Sajidah Osman My Dearest Sudan,
I keep thinking about the last time I saw you. From what I last remember of you, your skies were blindingly bright, your land shades of gold and jade, and the air welcoming and full of joy. Your people vibrant, in both their textiles and character, never hesitating to open their doors and lend a helping hand. I want to close my eyes and pretend that these moments are only a step away, but it ' s been so long since I ' ve seen you and our memories are turning bittersweet.
It is as if it were only yesterday, but it has been 6 years since I last saw you. 6 years since I felt your warmth upon my skin. 6 years since I walked through the doors of my late grandmother’ s home and heard laughter echo off the walls.
They tell me that your colour has faded away. That your laughter has turned to wails. None of us could have ever imagined this would happen to you. We were so close. So, so close to the freedom and democracy you deserve. It was within our grasp. We buried our sons, our martyrs in your embrace hoping that their lives, taken away too early, would lay the foundations for your prosperous future. But now it’ s been over 890 days since the proxy war broke out, thousands more have been murdered and there is no one left to keep count. Your once green, fertile lands, crystal waters and golden terrain are crimson-stained. They’ re taking away your life, your soul, your spirit with every gunshot, every bomb dropped, every assault and transgression. I’ m watching you die and I don ' t know what to do besides cry. They’ ve taken you from us. They’ ve torn you apart and turned you to ruins. They’ ve stolen your history, scarred your culture and sold it for a quick buck. Bloodthirsty zombies are pulling the triggers while they receive their orders from countries that seek to exploit your riches. The world has betrayed you, they have betrayed us. The media has turned its back on you, forgotten you. They pretend as though you don’ t exist, they imply that you do not matter, that we do not matter. But why? Do we not bleed the same colour? Or is it the colour of the children you bear? Your namesake. Al-Sudan, land of the blacks. Is it because they paint African nations as hopeless and pin the responsibility on us? They pity us but don’ t care enough to enact
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