On the edge of my reason

I have to admit it, at first to myself then now to my readers. Sudan is hard. I think hard is the word. I seem to block out so many things. Those things find a way to take its mark on my deep inside anyway. All the personal struggles are one issue and the struggle for survival and dignified life around me is another issue. But deep inside me they are both present as stress.

To be dignified and to believe in one self and then have the possibility for dreams, thereby realizing that potential, is a luxury. It is a life only the privileged can live. Here in Sudan the privileged are very few and most of the people think about getting a full stomach. 

For me personally this means many things. First of all it means I do not want to spend much time wondering about it. Because I am here to do a job, not get depressed. But since a lot of people have expressed to me that they miss “the real picture” on Sudan, I will tell you this fictional story to exemplify what some times is right there in front of our faces in the field.

This is Fatouh Mounir. She is 10 years old. She is living on the street of Port Sudan and tries to make ends meet by begging the rich white people in the little tourist area up town. She and her mother have a safe alley to sleep in. It is safe because there are many women together in this alley and a mosque is near. She sleeps on cardboards and has already suffered malaria many times, a little bit of dysentery, dog bites, and many more infections and fungus attacks. There are also lice and other insects disturbing her sleep sometimes. When she grows up her mother has plans to get them out of this country but they have to work together to get the chance. All the women work in a particular part of the city where they seem to follow men home from the coffee shops. Men must really like the company because the women say they pay ok. 

This one time Fatouh was really hungry and stole an apple from the market, she remembers this situation well because she was unfortunate. A policeman stood right by her and grabbed her hard in the arm. He said: “I will teach not to steal!” And then he took her to a dark room in the police station. Here she had to stay alone in the cold, wet room for five days. When they took her out she could not see in the strong light. They gave her five whips with a painful long and thin rope and sent her on her way to find her mother. Many of her friends in the alley have been attacked by men who does not understand the word no. They seem very, very sad afterwards. “Why do the people here hate us?”, Fatouh thinks. Some of her friends are sick, but not like the malaria or dysentery. “This is for life”, the doctor said. They cannot get well again. Some of them were sick after working for some time with following men home. “I don`t want to do this. I want to be a singer”, Fatouh says.

It stung like hell to write this to you. So I hope you find a way to do your best for the poor and deprived in this world. I for my sake will do that and live my life to the fullest, because not one of the poor people in this world would like the rich and/or fortunate to pity them. Only give them a chance and join them to build a better place. 

[The story of Fatouh Mounir is fiction, but the cases in the story is collected from the stories we, the youth delegates Thomas and Anine, get from the children living on the street in Port Sudan and the situation on work opportunities and prostitution. The picture is of a homeless girl in Port Sudan]

All the best
Thomas