[SIZE="5"]الأعزاء الدكتور سمير والأستذه الموقرة سحر الليالي .. مساء الخير ..
هذه بداية لترجمة روايتي ( رحلة في قاع المدينة ) عبر الأستاذ الكناني أستاذ اللغة الإنجليزية والتي واجهت الكثيرمن المعوقات ومن ثم توقفت عند هذه النقطة ..أسعد كثيراً بعرضها بكل ما فيها من نواقص ودمتما بألف خير .[/SIZE]
Drift in khartoum
Writer :
Abdul Ghani khalaf allah
Translation: A. El Kinani
Sometimes you find yourself in a good mood. Sometimes you become in a critical position. And … in most cases you find yourself involved in a situation which is difficult for you to describe. You feel you are drifted with the swift current, like a piece of wood floating on the foam … to the definite fate … the unknown destination.
And if all circumstances intercept our lives steadily, we will react accordingly, with a constant behavioral pattern. But , unfortunately, circumstances are changeable like the weather in this country .
And now … after the long years which formed my life with its bitter and sweet days, I hardly try to understand myself. What forced me to live that certain life.. And not another one.. And was there any possibility to alter those events? or was it the predestination which planned my destiny with all its accidents which compelled me to laugh or indulged we in sadness . After this beating round the bushes , let me introduce my-self to you . My name is Harbi … Salih Oweida Abdel Nur . They call me Harbi. I shall lead you directly to the topic searching for self – relief. But please let me for a while recall my memory and revise the long duration of experiences, because what I am running after is extremely serious. It is not a mere story for entertainment. It is a case for trial , and the accused ones are those who fabricated my history, altered my good nature, spoilt my purity and innocence and called me by false surnames .. The hero, the traitor, the sly, the hypocrite and the rescuer.
In fact there was no need for all those complications because I was leading a simple life in a modest home in the southern part of the city and in the heart of the not yet planned residential places. Our modest house was built of mud, hard paper and other local materials. I lived with my mother (Hawa Gazaz) . She was well known to everybody by that name because she was famous for making delicious ‘Kisra’ which was as transparent as glass.
I had no brother but I have a group of sisters. I was the elder one in the family. My sister Nadia worked as a nurse in the main hospital. Salma used to help my mother in making ‘Kisra’. She also sold boiled eggs and ‘ ta’amia’, and the customers crowded in front of Hag Ramadan’s shop to buy and see that seller who was so beautiful that her brother Harbi went to the custody several times as a result of quarrelling with those who came to flatter her or utter unmannerly words and expressions .. or pinched her deliberately. The police led Harbi to the public court accused by general nuisance or causing slight harm to others. After the investigations, the trials ended by giving Harbi twenty lashes. But, to say the truth, Salma was the most beautiful and waha girl in the whole populated area including Gebel Awlia district. She was very careful of her appearance. She wore the best clothes she could buy from the thieves market every Friday. She seemed to be wealthy in spite of our poverty. But I was always ready to defend her, proud of my hard muscles and strong arms due to my work as a mechanic in the workshop of Salman the Idle who paid me little money at first, not exceeding the cost of the breakfast meal and the transportation ticket to and Fro. Nasma , our youngest sister, sister, was always ill , with a huge amount of medicine heaped on the table beside her . She was in a desperate case, but we did our best to treat her well and make her recover her health.. But in fact her case was hapless as the was suffering from a serious illness which obliged her to stick to bed all the time with a painful.
Shankal (that was his name) was a new comer to our neighborhood. He befriended me from the first sight and considered me on intimate friend and to ld me to keep his secrets from other persons. He whispered to me what he thought of other people and especially his comments of Ameera, the little lovely girl who dwelled in the neighboring house. She was extremely beautiful and I liked to mend her father’s bus in order to look at her and make my eyes sail in that angelic beauty.
Shankal had a strong character and that made me admire him very much. His blue eyes registered and concealed numerous secrets and undiscovered compiled confidentiality. Yet, he was considered to be one of the residents.
But the color of his eyes and the nearly white skin made me think deeply of his origin. Hag Rudwan one day said, “I don’t know the place which that boy came from. He looked like Khawaga’s son.”
Shankal himself told me that he suffered greatly from his light co lour. He benefited a lot from that in many cases.. And had ridiculous experiences with others. .
