I Am Not Tired

Are you tired? They ask,
As they stare at me,
My hair stands in protest,
Too heavy for my knees,
With eyes like a zombie,
Dark bags underneath,
No I am not tired,
Not in the least,
I am just, how do I describe it?
Yeah…I am Sudanese
That is a legit adjective
I’m sure you’d agree
When I take you through a regular day,
so you’d know what I mean
Take today, for example,
The beginning of the week,
As the alarm clock goes off,
I snooze till 6:15,
I’d convince myself to get up,
With a feeling of unease,
My body leaves the bed,
Though my brain sure disagrees,
After completing my morning rituals,
And looking for my keys,
I leave the house in a hurry,
And feel the morning breeze
Smile for a second, before I scream
As I get attacked by a bee
While waking up the neighbours
Throwing an unnecessary scene
On the way to uni,
I’m perplexed by what I see
A kid on his way to school,
Looking like he’s going to freeze,
Wearing his thin uniform,
And breathing with a wheeze
Begging for money, collecting some
To buy a small bag of cheese
That’ll give him energy to get through the day,
And learn his ABCs,
Sit al shai’s already in her chair,
Preparing her morning tea,
Welcoming each customer,
Serving ligaymat full of grease
Collecting the money to make ends meet,
Struggling to pay her son’s school fees
While missing her husband Idrees,
Who died of an unmanaged, expensive disease
Her customers of all ages and colours
Ethnicities, jobs & beliefs
A Christian, an athiest, a child,
And an ansaari rebuking iblees
A man who’s struggling to find a was6a
Because being qualified isn’t enough it seems
A janitor, a teacher, a female wazeer
And an editor, who’s also a part-time thief
All peacefully enjoy their tea,
Without any worry or fear
Then realize it’s time for work,
Pay for their breakfast, & quietly leave
A car passes by with a beautiful child,
Who mischievously smiles at me
As I drive further into Khartoum,
I smile back for a second so brief,
Before Bus Al Waali cuts in the middle,
With its stupid selfish wheels
And I realize people ONLY cross
When the traffic lights turn green
And why does this street look so old?
It’s two thousand & freaking fifteen!
It’s too early for arguments,
But these loud two are arguing about deen
And one had the audacity,
To nostalgically mention “al zmn al jameel”
A weird-looking man whistles at a woman,
Who’s walking down the street,
She turns around & yells at him,
Threatening to cut him up like meat
People are walking around with a frown
With anger that shines from within
I enter the campus with similar fury,
But manage to fake a grin
Listening to people’s irrelevant issues,
And how they comment on everything
I take their unnecessary opinions
And slam-dunk them into the bin
Listening to endless lectures,
Trying to take it all in,
The hours go by, as I get more done,
And my patience wears very thin
As I drive back home, I see a little boy
Who’s being bullied, & getting called queer
And no one is doing anything about it,
Because the bully wd al safeer
A girl is getting verbally abused
For rocking her skinny jeans
And getting called words,
That shouldn’t be heard, by a girl in her early teens
A man’s head pokes out of the window,
Of a BMW’s backseat,
And he spits, like a barn-yard animal
Right in the middle of the street
Stuck in bad traffic, I get a little bored
So I decide to tweet,
But internet in Sudan is a cry for help,
So I give up in defeat
The sun shines bright,
As I feel the wave of the burning envious heat
Finally at home, I’ve no a5lag
Or remaining energy to eat
The second I walk in, ‘9yoof everywhere
Ya reetni lw ma kan jeet
“Inti 7t3arisi mten? 97batik kolom 3raso
7ta Sara bit Abdul7ameed
W lonik da malo 3amil kda?
3ndi leki cream raheeb
It will make your skin look so radiant
And white & smooth w nadeef”
I smile b 2adab, because bit nas,
And excuse myself to leave
I march to my room, & up the stairs
I drag my exhausted feet
“Why the face?” my sister asks,
2wl ma shafatni jeet
I notice the smell of my fave perfume
Before her sentence is complete
But I choose not to pick a fight
3shan 7rgan al roo7 ma yzeed
“Are you tired?” she asks again
“No, I’m just Sudanese.”