Hijra (means travel or migration in arabic),
That’s what people at a roadblock say when water is a commodity and moonlight is a luxury
Hijra, Before I can remember how hot the Summers can be in Khartoum
Hijra my mother said
Hijra to where your brothers won’t be forced to reap the deaths they didn’t sow
Hijra to somewhere on the rusty train on the rusty ferry up the Nile where I learn not to belong
So there she went, loading us up on a truck to the train station
Hijra, she says as we all unwilling got on the train to a place where we didn’t know we would never be truly free
Hijra as I cried with my brothers and for a moment, I didn’t feel like
I was the only one who knew what powerlessness felt like.
We cried together as the train rocked us to sleep A lullaby to the rhythm of the steel drums.
Taran ta ta taran ta ta (sound of the train on the train tracks)
My mother’s first daughter was the last to wipe her cheek
The last to inhale in acceptance of our new fate
As the distance between her and her lover grew into a monster
Which eventually consumed her happiness.
Taran ta ta taran ta ta
My mother’s face was like the sun overcoming the horizon
Far to reach, breathes life into the universe, and alway present
Like my sister, she too had monsters
Many to count that tried to swallow her whole
But she asphyxiated them at night when they tried to hunt her.
Taran ta ta taran ta ta
Silence became comfort as sadness took our words away
It was as though we forgot to pack extra words to say at moments like this It was as though my mother had no extra room when she packed
The 3 toobs, beaded skirts for traditional dinka dance,
And baskets that my grandmother’s fingers morphed into being.
Taran ta ta taran ta ta
The morning blood orange sun swelled into pure white gold when it reached the center of the sky
The train rocked and rocked into a pale land with no homes But only occasional malnourished plants
That seemed lonely
Maybe foreshadowing what we would feel like
when my mother’s arms no longer uphold us.
Taran ta ta taran ta ta
The copperless land captivated our eyes
We watched the wind dance with the dust through the window
As we passed by
GIving it life, allowing it to soar into a full figure
And shattering it back on earth
Maybe foreshadowing what we would feel like
when my mother’s arms no longer uphold us.
Taran ta ta taran ta ta
Other times, the wind would breathe power into the dust And run along the train as though it wanted to race us
As though it wanted to see our new home before we arrived.
Taran ta ta taran ta ta
The rattling train delivered us to a city with less dust and more cars
With less color and more people
With less warmth and more fascination.
Hijra, my mother smiled, held me and my sibling close as we shared tea
Waiting for my aunt and uncle to show us our new apartment my mother had sent money for.
Hijra, six years later my mother and aunt came home with a white bag covered in a blue design of the globe, a figure stick family that read “UNHCR The UN Refugee Agency”
And new passports Hijra la America, she said.
Hijra to where your brothers won’t be forced to reap the deaths they didn’t sow
Hijra to somewhere on the airplane to a place where I learn to not belong
So there she went again, loading us up on a van to the airport
Hijra, she says as we all unwilling got on the plane to a place where we didn’t know we will never be truly free.
Hijra as I cried with my brothers and once again,
I didn’t feel like I was the only one who knew what powerlessness felt like.
Sarai Alual is a teacher at Casco Bay High School. She plays with words in her free time in an
attempt to make meaning of life. She has been residing on indigenous land for the last 17 years.
