Sabah alkhair,
In a kitchen filled with the laughter of children eating cereal
And a mom making gargoush
Sabah alkhair,
To the dad who replaced his markoub with Italian leather shoes
To seed aldokkan who doesn’t sell baskaweet royal
To seed al laban who comes in a truck
To university students who don’t know the hassle of mowasalat
To teenagers trying so hard to keep up with the ever-evolving Sudanese slang
To my cousin in her moushat and crop-top
To mp3 players blasting Bob Marley, Sharhabeel and the Weeknd
To the kouz on top of the electric water cooler
To the kids fascinated by the physics of the ever-so-cold zeer
To the a’ngaraib that’s just for display fe oudat aldoyouf
To halawa bagara w betifour ale’eed
W Masa’a alkhair,
In a living room crowded by the scent of bakhoor taiman and jazz music
Masa’a alkhair,
To shai almoghrib and chai latté, sitting side by side fe alseeniya
To Filipina nannies making gourasa and pancakes, all the same
To niswan alhila who call before they come over
To niswan alhila who drive their prados to our house
To niswan alhila who still wear tiyab
To dressers covered with sandaliya and Yves Saint Laurent
To the a’arous wearing dahab and jeans
To Friday family brunch with French fries, fatayir and foul
And guys with salat ale’eed swagger; tagiya, shal & Ray-Bans.
To suitcases of jibna mdafara w Abré
To those who enjoy sit-alshay and costa café
To so-called contradictions of moghtarbeen
And predictions of how long we can survive without wi-fi
What is Sudan to a moghtarib?
Sudan is a bambar w jabana that you never use
And Wooden sculptures from soug umdurman hanging on the walls
Cultural items that are supposed to have some deeper meaning
or should give you some vivid memories of incidents that never happened
Sudan is a green, well – now blue, passport that ensures you will be stopped at passport control and every security point
Then wait for hours in not-so-international Khartoum Airport, for luggage
Sudan is that forced annual summer vacation filled with mosquito bites and family visits
It’s constant mockery of your moghtaribeen accent
It’s being guilt-tripped into giving up all your precious new possessions
The ones you bought specifically for this trip
Because you can “get more when you go back”
It is attending weddings with no invitation cards
It is the endless bargaining with seed alragsha
“alma’goul. Ma bnakhtalif, alma’goul bas, khalas ma bnakhtalif”
Sudan to me is what others told me
stories I put together like pieces of a jigsaw
A beautiful distorted mosaic
of my dad’s 70s Khartoum
with high-end journalism written in English for an audience I really can’t imagine.
Of my mother’s childhood memories of boarding school in Sinnar
and neighborhood girls’ small talk on their way to the Dokkan.
Of my sister’s recent undergraduate experience suffering from never-ending bureaucratic procedures of “jihaz almoghtarbeen”
And of course, of the media’s war-torn, famine-stricken, Shari’a-enforcing, terrorist-supporting Sudan
Sudan is expectations of disappointment
And touristy children of the Diaspora
Sudan is made of unconditional love and hate,
Sudan is love despite the hardship,
Sudan is smile to a stranger,
Sudan is help those in need
Sudan is invite by-passers for meals
Sudan is dark-skin, light-skin, brown-skin beauty
Sudan is same moula7 taste so different in different houses
Sudan is knowing everyone who lives within 50 km radius of your house
Sudan is social class and social clash
Sudan is a date fe shari’ alneel, and there is no such thing as third-wheeling
Sudan is love
And If you live in Sudan,
the Sudan of moghtarbeen might not be what you see,
But it is exists nonetheless