Drinking Traditions of Sudan: 5 Local Beverages That Define a Nation

Sudan’s drinking traditions reflect its diverse landscapes—from Nile date groves and Gezira sorghum fields to the Nuba Mountains and Red Sea Hills. While public alcohol sales have long been restricted by Islamic law, household-scale ferments endure in private settings and among non-Muslim communities.

Brewing is seasonal and pragmatic, shaped by heat that hastens fermentation and by crops like sorghum, millet, and dates. Earthenware coolers called zeer temper the climate, and women often steward the craft. These drinks mark harvests, weddings, and moments of rest after fieldwork from Khartoum to El Obeid.

Merissa (also merisa) is Sudan’s classic opaque beer, brewed from sorghum (durra) and sometimes millet. Grains are malted and dried, then cooked into a porridge-like mash and fermented in clay or plastic tubs—high-level steps that vary by household and region. No hops are used; lactic acidity from spontaneous or saved yeast cultures gives merissa its tang. Alcohol strength ranges from about 2% to 6% ABV, depending on dilution and fermentation time, which the hot climate accelerates. Expect a bready, lightly sour aroma with hints of smoke from hearth-fired grain; the texture is creamy and sustaining, more like a drinkable porridge than a filtered beer. Historically brewed and sold by women, merissa is tied to communal labor, bridewealth exchanges, and post-harvest gatherings in the Nuba Mountains and Darfur, and it appears in migrant neighborhoods of Omdurman and Khartoum. It is commonly served in calabash gourds and drunk fresh, often before midday fieldwork or in the late afternoon as a calorie-rich meal. Availability is discreet due to legal restrictions, but in private homes and at community celebrations, merissa remains a defining taste of western and central Sudan.

Araqi (also araqy) is a clear, high-proof spirit distilled from fermented dates—especially in the Northern State around Dongola—or from sorghum molasses near sugar estates around Wad Medani. Production relies on improvised pot stills and simple condensers; details vary widely and are often guarded, and quality control can be uneven. Unaged and transparent, araqi typically ranges from 30% to 60% ABV. Aromas lean toward warm date syrup, with a peppery edge and occasional fusel notes; better batches taste clean and slightly fruity with a soft finish. Distilling and selling have repeatedly fallen afoul of Sudan’s alcohol laws since the 1980s, pushing araqi into clandestine economies in Omdurman and other cities. Yet the drink endures at private gatherings, weddings among non-Muslim communities, and seasonal celebrations tied to the date harvest along the Nile. Travelers should note that legal frameworks have shifted (notably reforms in 2020 allowing non-Muslims to drink privately), and enforcement can vary. Where it is shared, araqi is sipped in small glasses in the evening, sometimes cut with water or tea, and accompanied by conversation and plates of dates or roasted peanuts.

Nabidh (nabidh) in Sudan refers to a lightly alcoholic drink made by soaking dates or raisins in water to encourage a short, warm fermentation, sometimes with a pinch of saved yeast from bread or beer. The process is simple but time-sensitive: in the country’s heat, a day or two can turn sweet infusion into a 1%–5% ABV quaff that must be consumed fresh before it becomes overly sour. Flavor skews toward honeyed caramel, dried fig, and a gentle tang; aromas recall date syrup and sun-warmed fruit. Households in Dongola and across the Nile’s riverine towns prepare nabidh during date season, chilling it in a porous earthenware zeer whose evaporative cooling both clarifies and refreshes. It appears at family meals among non-Muslim communities, at quiet evening chats with neighbors in Khartoum, and as a restorative in rural homesteads during hot months. Historically, variations of nabidh are documented across the Arabic-speaking world, but Sudan’s reliance on prolific date palms makes it especially local. Expect a rustic, variable beverage—sometimes barely alcoholic, sometimes lively and sparkling—that captures the taste of a recent harvest.

Bouza (also bouza/būza) links Sudan to a wider Nile tradition shared with Egypt, using wheat, sorghum, or leftover kisra batter to create a lightly alcoholic, nutritious drink. Cooks ferment a slurry of flour or crumbed bread with water—often using a house culture saved from previous batches—then strain to a drinkable consistency. The result typically sits around 1% to 3% ABV. Its aroma is mildly yeasty and cereal-like, with flavors of wheat bran, sourdough, and faint banana esters; the body is opaque and smoothie-thick. Historically associated with working-class refreshment, bouza has long been taken as a morning or midday pick-me-up that delivers both hydration and calories. In contemporary Sudan, where alcohol laws curb public sale, bouza persists in private kitchens in Omdurman and Khartoum, appearing after dawn during baking days or on Fridays when families gather. It is often poured into simple glasses from a cooled jug, sometimes sweetened slightly for newcomers. For travelers interested in culinary history, bouza illustrates how bread-making and brewing have overlapped along the Nile for millennia, using the same grains, microbes, and clay vessels that underpin everyday life.

In eastern Sudan, particularly around Kassala and Port Sudan, communities with Eritrean and Ethiopian heritage brew suwa, a sorghum- or barley-based beer closely related to Ethiopian tella. Grains are toasted and partially malted, then fermented in clay vessels; when available, bittering twigs or leaves known as gesho (Rhamnus prinoides) are added for aroma and preservation. Finished suwa usually falls between 2% and 6% ABV. The bouquet is toasty and herbal; flavors suggest roasted grain, light chocolate, and a green, resinous edge from the botanicals. Suwa is poured at weddings, end-of-harvest feasts, and extended social visits where coffee ceremonies also unfold—an east-African rhythm that has taken root in Sudan’s Red Sea region. Because of national alcohol restrictions, brewing remains a domestic craft rather than a commercial scene, but guests invited into a home may encounter a clay pot tucked in a cool corner, much like a household coffee roaster nearby. The drink underlines Sudan’s position at a cultural crossroads: inland sorghum agriculture meeting Red Sea trade routes, with tastes and techniques crossing borders even as they adapt to local climate and customs.