Is Khartoum airport still filled with displaced peopl?

Abdul-Aziz Ali Omer
Naba is a five-year old daughter of the Sudanese novelist Mansoor Al-sawayim . will we go to the zoo” she pleaded . Naba and her sisters really needed a trip, but their father deferred it because the war broke out. Naba tried to dissuade her father,” let’s go tomorrow” she reiterated. Later on, it turned out that the sounds of bullets and artillery convinced little Naba to give up going on a trip. Mansoor’s family yearned for an open-air feast on the Nile. Mansoor, the father recounted how he initially received the news of raging war in Khartoum: ” I met my neighbor . He was soaked in perspiration with a sack laden with bread, sugar and meat. “it’s a precaution against war” he told him. Mansoor could only bring buckets of water sufficient for two days. Later, the crisis of water was aggravated by the power-cut. The city looked dark and hostile . The threads of anti-aircraft fires were the only illumination. The following day, Mansoor went around Khartoum to hunt for news. People were hinting as a journalist he knew more than they could tell. As he wandered through the market, he observed fears and worries imprinted on faces. There was something spectral that brought a new fearful atmosphere. shops were closed and streets had become empty. On another day, he noticed that air-crafts whizzed over their heads, ribbons of anti-aircraft fire soaring into the perimeter of the army command and the presidential palace. With wall-shaking explosions, the screams of women and children rose from snipers-infested buildings. But what if a bomb or shell fell where they live? I asked mansoor. ” It would have devastated it and taken us in its lighting flames ” Mansoor replied. But he assured to us he and his family were safe. ” The bombardment subsided except the sounds of shots at intervals” Mansoor said. Mansoor went out to the market to look for bread. Shops re-opened and streets were as full of bustle as on a normal day. Reflecting on the prohibitive cost of commodities, he remarked ” War has its peculiar economy” It was a deceptive calm. Again, Mansoor watched colorful wisps of smoke soaring in Khartoum and bahri on the far horizon. He felt sad at the recurrence of hostilities and how mourning coincided with more than one Eid festivity in Sudan.
He went on to indicate that all eyes converged on absconded young soldiers of Rapid Support Forces as they left attired in civilian clothes. He recalled that someone wondered ” Is the defeat of those soldiers in desertion means their loss of battles somewhere?
What do you think of the social media? He replied ” Social media groups predicted the war would be protracted. In contrast, the belligerent sides assumed the hostilities could end in a few hours or days. He thought of social media as the only source of news that has transmitted Sudanese pains and agonies. He remembered that one of his neighbors showed him the photo of a corpse of a dead traffic police officer who turned out to be his cousin. But he didn’t him the deceased was one of his relatives and had concealed his grief. He said he liked him very much; he was punctual and professional. He told us he was assassinated when the fighting had erupted. The social media disseminated images of Sudanese towns along with his home town , Nayala flaring . As for the conflagration of the pepper and grain market, he said ” I felt in that blaze my memories were incinerated and scattered under a rubble of ashes in that popular market” .
Naba wiped the tears from the cheeks of her father . She trembled from fear of violence. ” We will not go on a trip neither tomorrow nor on any other day” she said. After a few minutes, she lapsed into sleep. She reminds me of what the Sudanese novelist Al-Tayeb Salih wrote in his exile describing Khartoum like this:” Khartoum is a lovely child forced to sleep at ten o’clock…doors closed …without lights from the windows of houses…without bread, sugar and water” Is Khartoum airport still filled with displaced compatriots who want to be fugitive somewhere? He asked. Throughout Sudan, many of us are asking the same question which was put by Tayeb Salih . Some of us began to feel further and further away from home, more and more, enroute, going somewhere. While Naba is sleeping , I listen to the legendary singer sayyid Khalifa singing the lyrics of Egyptian poet Salah Abdel saboor ” Neither the Samba, the Rumba or the Red Indian dances can rival the dance of Khartoum in the night of victory”.
” I hope Khartoum will win so that that Naba will be able to go on a peaceful trip with her family on the bank of the river Nile.