October 29, 2012

Tears of the Desert

"For two hours they held the school. They abused the girls in front of their friends, forcing them to watch what they were doing. Any girls who tried to resist were beaten in the head with sticks or rifle butts.
"Before they left, they spat on us and urinated on us," Sumiah whispered. "They said: 'We will let you live so you can tell you mothers and fathers and brothers what we did to you. Tell them from us: If you stay, the same and worse will happen to you all. Next time, we will show no mercy. Leave this land. Sudan is for the Arabs. It is not for black dogs and slaves'"          ~Tears of the Desert [Halimah Bashir]


As I read these words I blubbered up like a child as I came to realize that nothing I had gone through during my few years on this planet could possibly compare to the horror and grief those young girls must have experienced. But more than that I was utterly ashamed, because the author, a Darfurian of pure, African Zaghawa decent, blamed the Arabs for the horrific crimes committed against the people of Darfur, and somewhere in my heart I knew that she was not completely off. Halimah Bashir relays the atrocities committed by the Janjaweed onto young school girls between the ages of seven and thirteen. The Janjaweed are a coalition of gunmen from different Sudanese Arab tribes who have been employed to do the Sudanese government's "dirty work" in Darfur, and, recently, Eastern Chad. Surely, there aren't very many people who have not heard of the war ON Darfur (I say on because it is a war of terror, where the weaker entity is slowly, and fiercely being eliminated. Some have even gone so far as to call it a genocide, and who is to say it isn't at this point.) But the war in itself is an evasive topic many men before me have done a better job than I can ever attempt to do, trying to explain and describe it. As such, this piece might mention the war, but shall dwell on those who stand by idly watching it with little knowledge of the essence and meanings behind the oppression in Darfur.

The other day I was walking to class when  a stand bearing a large banner that read "Help the Women of Darfur!" bought my attention. I felt obliged to walk over and ask the two young American ladies what they were up to. Apparently they were supporting some aid organization by selling chap-sticks covered in the Super Man logo. Without thought, I quickly took out what money I had and handed it over to the wide-eyed blonde who was speaking. As I handed her the money I told her that I was Sudanese and had felt obliged to come here and "help" upon reading "Darfur" on their banner. The girl smiled, nodded and said "Oh", as she handed me a chap-stick and wished me a good day. Clearly she had no clue where Sudan or Darfur was, or how it was related to what they were doing, since she gave me a look that read "Why would you tell us this?". To her, this was just another African cause, for that distant, dark continent full of woes and misgivings. Upon further thought, I was confused, and I wondered if the few dollars I had just helped or harmed the humble people of Darfur. More likely than not, the money would not even make it to those who needed it the most, so I decided neither.

As such I wonder, when people refer to Darfur in their substantial speeches of crime and genocide, do they actually know what they are talking about or are they regurgitating the words of Komla Dumor from the BBC? Do they know that the Darfurians are Muslim? Why then are they trying to tell me that the war in Sudan is one of religion? Did they know that the Fur tribe of West Darfur are the original inhabitants of the Cushtic lands, and it is they who conquered lands east and north of present day Darfur to formulate the Kingdom of Cush? Did they know that the kingdom of Cush had managed to topple and rule over the Ancient Egyptians? Did you know that these same great peoples are today being called "black dogs and slaves" simply because they are of black African ethnicity? Did you know that they blame me and every other Arab Sudanese for the loss of their children, their parents, their homes, and their lives? I bet you didn't know they blame you too. The more questions I ask, the more enraged I feel coming up with answers that all point to inexcusable ignorance.

But I cannot point a finger at the world with out pointing three at my own people. For the man who claims Sudan is for the Arabs, I ask, do you speak on my behalf? For all I comprehend is that you are speaking with half a brain. Please make it clear to me, help me understand what tragic accident has caused you to forget your history? To forget who you are?! When the arabs crossed the Red Sea, do you think they saw the two shades of difference between you and the people of west or south Sudan? I assure you, they would have captured you and shipped you off to labor just as soon as they would have every other inhabitant of your land! If you claim the people of Darfur, the Nuba Mountains, and the South are black dogs, I beg of you to step beyond the borders of my dear continent to see that to the world, you are indistinguishable from those dogs.  So what gives you the right to run an entire peoples out of their homes, after torturing them and burning down their homes and towns? Who recognized you as a man of superior ethnicity when even to the Arabs you wish so eagerly to be like, you are just another khalanother black man.

