From my corner of the Arabian tapestry, I watch the clouds gather over Sudan with a heavy heart. News of Iranian Mohajer 6 drones landing in Khartoum hangs heavy, a bitter tang in the air that carries whispers of war, not peace. As an Emirati woman, a daughter of the sun-kissed dunes, I can't help but feel the unease gnawing at the edges of my comfort.

Sudan, a land of ancient pyramids and resilient spirit, deserves a chance to breathe, to heal the wounds of conflict and build a future painted with its own vibrant hues. Yet, the arrival of these Iranian drones feels like a dark stain on that hopeful canvas.

Why, I ask myself, would Iran cast such a long shadow across the Red Sea? What game are they playing on the sun-baked savannas of Sudan? My worry isn't unfounded. We've seen the scars of Iranian meddling etched across the region, from the Yemeni quagmire to the simmering tensions on Iraqi soil.

Sudan, a nation yearning for peace, doesn't deserve to become another pawn in this geopolitical chess game. Its people, my Sudanese sisters and brothers, deserve a sky clear of foreign warplanes, a chance to till their fields and raise their children under a canopy of hope, not the ominous rumble of drones.

Perhaps it's the shared threads of our Arab tapestry that make me feel this so keenly. We, the women of the desert, understand the sting of war, the weight of displacement, the yearning for a life where the air carries the scent of spices, not the acrid tang of gunpowder.

But fear isn't all I feel. There's also a flicker of defiance, a whisper of hope that refuses to be drowned out by the drone's engine hum. The Sudanese spirit, like the baobab trees that dot their landscape, is one of deep roots and unwavering resilience. I believe in their strength, in their capacity to chart their own course, to reject the shadows cast by Tehran and embrace the sunshine of self-determination.

My message to my Sudanese sisters across the Red Sea is this: hold onto your dreams, cling to the hope that blossoms in the desert sand. Remember, the sky belongs to you, not to the drones that cast fleeting shadows. Paint your own future, vibrant and free, with brushes dipped in the ink of unity and the colors of peace.

May the winds of change carry your voices, strong and clear, across the sands of time, and may the sun soon rise on a Sudan bathed in the golden light of its own making.