the endless desires of a generation that never got the chance to make those desires come true
—————————————————–
games on the radio
some soft music
as we all wait
to die
listening to an
old guy talk
about listening
to baseball games
on the radio back
in the fifties
he pauses
thinks of something
and then starts
about politics
the war has taken
something out of
us all
there is no rush
we’re all going to
be in the ground
soon enough
——————————————————————
election day
i marvel at people who
are proud to be stupid
who picked themselves
up by those proverbial
bootstraps yet still don’t
understand how the game
is played
and here come the outsiders
the grifters that know there
is always some dumb fuck
to make tons of money off of
i sit back and watch
and just laugh
my father was one of those
dumb asses
he always thought he was
smarter than anyone else
in the room
i stole from him much
of my life
money, baseball cards,
whatever i knew that dumb
fuck wouldn’t notice was gone
when i heard the stories that
his second wife drained the
pension and let him die
penniless in the VA
i just shook my head and knew
he never learned his lesson
apparently, no one ever does
———————————————-
haven’t found a sheep yet
thumbing
through the
pages of a
magazine
hoping to
find a
beautiful
face to
lose my
imagination
ini don’t think this old farm magazine is going to do the trick
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is trapped in suburbia, plotting his escape. He’s been published in many places over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Mad Swirl, The Rye Whiskey Review and The Beatnik Cowboy. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
I crouched behind the tree and Sewa did the same. My left hand pushed the shrubs aside to get a clearer view while my right hand gripped the sword tighter.
“He should be around here,” Abiola panted, his eyes taking a quick sweep around the forest, “he’s with his sister. They both can’t move so fast.”
I glanced at Sewa. Tears doused her worrisome eyes. I placed a finger on my lips, and she nodded meekly.
“Can’t we just leave them? We should go get some other people.” Wande’s voice was laden with frustration.
“Oh!” Abiola exclaimed in mock realisation. “We should leave them? So who do we hand over to the slave raiders? Your family? If we can’t produce slaves, we’re going to be enslaved when next those maniacs raid? Isn’t it better we send these children to the slave raiders? There’s no one to help them. In fact, we’re only propelling a family reunion.”
I shuddered. A tear rolled down my bony cheek. Our parents were gone, and now, they wanted us gone as well? What a pathetic world we lived in!
“Let’s search thoroughly.” Abiola pulled out his sword, and Wande followed the same suit.
With each step they took, with each slash of their swords that cut the undergrowth to clear the way, they close in us. Sewa shut her eyes. Prayers rambled silently between her lips. My upper teeth jammed the lower as I raised my sword from the ground.
Seconds trickled past. The right time approached, and I lurched. A swing of my sword caught Abiola in surprise, running past his upper arm, leaving a short but deep mark. He yelled in pain. I rolled on the floor just in time to dodge Wande’s blow, and I was smart enough to let my sword strike his leg. I sprang up to my feet to face the two men whose eyes burn with rage.
“Good as his father,” Abiola sniffled.
“Don’t you dare mention his name!” I screamed.
My belly shimmered with rage. I charged forward. Abiola dodged my strike, baiting me. Wande struck my shoulder with his sword. I fell backwards and pause. A second to gather my thoughts, to navigate the surroundings with my teary eyes.
Wande stepped forward, pointing his sword straight at my chest. I waited as seconds gushed past until his sword was a foot from me. I swirled and allowed his run past before my sword accompanied his neck, stamping the back of his neck with a deep cut. A deafening thud announced Wande’s fall. Abiola charged at me, pouring out all his rage through an earsplitting roar. I faced him. Clangs and sparks drowned the air. I was a good fighter, but Abiola possessed more experience. When he noticed I was gaining an upper hand, he tricks me with his sword and kicked me hard in the groin. I fell helplessly on the hard floor. I didn’t know if my yell was as a result of the indescribable pain or the disapproval of such trickery. Abiola sniggered, satisfaction scrawled all over his protruded cheeks.
“Where’s your sister?” he asked.
My heart skipped a beat, and my eyes darted to Sewa, then, back to Abiola. He was smart enough to follow my gaze. His marijuana-reddened eyes found Sewa crouched behind the shrubs. He snickered, and made for her. I held his leg. He exhaled in frustration and he looked back with a humph. I was awaiting this.
I poured a handful of sand into his eyes. He grunted as he tried to make his eyes remember their duties. I was no time waster. I pounced on him, dealt him some heavy blows in the face before picking up my sword and thrusting it into his lap. He cried obscenities. I pulled out my sword and beckoned at Sewa. She runs to me, crying. Tears rolled down my cheeks now. What did we do to deserve this?
I gritted my teeth. Thinking was arduous righ now. Wande was struggling to sit upright and regularise his breathing as blood spurted out of his neck. Abiola was sprawled helplessly on the floor, his chest rising and falling jaggedly. I remembered my father’s favourite saying: “overcome evil only with good.” I grabbed Sewa’s hand and I ran farther into the forest. Going back home now was a death sentence. Deeper and deeper into the forest, we must go.
