Saad Youssef writes… The Catastrophe .. Episode 3

(Thinking about Migration)

In the previous episode I asked: How did I allow myself to think, just think, about migration?

The simple answer I have is that the events of (Black Day) and the situations, events and incidents that followed played a decisive role in pushing me to think about migration…
One of the results of that fateful day was that I lost my phones, and with their loss I lost contact with the world around me, with family, relatives and friends, so that I could reassure them and reassure them about me… I listen to their voices and the clouds of loneliness clear out before my eyes and I imagine their beautiful, kind faces and they become easier for the ugly monsters hovering around me.
As a result of that fateful day, I lost my laptop, which was the most important piece of equipment I owned, as it was my safe and my laboratory where I spent my days and nights working on preparing a large book about the history of the theatrical movement in Sudan as a whole, documenting what I had written or what others had written. I had started working on it more than a year before. With the loss of the device, I lost the book and the originals of the play I was busy writing. By losing my job, I became unemployed, with no work to do except receive the gangs of invaders, answer their stupid, repetitive questions, and watch them break down the doors of houses, loot whatever is light and expensive from their contents, and leave them open for two types of local gangs. The first type are professional male gangs, former thieves of the city. It is said that they were among those who were in prisons and were released by the war. It is also said that after the invaders are satisfied with what they have looted from the houses, they sell them to these gangs and provide them with protection so that they can loot whatever they want. As for the second type, they are female gangs who make morning visits to clean the houses that have been looted of clothes and kitchen utensils. The events of those days taught us to watch those entering the street and focus our eyes on them before they reach us so that we can prepare ourselves for the appropriate way to deal with them. If they are carrying firearms, they are invaders and we must prepare ourselves psychologically to answer their stupid questions. If they are carrying machetes, they are gangs and they usually do not pay attention to us unless we stop them. If they are carrying sticks or nothing, they are usually ordinary citizens on their way to and from the nearby woodshed.

One morning, as usual, we were under the tree, a group of what remained of the neighborhood residents. A man wearing African clothing appeared from afar, with a boy who was no more than ten years old. The boy was dragging a dry tree branch. We said they were heading to the pen, and as they approached, we noticed that the man was holding a firearm on his shoulder. The man stood up, and behind him stood the boy who looked like his son. The man held out his weapon in front of us and shouted at us in a clear Omdurman accent:
– Stop!
– So we stood up.
– Why are you gathered?
– These are our homes!
– Why didn’t you leave the city like the rest?
– Where are we going?
– He didn’t answer the question and turned towards the car parked in a cage in the street, then addressed me:
– Bring me this car!
– This car doesn’t work!
– I’ll start it!
– Okay, start it!
– Give me the key!
– It doesn’t have a key!
– What kind of car is that without a key? Stop chattering and give me the key
– Brother, if this car was running, would it have stayed here until this time?
– Open this cage for me.
We opened the cage for him, he entered and hovered around the car and did not understand anything, and came out angrily and shouted in our faces:
– It seems that good treatment does not work with you. Come on, move!
– Where are we going?
– To the support
We moved with him, but he stopped me:
– You, old man, stay here
Everyone went in front of him and the boy behind them looked around in terror… I was watching them with compassion until they disappeared on the asphalt street… And before I could think about my next step… My companions appeared… And when they arrived, I learned from them that one of the invaders’ leaders met them on the road and asked the man:
– Stop… Where are you taking these people?
– These are army intelligence
– Brother, these are citizens… Go back guys
– And you stay where you are
Later, we learned that this man and his son were residents of a neighboring neighborhood, and the invaders had mobilized them to join their forces… And when they armed him, he came behind their backs to loot for his own account.
In this context, I remember that one day, while we were in our usual gathering under the tree, a middle-aged man passed by us… Strong-bodied… absent-minded… He passed in front of us without noticing our presence… We watched him until he disappeared… Then he returned after a short time carrying a (fan)… This time he noticed our presence… He stopped and greeted us:
– Peace be upon you, guys
– Peace be upon you
– I am not a thief… I swear to God that I am not a thief.
None of us answered him, so he continued speaking in a trembling voice, struggling with tears.
– I… I am just a blacksmith… I swear to God that for several months I have not had a penny… I sold everything in the house for a little amount of money to I feed my children… I have children who have not eaten for two days… I had no choice but to steal a blender or a fan or anything… I had no choice. Then he was silent for a moment before he exploded in our faces: Yes, I stole the fan to sell it and buy my children something to eat… Should I leave them starve to death?
He threw the question in our faces… He did not wait for our answer and left quickly… As for us, we were struck with gloom. We did not answer him and remained silent and did not comment till he had disappeared. These events were not the only reason for me to think about leaving my home, as events escalated quickly and began to take dangerous directions.

To be continued…