Shankal told me about his painful story which was full of awkward memories. He slept on straw. The roof was penetrated with many holes – a roof which couldn’t protect them from rain – light or heavy. Their food consisted of bits of bread mixed with the soup of beans – They called it ‘Boush’. It is a well-known sort of meal in the suburbs of Khartoum .That sort of like had a private flavor to Shankal. he had his own environment and his own society. Some of those persons said farewell to life, others moved a way, others married and started a new life. And Shankal was ready to sacrifice his life for the restoration of those previous days with the real characters that performed the play.
I was punctual at my work with Salman the Idle in his workshop. Salman was a good person. He liked to chat with people and laugh heartily with them .But he was intrusive. He liked to know about everything and every body that caught his sight – The cars – the customers and even the passers – but . His favorite topics where those which occurred due to traffic accidents. He described all details leaving nothing.
“The parts of their bodies were picked up bit by bit from among the seats. “Said Salman the Idle “.
And when the description came to that awful narration, I stealthily used to shift to where ‘Nana’ the Ethiopian tea – maker sat selling tea and coffee to her customers in the neighboring shed.
Nana handed me the cup of tea. I took it in my hand without forgetting to look at her sweet eyes and beautiful little fingers. I drank the tea and soon the mood of depression channel and I felt that my merry spirit returned to me . I soon started my work recalling the soft tune from which made me dance ‘Almaz bigi Tani’ . Almaz bigi Tani.”
I remembered all that while I was in prison. Why” – You say why! Well, it is policy. Yes, this is policy. Curse upon policy. Damn policy. Some days for you and other days against your . And a prisoner may stay there for like. And I forgot every body except one – and that was Shankal,
Shankal was my best friend in the childhood. shankal – the daring boy who persuaded me to start my life as a thief . He urged me to become his partner in those actions as if they were cunning risks. We began work by stealing the hubcaps. We only needed a screw – driver, and that was all to accomplish the work. We started stealing the hubcaps from the tiers of the cars in the New extension of the city. There the most of the dwellers were rich and owned a lot of cars. So we were able to collect twenty three pieces in the first day. We put them in a sack and moved a way.
My share in that theft was great. It was really beyond my dreams, I compared my share with the little sum of money which Salman the Idle said me after work and noticed the big difference. That day I entered our house as if I was an old official, carrying a basket of vegetables in one hand, and a basket full of apples in the other hand. I thought I could please my mother and I was very proud of myself at that time. But my mother did not let me go inside without being strictly enquired.
“How did you obtain all that money Salih ? Asked mother”.
“It is my work” Said I “This is not your work “ said mother . Your father sergeant Oweida did not commit any fault during his work as a soldier. He died like a brave man. He left a good reputation to us.
“Behave well Salih and stay away from the shameful deeds.”
Surely, I regretted what I had done and asked Alla for repentance. I stayed away from Shankal for a week or more. I got rid of his promises telling him that my sister Nasma was in need of continual service.
One day my sister Nada told me that the doctor claimed a great deal of money in order to cure our sister Nasma . I requested Salman the Idle to lend me the money but he apologized. We repulsed me with great cruelty .So, I was reluctantly involved in the second theft with my friend Shankal . We stole a complete tire and a jack this time. And Shankal left his share to participate in buying the medicine to cure Nasma. We thanked him for that. But from that day, I gave up stealing and determined to earn my livening in good way. .
Now, Shankal was beside me at that time. He gave a long sigh. He blew hot air on my tace forgetting that I was near him .
“My life , Harbi “ Said Shankal , “You cannot imagine my experience in life Harbi. It was just like hell. Do you know hell? Nobody could tolerate it. Harbi, my dear friend, listen to me carefully. I am the product of illegal marring . My mother put me in a litter box after the delivery. Yes, I am an illegitimate. This is exactly what you want to say, Harbi,” .
“But Excuse me – No one intervenes in these matters – even you Shankal. “ Said I.
“Thanks, friend,”Said Shankal, “ May mother put one part of a divided coin beside me “. He continued.
“Then, she thought of finding you again, one day.” I replied. “But – after seventeen years, Harbi?. I don’t need her. And if she comes in my life, I shall deny her and treat her severely. She ought to do abortion, or else bear the whole responsibility like any wise mother. She was weak and rude. “Said Shankal.”
“But .. “ I interrupted, “Perhaps there were over whelming circumstances which she failed to resist”.
“Don’t defend her. “Said Shankal . “Motherhood comes before all the circumstances. She left me like that without mercy, neglecting hunger, cold weather and wild dogs.
