War is a Cruel Guest
By: Sulafa Mohammed Elnour
The Voice of Women
Introduction Note:
This story was written by the author to describe the realities of war. After
being abroad with her family, she has now returned to Sudan. Her moving,
seven-part narration captures the painful transition from normal life to the
hardships of displacement, loss, and the ultimate journey toward safety.
Part 1: The Looming Shadow
On an ordinary day, everyone goes to work, shops, visits
friends, or stays home, expecting a happy day. The sounds of the sellers in the
markets rise as vendors call out their wares, and the aroma of freshly baked
bread wafts through every street. Everyone is happy.
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire rings out. We thought it was
just a brief clash and that peace would soon prevail. Perhaps it was a heavy
burden that would quickly pass. No one considered that this heavy burden was a
shadow that had settled over us, its dark, colourless spectre looming.
The sound of rifles and cannons grows louder for hours,
days, months, and then years. This house is not my house; this home is not my
home. Where are my friends? Where are we? Will we ever return?
To be continued...
Part 2: Displacement: Twelve Stories of Pain
Twelve stories of pain and loss, beginning from the unknown
and leading to the unknown. All the earth is your home now, and all places feel
the same. There is nothing special and no extra requests—just whatever is
available. You move from house to house, from state to state, fleeing the
anguish and horrors of war.
Over there, someone cries—someone whose son, father, or
entire family was killed. Rape, forced disappearance, and murder happen without
any crime other than belonging to this wounded homeland. How I long for my own
pillow. There are so many stories to tell, but nothing remains. Everything has
been violated and looted. All the houses stand empty, filled only with the
sound of rats and a deadly silence.
Part 3: Shelters, Lines, and Shared Kitchens
People and their eyes tell everything: story after story,
pain hidden behind a smile. We are here, but thank God, the first thing to
remember is that we are still okay.
There are service lines and registration queues. Someone
collapsed from the heat; he could not stand, so we will help him first. A rug,
a container of water, and cooking utensils are all we have. Perhaps the food
basket will arrive soon. Hot meals and a shared kitchen fuel us; hundreds of
mouths are waiting.
The day ends. We dream that we might return home, but it
cannot be my home anymore. I change my home every few days. As the sunset waves
goodbye, telling us to hang up our lights, we hope that tomorrow might be
different.
Part 4: Fading Memories, Clinging to Life
Every day is the beginning of a new life. The past is gone,
and memories fade away. Moving around constantly weakens our connection to
places and people. Yet, amidst all this, there were flowers and moons that
illuminated the darkness of displacement. Work, however simple, makes you cling
to life. Traveling to shelters and villages to help others brings a small
measure of satisfaction.
Love visited us once, but it did not want to stay. Perhaps
it felt that displacement was too beautiful and decided to leave us for other
hearts that were safer and more comfortable. Heartache is nothing when you are
the one who has lost everything. Your heart does not matter; nothing matters
except clinging to life and to a new day that may never come.
Part 5: White Lilacs: Love Amid Destruction
During these days, many marriages took place, as if they
were the strongest weapon to bring security and strengthen our presence despite
the war and destruction. Love stories began during displacement and
homelessness. Flowers blossomed and buds opened in every dark corner, like a
luminous white lilac whose fragrance is like dew gently scattered to alleviate
suffering and give birth to hope and love amidst the devastation.
Part 6: Stolen Treasures and Empty Houses
My mother’s dress and bracelets, her husband’s things, and
so many items filled with love. My mother’s scent, my father’s shawl that I
saved for a wedding day, clothes, and bridal tools—their precious treasures are
hidden away. There are pictures of scattered things, the most beautiful
treasures on earth, because they belonged to my dear mother.
None of it is the same anymore. They took it all and buried
it alongside the souls that were stolen from us while we were still alive.
There is a mother who remembers her kitchen utensils and other belongings: her
bags, clothes, and ebony furniture crafted with pride and love. She cries out,
"Have my children returned? Will we ever go home? Is the house still the
same, or is it destroyed?" And the questions go on...
Part 7: Immigration: Building from Scratch
Immigration means leaving one's home for another country as
a refugee, wanting to create a homeland, a safe place, and a warm haven to
protect against the constant movement of a long displacement. There is illegal
immigration, filled with harsh roads, cars, mountains, deserts, and traders who
make the journey feel longer than it actually is.
Sometimes you succeed in crossing, and sometimes you wait
for days until you are safe. Then, the story continues: building everything
from scratch—a new life, a new place. But thank God, they are finally safe.
There is no sound of bullets, no death; everything has stopped now.
