Haj Ali carefully supported his weight on the handle of his cane and willed his feet to move forward. He sat on the bench, and looked out at the solemn faces of the crowd that had come to watch him pour his heart out with false hope for a final win...
"'Abooy! Abooy!' he called out, as he ran home from school.
I scooped him up effortlessly. Despite my now greying hair and crested face, I once had a young soul, and a lot of strength to show for it.
‘My champion is home! What do you have for me today?' I asked, knowing that he bore delightful news, as always.
‘Abooy! I came at the top of my class! Look,’ he cried with enthusiasm as he pulled out some papers that seemed ruffled around the edges from being held onto too tightly,
"'Abooy! Abooy!' he called out, as he ran home from school.
I scooped him up effortlessly. Despite my now greying hair and crested face, I once had a young soul, and a lot of strength to show for it.
‘My champion is home! What do you have for me today?' I asked, knowing that he bore delightful news, as always.
‘Abooy! I came at the top of my class! Look,’ he cried with enthusiasm as he pulled out some papers that seemed ruffled around the edges from being held onto too tightly,
‘Soon I'll be the biggest engineer in the world. I'll even build the cows a grand barn. I will turn this whole town into a city, just like the countries of the khawajat in the west!’
Young Monty leaped out of my embrace and picked up a thin, sword-like twig. He used his make-believe pen to carve lines into the sand beneath his feet. In a matter of minutes, he had turned the floor into a blueprint marked by towers of ambition and hope. He was clever like that. His mother and I were proud, and had never felt the need to praise him, for his actions continually did so. Although he was only seven on that particular day, his intellect had surely skipped a few years into the future to encompass some highly unattainable number of IQ points for someone so young."
Haj Ali sighed, as his mind took him out of that room, and into a vast space of time where he watched his son skipping about drawing lines and swirls onto the modest canvas floor of his patio. Haj Ali willed time to stop. There and then, it almost did and for a few minutes the bills, the hunger, the sacrifices, the pain, the history—all of it seemed distant. There was no one there but him and Monty. However, soon enough, his will power caved and life whisked him away from his blissful reveries to preform a vigorous, devilish dance with him. He wanted its music to stop! For all its notes strummed from broken instruments of pain. Time, and time again he questioned who decided his son would not smile because his teeth would be yellowed by filth and blood? Why did it have to be his burden, and how is it that he failed to protect him? All too soon, he was facing the merciless streaks of reality again. Indeed his days of youth and strength have evaded him and he pitied what he had succumbed to. Surely, it was not so much the old age that had bothered him, but the imagination that he might not live to see his son with a degree in his right hand and a ring on his left.
“Haj, are you okay? You zoned out for a second there." The lawyer repeated his name with a genuine tone of worry in her voice.
He remained silent, gathering himself.
"Sir, I need you to focus with me. We don’t want this trial to drag on for longer than it has to. Please Haj, stick to the relevant details only." The judge now said in a kind voice, as he held his gaze over Hash Ali's withered face.
"Isn't it in that book? I told the officer everything and it is before you now. Must I revisit these memories over and over again for the sake of your pragmatism?" His voice rose and fell like the tunes of a dusty record. "Ms. lawyer, please..." He bowed his head and threatened to break.
He could almost smell the indifference bouncing off the pale walls that held within it rows of shiny brown Maplewood benches stacked behind each other like the lower deck of a slave ship. The room was full with people he had never seen before, some of them had cameras dangling down their necks, and tiny little notepads. Why couldn’t they just use tape recorders or larger notebooks? Perhaps they couldn’t afford it just as he probably couldn’t afford the services of this diligent young woman, but she stood in front of him nonetheless. He didn’t know why, but right then and there he wished to meet her parents and thank them. Look at this mess, all because of those ill-mannered young men who have nothing but spite and envy in their hearts. He had told Monty to stay away from them, but his son wouldn’t listen.
The Judge impatiently shifted in his seat, and Haj Ali sighed.
