Kamel… Your speech was rich, but the appetizers spoiled it!
Najy Al-Karshabi
As raindrops scattered over me on a beautiful Istanbul morning, I found myself echoing with “Qaddour” my longing for you. The night of exile had worn me down; the specter of your memory made my heart weep. And just before purifying myself by lamenting a bleeding homeland—over which drones of destruction roam—I was jolted awake by my phone ringing with the special tone assigned to Professor Hassan Ismail. A man who has been quietly helping me wipe away grief since the very first gunshot, as we received waves of sorrow at the studio door: for loved ones, family, neighbors, and memories hanging on the walls of Khartoum.
In his confident voice, he asked:
“Did you listen to the Prime Minister’s address at the Security Council?”
My heart clenched and my emotions trembled with anxiety. For days I had been following a flood of frightening “leaks” and a deeply discouraging report by SUNA about the visit— all of it emanating from the army’s media machine, promoting the idea of giving a blank check to the quartet whose vision threatens both the army and the state.
So I replied in a subdued, resigned voice, believing those ‘big men’ and ‘big women’:
“So that’s it—they’ve handed them the country, the army, my memories, Qaddour’s longing, and Al-Hout’s sorrows…”
“No, no,” he said. “It’s an excellent initiative. Just listen, then we’ll meet.”
I listened. From the very first sentence, the Prime Minister placed the world before a harsh mirror. He held the international community accountable for the cost of delay, reminding it that the price of silence has been paid in Sudanese blood, in the tearing of the social fabric, in cities reduced to ruins, and in families forced into exile.
I went back once again to read SUNA and the media machine. I found the Prime Minister’s speech to be a complete, full-course meal. Yet I could not savor its taste—nor could millions of Sudanese. The reason was that the appetizers served to us at the outset were drenched in salt, vinegar, and the bitter colocynth of the Kizan—a bitterness that spoiled the elegance of both the initiative and the address.
My dear sirs—Chairman Al-Burhan and Prime Minister—move swiftly to dry up the sources of this bitter Kizan poison. Serve us appropriate appetizers, in appropriate dishes, before offering such a rich and substantial meal. Otherwise, this very kind of suspicion will persist.