#
Sunset was the best time to be in my house. The clangs of plates in the kitchen backyard announced the approach of gbegiriand ewedu soup for dinner. The mortar and the pestle bickered as my father and I pounded yams to make iyan. I was grateful for the kind of family God had inserted me into.
My father, Akinola, was a foremost blacksmith in my village. Everyone sought his services. He had a large farm too. He was rich—richer than the Baale. Despite his affluence, my father was so humble that I wondered if he even knew how much money he had. But he did know.
Struggling widows and orphans enjoyed help from his largesse. He loaned people money with no interest, unlike greedy Samu at the riverside. He was the Baale’s favourite because he put so much in the village’s projects as if he would reap profits.
Not only was my father beneficent to outsiders, but his own family also enjoyed him. My father’s two younger brothers, as well as their wives and kids, regularly came to my father for financial aid. Last week, my father doled a huge sum of money to my uncle, Wande to boost his palmwine business.
My mother wasn’t as popular as my father. She was a weaver, and a fair share of the village women sought her services. Sewa learnt from her while I learnt blacksmithing from my father. It was my lifelong dream to be a successful blacksmith like my father, known beyond the mountains that encircled my village. I also wished to be a skilled swordsman like my father. He was the one of the best swordsmen the village could boast of, always in the front line whenever the village resisted attacks from invaders and slave raiders. I couldn’t wait to inherit the ancestral sword hanging from roof of my father’s roof in my mud house. He had promised to give it to me when the time is right. But the right time seemed to be very far away…
“Tiny arms,” Sewa taunted from the fireplace.
I wiped my sweat and smiled, trying as much as I could to hide fatigue. “Those tiny arms are yours, sister. You can’t even fan the fire properly.”
My mother laughed. I knew she would. She always supported me in this little family feud.
“Well, you can see the fire blazes with more energy than you pound the yams. Even the yams cringe at your laziness,” Sewa pouted.
“Your lips are just as light as the fan you’re holding, always going back and forth without rest.”
“Don’t your dare talk to my princess like that!” Mock anger clouded my father’s face.
“Tell her to know her place and stop talking to my king like that,” my mother came to my rescue.
“King?” Sewa snorted. “He can’t even swing a sword properly!”
“What!” I exclaimed. “I’m already at the sixth level of Ijakadi swordsmanship. Just a level to go and I’ll be at Father’s level.”
Stung, Sewa turned to my father for confirmation. My father shrugged, and I and my mother doubled up in feats of laughter, basking in the euphoria of my victory.
“Yemi,” my father called, “I and I will go to the riverside tomorrow. I’ll teach I the last level.”
I jumped up in celebration and ran around. A fat smile flashed rainbows across my face. “See?” I jeered, “you can’t even make okra soup, and here you are taunting me.”
Sewa dashed a betrayed look at my mother.
“Don’t worry,” my mother said, “I’ll teach I how to make okra soup tomorrow.”
“It’s okay. Don’t let the food get cold,” my father called and we all moved inside the house to eat.
#
I woke long before the first crow. The sun rose from its slumber late. I couldn’t wait for my father to teach me the seventh level of Ijakadi swordsmanship. Most of my peers where still at the third or fourth level. But here I was, a genius!
Hardly had the sun risen when the Baale’s messenger came rapping at our door. He spoke in low tones with my father before they both left for the house of the village head. My father never returned home until the sun stood straight in the sky. Fury was scribbled all over his forehead when he entered his room. He merely nodded to my mother’s greetings, charging straight into his room. He brought out his swords and a gun. He isolated himself to a corner of the room, sharpening and oiling his sword, and cleaning his gun and filling it with gunpowder. Cranky songs of warfare burst out of his mouth. My mother eventually asked him for the reason behind his awkwardness.
“The slave raiders that went to Ouidah are coming here too,” my father began, his sharpening stone running over his sword rhythmically. “Their leader met the village head this morning, asking him to provide some of our kinsmen for sales. What do they think we are? Chickens? Or Goats? A mere commodity to be sold?”
My mother heaved. “So what are you doing?”
“Preparing for a battle!” my father raised his sword. I was amazed as it gleamed in the sunlight that trickled in through the window. “We—I specifically, as the head of our family—-told them that we’re humans, and not mere commodities. The leader of those slave raiders humphed and harrumphed on his way back. He vowed to come with more men and raid our village since we’re being unreasonable with him. Hence, every man has been tasked to go to his homestead, sharpen his sword and fill up his guns.”
My mother gasped frightfully. “Shouldn’t we flee?”
My father spurned. “A real man never runs from fight; he waits for the fight to come to him then, he deals with it. We’ll wait for them to bring the fight, and they shall never return home with their heads.”
“But these slave raiders have sophisticated weapons. Have you forgotten how they sacked Owu? Those people are beasts! Wolves in wolves’ clothing!”