Why do you think in that stupid way, Shankal?” l asked. “Perhaps you act due to the effect of opium. Am I right Shankal?”
“Sorry, I am deeply sorry, my friend Harbi.” Any how a good man found me there. I was nearly deal. He took me to the nearest police station – and the police delivered me to the charity house. I stayed there for five years. I asked the nurse naive questions. She gave me naïve answers. Once she told me that my father was thunder and my mother was the cloud. Another time she said my father was the sun and my mother was the moon. I grew up with my fellow – mates. We began to understand life better. I liked my friends. But I liked the child ‘Kafala more than the others. We were at the same age.
I grasped the opportunity of darkness in that windy night and fled away accompanied by my friend ‘Kafala. We left the charity house to be swallowed in the drainage of the city.
‘Kalola’ had also a similar story. His mother left him lying near the mosque. He was wrapped in a piece of cloth. His mother left three little milk bottles beside him. She also put a letter telling to take care of him. The milk in the bottle was so hot that the persons who found him thought that the mother could be one of the women in the neighborhoods. And Kafola (who was named after that cloth) was taken immediately to the same charity House.
Shankal and Katola wandered restlessly along the streets of the city.
They were met by some naughty elder boys who suppressed them and took them like sheep to satisfy their needs . They hid themselves under the damp and dirty drainage beside the main streets of the city. They slept among cruel vulgar and homeless vagabonds, putting on dirty torn rags day and night. There they were taught how to steal and how to ding to survive.
On the other hand Julia, Shankal’s mother, spent her nights all those years in New York city . She longed for her return to Khartoum to search for her child and take him in her arms, and let him meet his sister Losiana whose father was American, and live happily as one family for the rest of their life.
jowlia didn’t know that her son Shankal lived as a displaced child who lost his parents, living on the remains of the dishes in the restaurants, licking paper to taste the sweetness of the unseen pastry in litter boxes after revealing the clinging ants out of them .
We drew nearer to the house, I felt sleepy and told Shankal to continue his story afterwards.
I screwed my courage and faced Salman the idle. I told him to increase my payment at work. I claimed the cost of the breakfast meal in addition to half of the money paid for each car I could mend or repair. Salman the idle did not want me to leave him, and so he agreed at once to my conditions, He also informed me to bargain the customers and deduct my share in advance. I was very happy and resumed my work as usual in the work shop.
One day a nice car stopped in front of the workshop. A pretty young girl got down, stepped forward and stood against me. I was puzzled and surprised. Her visit was an unforgettable event. It was the first time for the people in that place to see a girl drive a car .And more over, the loveliness and prettiness of that young sweet girl drew the attention of everybody there.
“My name is Sahar.” Said... ”I am a hostess in the airport and I want you to examine the engine of my car .. What is your name – please?”
Really, I forgot my name while I was trying to open the bonnet of the car .
“Please check the engine. There is intense heat there.” Said Sahar .
I asked Sahar politely to sit near Solman the Idle while I should check the engine and see the cause of hotness.
Salman the Idle did not behind that – and he felt as if he was in a dream. He asked the tea maker to bring tea the guest and he paid for that. Salman the Idle was a talkative person and wanted to practice his hobby with all customers.
The car needed a new pump. I told Sahar that my name was Salih. Sahar paid me the money. I bought the new pump and gave her the change. She thanked me and put money in my pocket, with a noticeable smile. She drove away, leaving me behind with a broken heart, and my mind suffered the heavy burden of the shaky memories of that sweet situation.
I went home and gave the money to my sister Salma . I refused lunch and preferred to sleep . But Salma noticed that I was busy in mind and she wanted to interfere.
“Have you heard of Ameera? She is engaged.” Said Salma. I went quickly out of the house.
Ameera was every thing to me. Shankal was coming to meet me. I accompanied him to the cemetery to relax and talk with him. Shankal lit a cigar of opium and started to smoke. He handed the rest of the cigar to me I hesitated at first. Then he provoked me. I joined him as a response to his teasing words.
Shankal told me that Ameera’s father was a greedy person. He was selfish too. He liked making money. He would think of selling his daughter to a rich person whatever he would be . Shankal wanted meet to cool down. He told me that Ameera was a student and would like to finish her study. He added that Ameera was not thinking of marriage at that time. Shankal knew that I loved Ameera very much. But he did not know that Sahar filled all my heart.
drift in khartoum anovel
رد مع اقتباس
