Chapter 1
From Artikata to Coinka - Smallpox & Wan Features
We were about to leave, when Solidad Fidel, my grandmother, kissed me putting in my hand secretly a poor currency, although I did not know its value exactly and did not expect her to do so even, I felt angry and insult because she could not find another good currency to express how does she love me, then I just allowed her to kiss me with her wet lips, without kissing her back as resentment expression. I remember that she cried that day with no reasons I could tell. I could not believe that she loves me that much, but when we reached Coinka I discovered that entirely. It was a long journey to Coinka which I had smallpox. My mom was the most wronged one in this journey because she had to take care of a sick child plus a quarrelsome and moody girl, Juwanitta Sarjinio, my elder sister. My dad, who stayed in Artikata where he works in a mine of diamond, recommended my mom to take us to his birthplace to meet our relatives there, it was in a one of their fast phone calls which did not include any flirtation. This behave that ostensibly shows a kind of interest to the affinities, had inner significance that does not free of masculine conceit as long as he desired to feel it since 1971 when he married my mom. I felt so happy with I heard train’s whistle announcing departure of Toledo, I waved my hands for those who queued up along the quayside without even I know one of them. In the short-infrequent times I was waking up, I was not see through the window anything except rocky poor land, fitting the fever that was eroding me along the journey. It gave me that feeling of I would die thirstily. What was bothering me more than the fever, the voice of the train plates which suggest you always that they may separate from each other at anytime, in addition to rail wheels, that resembles pulses of giant’s heart. Those voices were guiding to depression and laziness, specially in the bad mood that was covering our cabin. The only thing sucked on my mind was the leather seat smell, it extremely resembles smell of cuts hair. That time I was surrounded with a tender care of old women, which made me, early, feel too disgusted to elderly smell and their skin wrinkles and food habits which make me throw up, although they were taking care of me more than anyone else. In the other hand, there was an old family detestation caused by father’s early independence behavior, when he refused to give me his name and sent a telegraph with just one line says ‘congratulations on Casper Sirjinio’s birth.’ My grandfather considered that a kind of blatant ingratitude. It was in 1974 and nobody gave his name, that only exists in the old French, to anyone of his grandsons, and that It helped him to forgave my father later on. Somehow, fragments of that old family anger transferred to my father’s brothers and sisters who attended heart attack of my grandfather when he read the provocative telegram. But, indeed, they was envying my father for his escaping of the hell of the hegemonic Orphel Boden to work in the most famous diamond mine in the country later on, leaving them with a picky father and harsh social environment where no ambitions can be done. The only good thing my father did to me is that he refused to name me with his father’s name, so it could be as a foundling jester’s name; ‘Orphil Sarjinio Orphil’
A nosy talkative woman wearing black dress spotted with small white circles, optical glass and black gloves matching with the dress was sharing us the same cabin. Later on, I discovered that she is a wife of one of my father’s friends. She didn’t stop telling my mother about the best traditional telemedicine manners depending on her long experience in the smallpox disease which her brothers and, lately, her son had been suffering from. I wondered how did she survived! The worst experience I had in this trip when my mother left me alone with the nosy woman and went to bathroom. It was my first time I discover how Norckies inclined to popular treatments more than the modern ones. They weren’t respect modern medicine, or technology in general neither. So, the nearest hospital was a full day of walking away from Coinka. I was enjoying looking to hawkers through the window when the train stops in each station for less than fifteen minutes maximum. Stations looked so poor and desert aside from some routine faces were passing by from time to time. They had not any signboards showing their names, too. I knew that from Ms. Corbin’s inquiries when she hanged every time ‘which station is this?’ I still remember the slim girl who was selling a red juice packaged in transparent bags in a classic bucket. I asked my mother to buy me one but the nosy woman objected, and advised her not to obey because the cold beverages may adversely affect on my health. My mother entirely convinced with her opinion, though I would not accept her advice nor give up to her upsetting curiosity. I considered it a domestic case, so I started crying depending on my health situation. It always works. Patients have a special treatment more than able-bodies. However I couldn’t taste it because of bitterness of my tongue, it does not matter I felt ecstasy of victory anyway. For some reason I knew that Ms. Corbin was exchanging me the same feeling of hate and was peeping me through her glass. Cold war between me and Ms. Corbin continued until we arrived Catoshia in a midday where dozen of men and women came to reception, I lost motherhood warmth since that time on. I felt sad and loneliness watching the melodramatic scene for families who war sentenced them to secession and displacement homelessness.
Sad local words which my mother and other women exchanging were very effective on me, although I do not know the local language that much. Many of them thought I am speechless because I was just using sign language and gesturing. I liked the way people were transferring from tear to laughter and then guffawing without preliminary gradients. But I knew that it is too easy to learn. I was eight years old, richness form was so clear on me and on my mother either. She did not dare to pull her jewelries out of her wrist as if she is guard of Buddhist temple, and it was the only evidence that she is coming from Artickata, the land of diamonds. Although I did not know a reason to proving that, I perceived that Norckies extremely care about such things.
