Never a place has affected me like this, a place I never knew about until I set foot in October last year. I came to Kadugli on what I called a 'self-imposed exile'. Even that term is borrowed. From a friend back home. I knew nothing of this place or the intricacies of Southern Kordofan state. I swear.
But I fell in love with it, in ways I don't know how and in spots I still don't comprehend. The landscape is nearly barren and the air sometimes dry, hot and dusty. Right now, I recalled my first steps out of the UN flight and wondering what in the blue world brought me there. Seriously, what the hell man? Broken-hearted and one went off to Kadugli, the middle of where again?
And yet, I grew to love the place. It just sort of glided. Nice and easy. Like a satisfaction when you found that obscure piece in the 1000 piece puzzle. I felt like I found my place.And in that time, my world seems bigger and more possible than I thought I knew. The faces I see in the souk, and the very human souls that made me a lot more human. People who are real and whose spirit speaks in a language that can only come from years of resilience, patience and kindness to others. And friends whose warmth, jokes and laughter I must be thankful for. I will be forever grateful for this place.
And yet, I grew to love the place. It just sort of glided. Nice and easy. Like a satisfaction when you found that obscure piece in the 1000 piece puzzle. I felt like I found my place.And in that time, my world seems bigger and more possible than I thought I knew. The faces I see in the souk, and the very human souls that made me a lot more human. People who are real and whose spirit speaks in a language that can only come from years of resilience, patience and kindness to others. And friends whose warmth, jokes and laughter I must be thankful for. I will be forever grateful for this place.
This place - Kadugli - is now in crisis. The very people I know or see on the streets, the tea ladies garbed in their brightest colours, the guys at Nadus or Amwaj asking me how everything is, the men in their white jellabiyahs on Fridays walking toward the mosque to pray, TCC's yellow house, Joe's rooftop, the hills saying 'Allahu Akbar' and much much more. So much more. Nothing could possibly describe the scenes on the street or the lives around me. The roads I walked on, people I greet 'Assalamua-alaikum' and whose generosity surpassed anything else. And just sadly this place is now being shredded into pieces. Like a note we tossed aside.
It's easy to think of a conflict far far away, something that you never think could affect you. It's much much harder when it's so nearby and somewhere you have stepped foot on. It changes your life in ways you never thought it could. I still don't know why and how Kadugli affects me, or why I think about it pretty much all the time. What does the souk looked like now? How does it look like or will be like when it rains soon enough? Where are those people I see around the corner at the garage or that fat boy who would constantly ask me the same question every time I passed by - "where you from?"
I don't profess to know what it takes to make it all right or what humanity can do. I only know what's going on isn't right and that lives, just as important as yours or mine, are at stake. Lives. Hearts that beat, the same fear we all face, the same blood that bleed. Red. No different from yours or mine. It infuriates me thinking that my organisation and others sitting in their comfy offices who just DON'T GET the severity of the situation. I keep asking why oh why?
And yet I am helpless in this cause. It breaks my heart literally thinking about what's going on in Kadugli, the massacre, the lives and families being torn apart because one side of politics didn't fit into the puzzle. I know these lives aren't a puzzle but to me, Kadugli is made of of these mosaic pieces fitting in together, all genuinely trying to fit into a coherent picture of humanness. Different shapes yes, different colours totally... but all fitting in, synchronized and harmonized. Picture perfection if one may say.
And yet I am helpless in this cause. It breaks my heart literally thinking about what's going on in Kadugli, the massacre, the lives and families being torn apart because one side of politics didn't fit into the puzzle. I know these lives aren't a puzzle but to me, Kadugli is made of of these mosaic pieces fitting in together, all genuinely trying to fit into a coherent picture of humanness. Different shapes yes, different colours totally... but all fitting in, synchronized and harmonized. Picture perfection if one may say.
I have slept many nights in the last few weeks with a heavy heart and tonight is no different. Tomorrow and the day after I go through my life easy. But a small, tiny part part of me has been taken away for reasons I can never understand and it will stay in Southern Kordofan. It will never be the same. Kadugli and me.
Tonight, I am remembering my first ever mission and thinking of the women in Al Dar, sitting in the open land they proudly call theirs and telling small stories about their lives. The multi-coloured scarfs fluttering under the bluest skies and that one boy with sores on his feet sitting right in front me. His eyes white forever etched in my memory. I remember his face so clearly now.
Tonight, I am remembering my first ever mission and thinking of the women in Al Dar, sitting in the open land they proudly call theirs and telling small stories about their lives. The multi-coloured scarfs fluttering under the bluest skies and that one boy with sores on his feet sitting right in front me. His eyes white forever etched in my memory. I remember his face so clearly now.
1 comment:
Thank you for sharing.
This is heartfelt. Must be hard for those who felt for it and even harder for those still struggling out there. They are in my thoughts and prayers. Please keep yourself safe.
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