoes-not as an official gift, but as a humble gesture of friendship and as a symbol of the diplomacy of shared values between our two nations. Sometimes a basket of mangoes can speak more eloquently than a formal speech. It reminds us that diplomacy begins not only in ministries and conference halls, but also around family tables, through kindness, generosity, and the traditions that ordinary people preserve from one generation to the next.
Perhaps this is how nations truly become closer-not only through diplomacy, trade agreements, or official visits, but through ordinary families who continue to practice extraordinary values.
It is my sincere hope that this reflection reaches the Embassy of Sudan in Islamabad and the Embassy of Pakistan accredited to Sudan. If it inspires even one new friendship, one cultural exchange, or one shared meal between our peoples, then these few words will have served a meaningful purpose.
After all, the strongest bridges between nations are often built not by governments alone, but by families who quietly live the universal values that unite humanity.
Sometimes, the shortest distance between two nations is not measured in kilometers.
It is measured by a basket of mangoes carried with love.
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