"Why did you go without saying goodbye??"

I'd only really started talking to her that day. Everyone else had been fussing about her and making such a big deal, since she was only eleven years old - the youngest in the place. And she was the star - she had a confident little ego about her and she enjoyed the attention. Yeah, I remember a time when I was like that. I used to be so sure of what I want and what I know and never really backed away from a discussion. Then the teenage years came in.

I thought, as I looked at her from afar, how she's got enough attention already and that I don't need to go and stare.

But what actually annoyed me was how everyone were treating her the way one would when they went to a zoo or a circus. They watch and cheer and laugh and have a good time. And then they go home when the show is over. No one would really take something he saw in a circus too seriously now, would they?

I saw her trying to fit in the circle of big people around her like an equal, and admired her for it.

She came up to me when I was folding some paper into origami, and asked me to teach her how to do it. It wasn't easy, and she ended up asking me to send it to her email - what, this kid has an EMAIL?? - and I got to talk to her a bit.

Later, when she went to talk to someone else, I got up to leave. But just as I was almost outside, I heard someone following me and calling my name. I turned around and saw it was her. "Oh, hey" I said. "Why did you go without saying goodbye??" She said when she reached me. I was speechless for a moment. But what I felt inside made it clear to me that I was really moved. I gave her a hug, thanked her, and promised it wouldn't happen again. I went home with a smile that day.

A week or two later, I had to give them a visit to finish some things with her sister, who was an organizer. When I arrived, the girl ran up to me and escorted me proudly inside. "Come in, this is our house" And then she ran off. Once I settled in their room upstairs, she appeared agin, cradling a large cat in her arms. "This is my baby" She told me. I was amazed. She then told me about the animals her and her brother kept saving off the streets.

Then she ran off again and brought me some chocolate, which I think was a gift to her family. I felt a little guilty, thinking of how something like that was a rarely found delicacy in Sudan, yet she wanted to share it with me anyway. She offered it so heartly I simply could not refuse. I tried accepting everything she had to offer, trying to consider both appreciating what she did, and at the same time trying not to look uncivilized in the eyes of her elder sister.

On the day of the event, she came wearing a beautiful little dress, but her hair was a mess. It looked she'd washed it before she came and simply twisted it in a knot. I was wondering how come no one in her family noticed, when she came up to me. "I wanted you to do my hair for me, just like you did the other day". I was horrified. I remembered how on that "other day" we were hanging out after we were done our practice for the day, and she was holding a hairbrush trying to groom her tangled hair. I offered to help, though it didn't exactly turn out good at all. I had no little sister to practice on, after all. But here she was, one the actual day of the event, with an undone hair and a hairbrush. I had no idea what to do. I ended up doing a simple obviously-not-fit-for-the-occasion hairdo for her, and she happily ran off.

When the whole thing was over, and it was time to leave, I found her amidst the mess. It was time to say goodbye, although I never wanted to say goodbye. I was a college student and she was still in elementary. I had no more business to take me to their house again, not to mention the 8-year gap between us. And it's not like 11 year olds would have her own phones. We live in completely different worlds. And there I was, trying to digest it all as I looked at my young friend. As I hugged her, I wished I could find a way to relate how much I appreciated it all - how much she did for me. She taught me how friendship was simply caring, sharing and trusting. You do not care where they study or how much money their parents make. You don't care whether they traveled the whole world or was stuck in a 1 km square area your whole life. Not if they were your friends.

I never saw Zainab again..
But I could never forget her.

The End

Tact

No one is taught to be nice to others,

No one is taught to share

All we know is never let anyone y7gr bek anywhere

All we know is don't let anyone else push you,
No one says be polite, say "how do you do?"

No one tells you to smile, when you meet someone's gaze,
All we hear is, if someone hits you, better leave them dazed

See, all we know is, other people are mean, it's a fact,

No one says go make friends, no one teaches tact.