Often, here in The States, when I tell people I am from Sudan, they usually nod and smile with a casual "Wow! You're a long way from home." But if they are knowledgeable enough, they might ask "The North or the South?"

This particular question stirs up ambivalent emotions in me, for despite my educated upbringings some part of me has been nurtured to associate the south with poverty, and dark, african features. Thus the first image that comes to mind at such a question, is one of a tall dark woman with bold African features and kinky hair. Not the complete opposite of what I am—short, with slightly lighter skin, mixed Arab-African features, and smooth hair. As I internally question how I could explain the differences that distinguish a Northern Sudanese from a Southern/Wester Sudanese without referring to color or sounding arrogant, I realize that our differences might as well be skin deep, for at the thought of the West or South of Sudan I only recall physical features. In reality we share much of a similar Sudanese culture, but the civil war has turned us against each other and widened the gap between our people. Furthermore, as I quickly respond, "I am from the North" people almost automatically reiterate with "Oh, the muslim part?" Yes, Northern Sudan is predominantly muslim but why is that they key identifier of the North? I feel there is nothing that binds Islam to the hate and injustice bestowed on the whole of Sudan by the merciless ruling party. In fact, within the people of the South there is a minority group of Muslims who have been targeted just like every other Christian. The war in Sudan is purely one of politicized spite, for surly the fight between the Darfurians and the Janjaweed cannot be one of religion. It angers me that the media, time and time again reduces it to Arab-vs-African when the different ethnic factions in Darfur have coexisted for ages. The rebels that stirred up a quarrel in Darfur were mainly reacting to the governments neglect, and the government found no other way to keep its hands clean than to play the "tribal card"

The international community seems to be eager to bestow the blame on Omar alBashir for the countless lives lost in western Sudan, but when push comes to shove every man turns his back and claims that getting involved might only make matters worse. So I wonder, what could be worse than to see your mothers and sisters raped and abused before your eyes? What could possibly be worse than having to live everyday with an abundance of fear in your heart, praying to God that your father won't be shot while you are made to watch, like that other boy with his dad from the village near by? I wonder— if Sudan had had as much natural resources as Afghanistan or Iraq, would that have elevated the country to a status worthy of humanity's help and compassion? By compassion I do not mean buy and sell chap-sticks, but to learn. Learn of the struggles in Sudan, Burma, Palestine, Afghanistan, Congo, and every other bleeding nation of the world. Learn about the problems that should concern you just as they do me, so that when you offer to donate money you know that your donations will reach its intended parties, and not be seized by radical, oppressive, militias somewhere along the way (later be used towards the funding of more weapons of mass murder and crime). Learn to be human, and say no one SHOULD be butchered, and driven out of their homes because of the way they were born! No one SHOULD be raped at the age of eight because the abuser thinks they are BLACK DOGS. And as such, there must be something to right the wrongs, because if it SHOULD NOT be happening, that means what is going on is not natural and there is a way to change it. There is a way to make a difference, and HELP. 

But for what little difference it might make, I cannot end this with out deeply and sincerely apologizing to the brave people of the diverse Sudan. I hear your cries, I feel your pain and I know that you think it is my fault. I know the Arab-speaking people have done you wrong many a times, but they are not my people, in fact they are merely nomadic savage beasts left behind by a cruel ancient time foreign to my own. I do not believe Sudan is for the Arabs, nor is it for the Africans. It is the home of the bridge atop which both ethnicities meet. It is home to the black, white, blue, brown, green, muslim, christian, animist, tall, short, fat, thin, diverse SUDANESE.

October 9, 2012

Civil to Savage

At some point in time man walked with a refined savagery to his step. He was a civilized ogre in the realm of beasts, easily distinguishable from the animals he preyed upon. His disheveled attire, tousled hair and mud-stained skin did not render him easy on the eyes, but he was a man. He did not hunt fellow men out of pure spite, but hunted to eat, and ate only enough to silence the mumbles of his ravished paunch. I imagine there was no question of greed, since the civilized beasts hunted in groups and every member received his or her fair share of the feast. Every man stood on his own ground, not on the grounds, or rather the heads, of other men.