"We were sitting out in our humble veranda, waiting for destiny's call. Monty had just taken his junior year’s college exams and spent the weeks preceding that day praying he had managed to score the highest grades amongst his class. On the day of the results the university was shut down so he had to settle for finding out about his grades from "a friend on the inside". He knew I was struggling to carry our weight, which increased his yearning to graduate on time with flying numbers and a well-paying job, that was if the university stayed open of course. My son was set on becoming an engineer." Haj Ali paused and chuckled to himself, "I mean an architect. He insisted that we call him that and would storm out of the room when we argued that there was no difference. That was Monty for you, he was very particular when it came to his future. He didn't settle for second best. If fate had played on his side, he would have done great things… Anyways, we sat there, waiting for the men on TV to exhaust their welcome speeches and begin the usual sing-song charades; when there was a loud thump on the door. I looked to my right, waiting for this boy to open it. But as you can imagine, his eyes were glued to the phone, and it was as if he could hear nothing but the voice of the lazy-eyed man on TV. I walked to the door and opened it. It managed to grunt and squeak loudly, and if I recall correctly, Monty snapped his head and eyed it with irritation, probably thinking it was another thing that needed fixing. There, at my doorstep stood a tall man in a desert brown and slate green uniform.
‘Salam, is this the house of Ali Sayed Ahmed?’ He asked in a cold, firm voice.
Just then, I heard Monty yelling at the top of his lungs. His younger twin brothers and their sister rushed out of the house, stunned and confused.
‘Did you hear that?’ Monty bellowed. ‘Me! Monty Ali Sayed Ahmed! I have the second highest average across the duf'a! I’ll be a senior and graduate as soon as the university decides to open indefinitely!’
The man in uniform then shoved me aside and barged into our house. He tackled my Monty and pulled out a pair of rusty silver cuffs.
‘You thought you could get away with it didn’t you?’ I remember him yelling with Monty under him, kicking up sand with a bewildered look on his face. “Where were you the night the university riots happened, huh? You scumbag. You have nothing to say do you! We’ll see about that!’
Young Monty leaped out of my embrace and picked up a thin, sword-like twig. He used his make-believe pen to carve lines into the sand beneath his feet. In a matter of minutes, he had turned the floor into a blueprint marked by towers of ambition and hope. He was clever like that. His mother and I were proud, and had never felt the need to praise him, for his actions continually did so. Although he was only seven on that particular day, his intellect had surely skipped a few years into the future to encompass some highly unattainable number of IQ points for someone so young."
Haj Ali sighed, as his mind took him out of that room, and into a vast space of time where he watched his son skipping about drawing lines and swirls onto the modest canvas floor of his patio. Haj Ali willed time to stop. There and then, it almost did and for a few minutes the bills, the hunger, the sacrifices, the pain, the history—all of it seemed distant. There was no one there but him and Monty. However, soon enough, his will power caved and life whisked him away from his blissful reveries to preform a vigorous, devilish dance with him. He wanted its music to stop! For all its notes strummed from broken instruments of pain. Time, and time again he questioned who decided his son would not smile because his teeth would be yellowed by filth and blood? Why did it have to be his burden, and how is it that he failed to protect him? All too soon, he was facing the merciless streaks of reality again. Indeed his days of youth and strength have evaded him and he pitied what he had succumbed to. Surely, it was not so much the old age that had bothered him, but the imagination that he might not live to see his son with a degree in his right hand and a ring on his left.
"Ya Haj," She repeated.
He looked around, remembering that he was still in a courtroom. He turned to look at her slim figure, and her stern smile. She must have been in her early twenties. He wondered what she knew of the world besides the word of law that she held over his head time and time again, since he had met her.
He looked around, remembering that he was still in a courtroom. He turned to look at her slim figure, and her stern smile. She must have been in her early twenties. He wondered what she knew of the world besides the word of law that she held over his head time and time again, since he had met her.
“Haj, are you okay? You zoned out for a second there." The lawyer repeated his name with a genuine tone of worry in her voice.
He remained silent, gathering himself.