My own thing

 I want to write my own thing… only I don’t know what it is. There’s too little that I know and too much that I don’t. I’m not a writer. Two of my sisters are, though. You know, I really wish that I had that thing in them that enables them to make small incidents quite interesting and fun to read. It’s the angle they look from, I guess. Along with that a few things can help too, like having a beautiful style of writing and an interesting thing to write about. I believe that every person should write down their personal experiences and pass it down for other individuals to read. But, unfortunately, not everyone can write. Some choose the wrong things to write about. Some just can’t express themselves. Yet people should write, no matter what. You’ll find fascinating things in one’s journal. No one can do everything personally in life, so they might be able to live it through reading others’ experiences about it and take the morale without any damage. I think you’ll agree with me on this point.
I just remembered something. Writing is actually a way people express themselves through. Though not everyone can write, everyone has some ability which represents them to some extent. Some of us can draw, and some paint. Others can write poetry. Many people do crafts. Others sing. But the trick about singing is putting your own mark in a not-always-yours song.
Imagination is in almost everyone. Yet imagination can vary remarkably between people. No matter what each can imagine-That is to say, whether it’s made up or real-life-based imagination- it plays a role in your personality.
What personality is, I’m not exactly sure. But I guess I have a few clues to help. Each person’s got a different personality and it would be a great waste if somebody tried to erase their own. Your personality is your style, the way you live, the way you see life and things you see in life. For instance, there is a difference between me and the two sisters of mine whom I mentioned earlier. Though each of us writes in English, there’s a difference in what we write about, the way we write it and the way we see what is written. So I can conclude that your personality is what is different in you from other people. Yes, people are similar to some extent, yet each is different in some way or another.
By the way, congratulate me because I just discovered what is it that can’t make me write my own thing. It’s because I try to write like my sisters do. They see things through the day, some things trigger them to write and they have the ability of excellent story-telling (Which I lack; people get bored when I start telling a story) so they can come up with a masterpiece from an actual incident no more than an hour long. So what is it that I can write?
It turns out that I have a philosopher’s look at life. Because, as you probably noticed by now, though I can’t tell a story, I can extract a theory or morale from it and put in words.
So, thanks to God and, after Him, to you (whoever you are that I’m writing to) I guess I finally found what I can write about. I really hope I can meet you again through my future writings and, hopefully, masterpieces. And I really hope they’re going to be better. Until then, God be with you.
August 7, 2010

We are one

         An Egyptian man sat next to me one morning on my way to college. It occurred to me that he might think himself better than the Sudanese people sitting around him, and in response of this idea a rush of thoughts ran quickly through my mind, making an imaginary conversation.
         What, you like your revolution so much? Think you’re a lot better than all the rest of us on earth? Oh no, don’t start with the rubbish all the Arabs make us Sudanese people hear. Don’t you know we’ve done a lot more than what you people ever did? And we’ve kept our silence, we don’t go boasting on every nook and cranny the way you do. Heard of Al-Mahdi? He stood up against the Turkish invaders leading the rest of his people in a way no other Arab in the rest of the Arabian world dared to do. We’ve made our own independence from the Anglo-Egyptian rule (Therefore freed from being a part of Egypt, thank god), we’ve had at least three truly democratic governments, all starting with its own revolution against dictatorship, and you people? This is the first time you’ve had one of those...  Then one thing, one random thought that popped into my head in the rush of flying things put it all to a stop.” You think our father Adam was Egyptian?” A pause followed, in which my mind’s engines froze, as the answer that extended far beyond “No” was beginning to form. In fact, Adam was not Egyptian, and he definitely wasn’t Sudanese either. The truth is; we’re all sons and daughters of Adam, aren’t we? That was clearly defined before we were this or that. We’re all human, we come from one father so that makes us brothers, doesn’t it? All the irritation melted away and then I thought of it no more.

Yes, we are one. It’s funny how often we forget that.