Published in The Citizen Newspaper – June19th, 2013 in my weekly column Blography of Sudan
With its colorful background, an intriguing piece of Arabic calligraphy behind the name and the tastefully chosen pictures accompanying every post; this blog: NubianQ.com is a feast for the eye. However it is more than just that, in her first post, published on December 4th, 2009, NubianQ describes her blog as her Solitary Content. There she writes:“So this here is my solitary content, where my angels and demons reside in one space, … Where I can just be… me. Where I can lay down this heavy atlas and stretch out my aching shoulders and crooked spine and stand and just… breathe”. The urge to state her thought and feelings filtered by nothing but a sense for literary beauty which can be seen in the previous quote was translated in her writing style. Weather it is a love poem, a nostalgic prose, a narrative of political events or a photo; it is always personal, an honest description of the writer’s thoughts. NubianQ’s style is rather descriptive and romantic. She tends to beautifully and smoothly slide into the metaphors of the words blurring the lines between the objective descriptions and the subjective feelings. Other blurred lines in her writing are those between prose and poetry, which are sometimes only distinguishable by the posts’ category; poetry or short story. The blog also includes other categories; Monologues, her list of Sudan’s Finest websites and her photography. The subcategory (Short stories: THIS SHOULD BE IN A NOVEL SERIES) contains some of the blog’s finest pieces. NubianQ blogs mainly in English yet often uses some Sudanese-Arabic words. Nostalgia and questioning Sudanese stereotypes especially for females are topics frequently mentioned in this blog.
Out of her short stories I am glad to introduce you this snap shot -as NubianQ calls them-. Enjoy it.
Childhood by NubianQ 
Renting out the old place and buying something new. Plans shoved in my face, enlarged halls, more room, a better view, easier access and honestly, that house is just too old fashioned.

That old place was my childhood.

No matter how many years it took me to come back, that old place was my anchor.

This is where I’m supposed to smile and nod with enthusiasm.

I won’t.

This is where I’m supposed to ask as if I really cared.

I don’t.

But don’t think me childish because truly, I do understand, it’s just, that was my childhood.

The only thing that runs across my mind like a steady drum is; I wish, I wish, I wish.

If only I’d whispered to each hall, room, closet, corner I love you.

If only I’d remembered to capture with the memory of each blink like a camera lens, the crowded visitors, sleeping bodies, rainbow of expressions around the seenaya [tray], Yuma [grandma] and how she insisted to pray without the chair, all the aunties in the kitchen preparing Friday’s fatoor [breakfast], Muna as she gracefully mopped the floors, the amount of dust that shaped the air.

If only I’d memorized the so many faces that are now long gone, held you tighter, imprinted your smell, your voice, your texture.

If only I could take these golden moments and spread them about, smoothen the wrinkles and just watch: secrets shared underneath the stars of the satoo7 [roof], being almost caught with our first drag of cigarettes, getting chased with the shibshib [flip-flop] for being almost 18 and still sliding in the mud as it rained, gathering around one mirror when there were so many others, pushing and shoving as we passed around that eyeliner.

If only I’d have just one last chance to slide down that banister, run my hands across every crack, every scar to these marbled floors and relive their stories, and just swing my body round and round that garage pole, lose my balance and just lay in the sun.

I wish I could go back to the familiarity of truth and simpleness, when what I spoke in my mind was awarded not punished, when I was not afraid to let my feelings run wild, climb trees, be muddied, be a complete mess and so, so free. 

And now, when I’ll drive down that familiar street, littered with new shops and unfamiliar places, my house reshaped, maybe a bank, a school, I’ll make sure to slow down, lower the window and smile at the heat as it slaps my face, shade my eyes and in an instant remember, just like that fabled second right before you die, all the memories gathered in a sigh and say there goes my childhood.

Tallying SDG by NubianQ

Tallying SDG by NubianQ


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