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In the midst of sand mounds surmounted by handwritten signs naming the dead, Khadom kisses the grave of his son, one of more than 200 dead in the unrest that shook Sudan.
It was an April morning when a freshly shaved Al-Moez drank his tea before going to the office from the modest house he shared with his parents at Al-Rimela, in southern Khartoum.
His office was in the same building as the Qatar-based news channel, Al-Jazeera, and near a long-standing protest camp located near the Army headquarters, in the center of Khartoum.
"The building was under the surveillance of the powerful National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS)," Khadom told AFP.
Shortly after arriving at work, a colleague started taking pictures with her mobile phone from the window of their office.
Out of nowhere, a bullet pierced the window and lodged in the heart of Al-Moez who stood nearby. The 45-year-old died on the spot.
Like dozens of other people who have lost a son, uncle or brother, the family has paid a heavy price to the Sudanese revolution that toppled its longtime autocratic leader, Omar al-Bashir, in April.
And now, the family of Al-Moez wants justice done.
His parents called for an official inquiry and asked his killer to pay the penalty "an eye for an eye".
But Khadom says that it is unlikely that the case will be judged or that the NISS will be found guilty.
Anti-regime protests that broke out for the first time on December 19 after the tripling of the price of bread claimed the lives of more than 200 demonstrators, according to doctors close to the protest movement.
Gatherings were held in front of the houses of the "martyrs", whose portraits were painted on the walls of the capital.
Outside of a dilapidated residential building in central Khartoum, we often see two boys, Ahmed and Asir, waving a small Sudanese flag in front of motorists.
"Blood for blood, we do not want compensation!" they sing if the security forces pbad in their vans.
Their uncle, Ali, 25, was shot in the back on June 3rd. The day when armed men in military uniforms brutally dispersed the sit-in in front of the army headquarters in place since April 6.
More than 100 people were lost that day and more than 500 people were injured, according to doctors.
"My brother died as a martyr, we are proud, and I am ready to die for the revolution," said Yussef, 35, with tears in his eyes.
"The blood has not been poured in vain"
Eman, 24, also lost a brother during the sit-in mbadacre, which the protesters had initially launched to demand the ouster of Bashir, then to call the generals to transfer power to a civilian administration.
A student in England, Mattar was back to visit the family and had just turned 26 when he decided to spend a night with the protesters at the sit-in.
"They killed him ruthlessly," said Eman, whose brother's fate evoked a social media solidarity campaign under the hashtag #blueformattar.
"Mattar gave his life, now things in Sudan have to change."
Last Friday, crowds of jubilant Sudanese took to the streets to celebrate a historic agreement between protesters and ruling generals to turn the page after seven months of political unrest.
The leaders of the protest stated that they agreed on a transition period of three years and three months, the first 21 months being chaired by a military candidate and the last 18 months by a civilian.
The protesters welcomed this breakthrough by chanting "the blood of the martyrs was not poured in vain" and "a civilian government, a civilian government".
But Yussef, at the center of the protests from the start, said he would continue to demonstrate because nothing significant would come from the Sudanese army.
"We still have a long way to go for a new Sudan … We must continue the struggle for future generations," he said, glancing at his sister's boys, Ahmed and Asir.
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