It was a particular time of the year, when foreigners or as some call them “khawajats” visit our country, Sudan. Hours went by, and nobody opened their car windows to hand me money. Despite that, I couldn’t help but notice how complex and sophisticated the cars were. The shiny gloss that appears every time the sun would reflect its light on it. Foolishly, I imagined myself holding a steering wheel with the air-condition cooling my face down. But I knew that was never going to happen and I snapped out of it as I felt a burning sensation on my fingers.
I unconsciously was gliding my fingers on the body of a car. From afar, I could see Moutaz running towards me, and I instantly knew something was wrong with my sister. ‘Zeinab needs help, the other children are stealing her money’ He shouted while gasping for air. I suddenly felt the rage and adrenaline flow through me. It was as if I had just lost control of my own body and began to run on its own with only one thing in mind, save the money.
You’re probably wondering why the money only? Well, I never really understood how my sister gets along with my father after all he’s done to my family. It was three years ago, my mom was sick with kidney failure, and my dad was looking for work in another country hoping to provide us a better life even if it means going against my mother’s will. Hussein was offered a contract at a construction company in Qatar to transport equipment for $108 by an agency.
He had spent all the money for my mother’s treatment on processing fees only to find out the agency was fake and stole all our money. I had to borrow and earn money, neglecting my education to fix up my father’s shameful mistake with the hope to improve my mother’s condition. Until one day, on my birthday my mother could not endure the pain and took in one last breath. Her fingers felt like bones wrapped around thin silk, and they offered no resistance when I squeezed them. Finally, when I felt some movement, she opened her eyes and met my gaze for just a split second before the muscles of her face contracted, as if in pain. Her eyes closed shut and all the lines on her face smoothed away. I was there to witness all of her struggles. This is the reason why Zeinab and I are in these streets begging when we used to have the privilege of going to school and more importantly why my beloved mother died. It was dark and cold when we got home and found my father sitting on the floor looking frustrated with only the fluorescent lamp shining light upon our house. “We don’t have enough money to buy bread, the prices have gone too high.” Hussein murmured. “I have money I earned from today’s work,” I replied. “It’s not just us complaining, the whole village is. This is because of the corrupt government we have!” “Baba, you know we cannot do anything about that.” Zeinab blurted out hoping father will not get mad at her for interrupting and getting involved in this political conversation. ‘We can, other regions are protesting against Omer Al-Bashir.
The village is joining the fight tomorrow, and I’m coming with them!” ‘Alright, I’m going to be the sensible one father, you guys are not going to overthrow him!’ With just one sentence, I ended up with cuts and bruises all over my body. I felt fist after fist. Every blow sends a sharp searing jolt of pain through my body. Did he not see I was just looking out for him? I tried forgiving him, I really did but how could I when I feel like he does not even accept me as his son. Months went by, and the situation got worse more people were arrested, and the military started tear gassing MY OWN, THEIR OWN countrymen. But Hussein never stopped he kept going so I decided to join him. I’m glad I did. I faced the pain I felt when my mother died in my arms. “Take care of your sister, we’ll be together again with your mother,” I could swear that I never heard him say something with such a sad and cold stone. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I was so stubborn!” “I love you, I always have and always will.” “HELP! HELP! HELP!” I shouted at the top of my lungs and felt his last breath on my arms. With that, I realized family is family. It doesn’t matter how horrible they are, you have to forgive. I was given the time to spend amazing days with my parents especially my dad instead I wasted it by keeping all that madness and inside of me instead of resolving it. I am glad I was with him because he didn’t have to die alone.
Cite this Begging For Forgiveness
Begging For Forgiveness. (2021, May 17). Retrieved from https://graduateway.com/begging-for-forgiveness/