Wan Yellow was the senior color in every single thing I saw in the journey, and what I still remember from that its houses were very far from each other so, they use the vast spaces between the house in the occasion. I was almost cured enough to walk by myself. ‘Jesus! This is Sarjino’s son.’ They were repeating this sentence whenever they saw me. That time, I realized the masculine conspiracy that my father planned when he asked my mother to take us to his birthplace. I never would like anyone to treat me as Sarjino’s son, but they were doing that casually and I accepted dozen of kiss with both: men and women who I don’t know wholeheartedly. Although everyone of them was producing himself/herself to me, I didn’t care to memorize their names at all, I just saw unstilted happiness on their faces, their life was so simple and that what didn’t make me feel shame asking ‘Where is the bathroom here?’ instead of telling that to my mother confidentially as I used to do. I had no perfect memories in Catoshia, maybe because I didn’t stay there for long time, it just was two days only, we were waiting for a car to take us to Coinka.
The journey was like the secret illegal immigrations for those who were sneaking to Lamimbone across the western borderline using different means. In one of their lovely night gathering, an old emigrant lady who still keeping aristocratic-look up came carrying some traditional gifts into a kit bag, to my mother who took the bag and promised her to deliver it to addressee in Conika.
A nosy talkative woman wearing black dress spotted with small white circles, optical glass and black gloves matching with the dress was sharing us the same cabin. Later on, I discovered that she is a wife of one of my father’s friends. She didn’t stop telling my mother about the best traditional telemedicine manners depending on her long experience in the smallpox disease which her brothers and, lately, her son had been suffering from. I wondered how did she survived! The worst experience I had in this trip when my mother left me alone with the nosy woman and went to bathroom. It was my first time I discover how Norckies inclined to popular treatments more than the modern ones. They weren’t respect modern medicine, or technology in general neither. So, the nearest hospital was a full day of walking away from Coinka. I was enjoying looking to hawkers through the window when the train stops in each station for less than fifteen minutes maximum. Stations looked so poor and desert aside from some routine faces were passing by from time to time. They had not any signboards showing their names, too. I knew that from Ms. Corbin’s inquiries when she hanged every time ‘which station is this?’ I still remember the slim girl who was selling a red juice packaged in transparent bags in a classic bucket. I asked my mother to buy me one but the nosy woman objected, and advised her not to obey because the cold beverages may adversely affect on my health. My mother entirely convinced with her opinion, though I would not accept her advice nor give up to her upsetting curiosity. I considered it a domestic case, so I started crying depending on my health situation. It always works. Patients have a special treatment more than able-bodies. However I couldn’t taste it because of bitterness of my tongue, it does not matter I felt ecstasy of victory anyway. For some reason I knew that Ms. Corbin was exchanging me the same feeling of hate and was peeping me through her glass. Cold war between me and Ms. Corbin continued until we arrived Catoshia in a midday where dozen of men and women came to reception, I lost motherhood warmth since that time on. I felt sad and loneliness watching the melodramatic scene for families who war sentenced them to secession and displacement homelessness.
Sad local words which my mother and other women exchanging were very effective on me, although I do not know the local language that much. Many of them thought I am speechless because I was just using sign language and gesturing. I liked the way people were transferring from tear to laughter and then guffawing without preliminary gradients. But I knew that it is too easy to learn. I was eight years old, richness form was so clear on me and on my mother either. She did not dare to pull her jewelries out of her wrist as if she is guard of Buddhist temple, and it was the only evidence that she is coming from Artickata, the land of diamonds. Although I did not know a reason to proving that, I perceived that Norckies extremely care about such things.
Wan Yellow was the senior color in every single thing I saw in the journey, and what I still remember from that its houses were very far from each other so, they use the vast spaces between the house in the occasion. I was almost cured enough to walk by myself. ‘Jesus! This is Sarjino’s son.’ They were repeating this sentence whenever they saw me. That time, I realized the masculine conspiracy that my father planned when he asked my mother to take us to his birthplace. I never would like anyone to treat me as Sarjino’s son, but they were doing that casually and I accepted dozen of kiss with both: men and women who I don’t know wholeheartedly. Although everyone of them was producing himself/herself to me, I didn’t care to memorize their names at all, I just saw unstilted happiness on their faces, their life was so simple and that what didn’t make me feel shame asking ‘Where is the bathroom here?’ instead of telling that to my mother confidentially as I used to do. I had no perfect memories in Catoshia, maybe because I didn’t stay there for long time, it just was two days only, we were waiting for a car to take us to Coinka.
The journey was like the secret illegal immigrations for those who were sneaking to Lamimbone across the western borderline using different means. In one of their lovely night gathering, an old emigrant lady who still keeping aristocratic-look up came carrying some traditional gifts into a kit bag, to my mother who took the bag and promised her to deliver it to addressee in Conika.
1 comment:
Wonderful Hisham, we are proud of you as a Sudanese auothr
Sahar
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