Nature had built their homes, but when these homes failed to shelter them from that same nature's own capricious winds, they simply left. Thus I wonder, were their souls not attached to the caves that housed them? Why did they not fight the force to maintain their grounds? How did they simply resign? How is it that they  were in full comprehension of the fact that some day those same capricious winds might find them in their next home, only to say: you must go back to where we met prior, since it is my time to sweep this region of its current state. 

What is it that the textbooks are not telling me? For I know they keep a secret from me, since the men in question are not animals as history suggests. They have stories aesthetically documented on the walls of their numerous god-given homes. They seem to have loved enough to come together and create more refined beasts. They seemed to have had some sort of community governed by the primitive laws of humanity. Albeit, they could not fly or keep time, nor did they have a Facebook and retain an ice box that could guarantee they would not go hungry tomorrow, they seem to have had minds. Brains that, despite their primitive state, did not allow power to fog their internal moral radars. They did not learn of human rights, nor were they policed by super-national global organizations. Simply, the refined ogre sought resources but only took what he needed. It did not occur to man that he had any right to seize that which belonged to another because I believe he knew, somewhere in his heart, that nature was generous. It simply could not give one man with out compensating for the right of another.

As such, these men I know of in the age of globalization appall me, for I fail to understand what they are made of or which breed of animal fathered such brutality. Adam was made of the earth and thus cherished it, but these men scorch land, and all that walks upon it, in utter carelessness. Their minds have succeeded to create modern means of convenience, but somewhere along time they seem to have traded in those brains, along with their hearts, for rocks. In fact, it may even be that they gifted their brains to some devil, for I do not know of a rock that could kill two million people in a few months. I do not comprehend the nature of that which drives man to fight with such viciousness for the right remain within a community that detests and repels him.

In vain I look to the scholars for answers to these inquiries, but they all point me to the refined ogre we stemmed off from. They tell me power is inconsiderate, blind, and chaotic. It corrupts all who embrace it, and after it engulfs their souls, it calls upon greed to join it. Then they say, it is merely human nature, my child. That is where they lose me. 

"Well, were Cain and Able not brothers? Did blood not kill blood?" They question me, claiming my confusion is out of place.

"Yes", I say. "But is the love of a woman not a noble cause incomparable to the love for power? A woman can love you back, but what reciprocal does power offer?"

"Oh my child, you speak with naivety! As is expected from a young soul who has not lived to learn. Have you not heard of the elevated stature power grants a man? Can you not see that to have power is to command fear in the hearts of others, to the extent that you rise above all. And from that exalted pedestal, my child, one can have all the women his heart desires!"

I am at awe...

"But what good is standing on a pedestal raised to height by the corpses of men murdered only to maintain said power? What good is stature when you only incite fear, to the effect that you become detached from humanity? Even the lion knows not to prey on his fellow coterie, and doesn't he continue to retain the title of King?"

"But you must understand that humans are more complex as a result of an intricate global society"

"If man is so esteemed, how is it that he does not create his society, as oppose to the vice-versa you speak of? In fact, he does and it is he who chooses to mold society from a convoluted clay."

I do not understand, nor do I wish to. I believe I am merely nostalgic for a time preceding mine by infinite centuries. As the rest of the world stands by idly watching, I can do nothing but apologize.

I apologize, dear Syria, that they refuse to hear your cries. It seems that to be re-elected and to maintain power is much more valuable than the blood of all your children combined. I understand you, for my people cry in vain too. THEY did not hear the whimpers of Darfur before you, nor the screeches of Rwanda before them so do not hold your breath for grace now. Excuse them, for they are color blind,  and bloody red does not fall within the spectrum of their sight. You and I do not have enough black gold to buy their attention. Basheer and Bashar do not hold appeals the magnitude of Saddam's. As such we must cry, and bleed, and die to prove that we are not animals. It is human nature to fight for survival for even our ancestral civilized ogres were faced with savage beasts much stronger, albeit they used to be furrier beasts, the ones you face today are indeed one and the same. Do not be fooled by their ability to walk on twos! They do not cry like we do, they do not eat what we do, they do not feel like we do, they are not of our same species. 

I would say be patient and that after every rain comes sunshine, but nature has failed to explain to me the origins of these "men". They are not habitual to the humane world you and I hail from. Indeed they are savage foreigners ungoverned by the moral norms that bind you and I, and as such I do not know how long they will execute their ill-guided ways upon your poor, burdened souls. 