"Sir, I need you to focus with me. We don’t want this trial to drag on for longer than it has to. Please Haj, stick to the relevant details only." The judge now said in a kind voice, as he held his gaze over Hash Ali's withered face.
"Isn't it in that book? I told the officer everything and it is before you now. Must I revisit these memories over and over again for the sake of your pragmatism?" His voice rose and fell like the tunes of a dusty record. "Ms. lawyer, please..." He bowed his head and threatened to break.
He could almost smell the indifference bouncing off the pale walls that held within it rows of shiny brown Maplewood benches stacked behind each other like the lower deck of a slave ship. The room was full with people he had never seen before, some of them had cameras dangling down their necks, and tiny little notepads. Why couldn’t they just use tape recorders or larger notebooks? Perhaps they couldn’t afford it just as he probably couldn’t afford the services of this diligent young woman, but she stood in front of him nonetheless. He didn’t know why, but right then and there he wished to meet her parents and thank them. Look at this mess, all because of those ill-mannered young men who have nothing but spite and envy in their hearts. He had told Monty to stay away from them, but his son wouldn’t listen.
The Judge impatiently shifted in his seat, and Haj Ali sighed.
"We were sitting out in our humble veranda, waiting for destiny's call. Monty had just taken his junior year’s college exams and spent the weeks preceding that day praying he had managed to score the highest grades amongst his class. On the day of the results the university was shut down so he had to settle for finding out about his grades from "a friend on the inside". He knew I was struggling to carry our weight, which increased his yearning to graduate on time with flying numbers and a well-paying job, that was if the university stayed open of course. My son was set on becoming an engineer." Haj Ali paused and chuckled to himself, "I mean an architect. He insisted that we call him that and would storm out of the room when we argued that there was no difference. That was Monty for you, he was very particular when it came to his future. He didn't settle for second best. If fate had played on his side, he would have done great things… Anyways, we sat there, waiting for the men on TV to exhaust their welcome speeches and begin the usual sing-song charades; when there was a loud thump on the door. I looked to my right, waiting for this boy to open it. But as you can imagine, his eyes were glued to the phone, and it was as if he could hear nothing but the voice of the lazy-eyed man on TV. I walked to the door and opened it. It managed to grunt and squeak loudly, and if I recall correctly, Monty snapped his head and eyed it with irritation, probably thinking it was another thing that needed fixing. There, at my doorstep stood a tall man in a desert brown and slate green uniform.
‘Salam, is this the house of Ali Sayed Ahmed?’ He asked in a cold, firm voice.
Just then, I heard Monty yelling at the top of his lungs. His younger twin brothers and their sister rushed out of the house, stunned and confused.
‘Did you hear that?’ Monty bellowed. ‘Me! Monty Ali Sayed Ahmed! I have the second highest average across the duf'a! I’ll be a senior and graduate as soon as the university decides to open indefinitely!’
The man in uniform then shoved me aside and barged into our house. He tackled my Monty and pulled out a pair of rusty silver cuffs.
‘You thought you could get away with it didn’t you?’ I remember him yelling with Monty under him, kicking up sand with a bewildered look on his face. “Where were you the night the university riots happened, huh? You scumbag. You have nothing to say do you! We’ll see about that!’
Three other men barged into the house, slamming down anything that stood in their way until they were in front of Monty's study. In minutes papers were cutting through the air and landing on the floor in shatters. They kept yelling, asking him where he kept the flyers devised to threaten national security...
But I promise your honor, my son would never do such a thing. He is all I have in this world and he dedicates all his efforts to helping me and his poor old mother.”
But I promise your honor, my son would never do such a thing. He is all I have in this world and he dedicates all his efforts to helping me and his poor old mother.”
Author's note: This is a special dedication to the young men and women who have been denied their basic right to a sustained education just because they decided to voice their opinions; this is to the cadets of the majestic University of Khartoum. We know that sometimes, in a broken country such as ours, consequences are created out of thin air and brought down on people who do not really deserve them. But we often forget that consequences have a tidal effect which extends its pain to those who care for us, and depend on us. So this is also to the loved ones who are just as worried about the future as those who hold it in their palms.
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