But till you gain refuge, I apologize!

October 6, 2012

The Prayer

Alsalato khayron men alnawm (prayer is better for you than slumber).


Asha woke up to the call for prayer. She sluggishly crawled out of bed and washed her ankles in preparation to answer the mu'azin's hail.


"Assalamu 'Allaykum W Rahmato Allah, Assalamu Assalamu 'Allaykum W Rahmat Allah."

She then lifted her hands and began to plead,

"Ya Allah, today I ask that you bless my three sons, Ahmed, Ali and Tareq, and aid my husband Mohamed in his journey to sustain us. Oh Allah, funds are scarce and food is scant, but we thank you for the gracious gifts of family, health, love and life! Oh Allah, may all those who endanger the lives of my young boys repent to you. I ask that you guide them to the path beloved by you. As such, may the essence of humanity overcome the vicious deeds of the cruel men who infest these lands.  Peace and blessings be upon Mohammed. Amen!"

The sun began to peak over the horizon as Asha stroked the beads of her rosary. Thoughts meshed and unfolded themselves onto her mental to-do list as her mouth idly moved to create whispers of praises to her Lord. That was they way things had become recently. She had no time to act now and think later, and she could not afford to act without thinking. Be it the steps she took to her bakery, or the funds, if any, that she decided to dedicate to a supermarket's visit, or even the cinch act of tossing the polyester shams of her thobe over her head. None of it was done without careful consideration. Life was tedious and doleful but she managed to persevere. She had heard of the mother and the daughter raped three blocks away from her humble home. She could see the face of the shy mother now. I wish I'd said hello to her the other day, maybe if I had wished her a blessed day…

Tareq, her youngest son, interrupted her thoughts with a finger on her shoulder. It was time for her day to begin. Thus she arose, and set her folded prayer mat aside, apt as ever, to carry out the obligations of another dutiful day.

As her sons were dressed and seen off to school she went back into the kitchen and took a peak into her boiling pot of 'Adass. She smiled to herself as she remembered the old Sudanese sayings that bestowed the titles of "the Nation's Sustainers"and "Kings of the Dinning Table" on mere dishes of lentils and red beans. Indeed, those two seem to be the only consumer products who have the nation's best interest at heart. Inflation has caused everything else on the racks to play with numbers in a way that could make the most esteemed engineer cry. As she stirred the yellowing seeds, her husband appeared from behind her kitchen's windows. With a smile and a wave he set off, leaving Asha appreciating his strength. She did not remember the last time a smile commenced her day. But she was alive, she reminded herself, that is what is important.


By noon the day's cooking and cleaning had been dejectedly carried out. She decided it had been a while since her neighbor, Hafsa, had come by for coffee. As such, she took it upon herself to brew a pot of coffee and make her way next door.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Asha ducked for cover as her pot of coffee carelessly flew in the air and allowed its contents to stain the dry, sand floors and Asha's thobe alike. It was that time of day again, which was to be marked by a dreaded routinely visit from a few governmental planes. The planes made unannounced appearances and gifted the tenants of Darfur with bombs embodying chemicals unheard of to the average townsfolk. As soon as the ground beneath her knees stopped shaking Asha curiously rushed to find the area the Kezan visited today. She prayed to God that nothing had happened to Hafsa, since Asha believed that she was growing to become some sort of taboo on her people. Everyone she touched, spoke to, or even remembered seemed to disappear. She had lost so many acquaintances that she began to wonder if she played some part in laying them onto harm's way, or if maybe fate was playing some twisted game with everyone. She did not like this game where she won to watch her loved ones lose, and be eliminated from the playing field.

THUD-THUD! THUD-THUD!

Her heart pounded hard, rebelling against what suddenly became too small a chest. Her head spun as her screams meshed and became one with those of the women and children around her. The feet which had carried her for 47 years suddenly failed to function and she collapsed to become one with the earth she was created from. It was sudden, and before she could comprehend what was happening, her last breath escaped her lips taking with it her soul. They bid the world farewell and rose to join the souls of Mohamed, Tareq, Ahmed and Ali, whose blood-spattered body parts lay an arm distance away from their mother's corpse, indistinguishable from the fur and remains of the exploded animals beside them.

Not today Asha, your prayers will not be answered today because Allah has decreed that you and your family leave this cruel land to a place pure, and high, befitting your humble souls.