My father exhaled sharply. “Woman, please, leave men’s matter to men alone. This battle is the men’s, and we shall see to it.”
My father swiped his sword of the ground, feeding my ears with a shrill exhilarating sound as he marcheded back to his room. My mother slumped on the nearest chair in resignation.
#
The sun hid behind the clouds that day, scared to witness the brutal acts of man. It peeped from the dark clouds that covered the sky. My father left home with his rifle slung across his shoulder and his sword in the tight grasp of his right hand. My mother’s pleas that he shouldn’t go entered his right ear and flew out through the left ear, with none seeping into his brain. With the rest of the clan, he marched to the village head’s house. There, they all laid an ambush for the slave raiders at the entrance of the village. If the spy was right, the slave raiders would attack that day.
My mother was too terrified to take chances. She hid Sewa and I in the mountains. She promised to return for us when the battle between the village men and the slave raiders was over.
Meanwhile, the slave raiders came as expected. However, things took an unexpected turn. When my father charged at the slave raiders, his sword high above his head, he was suddenly knocked down by one of his kinsmen. By the time he regained his senses, he was in chains, kneeling before the village head and the leaders of the slave raiders.
“What? What’s happening here?” my father’s question burst forth like a fiery fire that engulfed dry leaves in harmattan.
The Baale and the leader of the slave raiders exchanged glances. My father’s scanned the faces of those behind them. He could recognise his younger brothers, Abiola and Wande in the midst of the crowd.
“What the hell is going on here?” my father’s lungs almost flew out of him alongside the scream.
Eventually, the Baale did my father the honour of clearing his throat and speaking up. “Well, Akinola,” he called my father, “I see you’re a brave man. I don’t want us to be slaves. However, fighting against these slave raiders who possess so many sophisticated weapons can harm our village. However, since I and some of my friends were willing to sacrifice my lives for the village, I have decided to hand myself over to the slave raiders, as well as my wives and children. As for you, Akinola, my men still can’t find my children. But I promise I will find them and send them very soon. It is better earning money without losing lives than losing both life and money. I’m sure you understand my views. I’m sorry but I must do all I can to protect this village.”
Tears cascaded down my father’s cheeks as he looked behind him and his eyes found men who shared the same views with him bundled up like chickens up for sale at the market. But he went nearly crazed when he saw his wife among the women tied up behind the men. He yelled as he managed to rise to his feet, cutting the rope tied to his legs. He kicked the slave raider nearest to him in the groin before taking down the village head with a spin kick. He was prowling towards the leader of the slave raiders when his head was hit with a cudgel from behind.
“Bastards I took for brothers” my father scoffed as his eyes closed and he sprawled helplessly on the floor with my mother’s screams filling his ears. Before his senses bid him a temporary farewell, the leader of the slave raiders reminded him that the next time he would open his eyes, he would be in a barracoon like hens in coops, awaiting buyers whom he would take as masters.
#
After spending what seemed like eternity in the cave, I finally came out with Sewa. The sun was just climbing up the sky, and the moon was already saying its goodbye.
“Why didn’t Mother come back yesterday? Did something happen?” Sewa asked as she huddled closer to you.
I shook my head negatively, but I knew something must have happened, I couldn’t just lay a finger on it. Anyways, I would get to the village and find out what happened.
I knew something was wrong when I walked into the compound where our extended family lived and I saw Funso, Abiola’s first son, see me and run back into his father’s house. I called him but he never replied. I ignored him and walked into my father’s house. Sewa and I called for my parents. The gentle breeze never brought their responses.
Suddenly, Wande and Abiola burst into the room, wielding their swords.
“Uncle?” I gasped, uncertain of what was happening. “What’s happening? Where’s Father and Mother?”
“They’ve been sold. No worries. You both would join them,” Abiola’s said.
Sewa and I exchanged horror-stricken looks. Wande charged at me. I picked a nearby earthenware pot and smashed it against his head. Sewa ran out of the house and Abiola followed her. I made for Abiola but Wande held me by my neck. As I gasped for breath, my hand fell on the ancestral sword hanging from the ceiling. I gripped it and struck his shoulder. He winced in pain as he let go of me, giving me space to run after Sewa and Abiola.
Abiola had captured Sewa already by the time I got there.
“Drop your sword!” he barked.
I stopped a yard before him. “Please, don’t hurt her.”
I dropped the sword but kicked it midair. Abiola had to let my sister go to dodge it. Funny. He didn’t know the tricks of the sixth level of Ijakadi swordsmanship. I shoved him against a wall, picked up the sword and ran into the forest with Sewa.
#
We trekked in the forest for four days, and my legs became accustomed to restlessness. I pitied Sewa. She had become so lean that I feared her legs would break if she tripped over a stone. Tears were our only consolation. As my legs pushed me forward, I tried to gaze at the brighter side of the sun, hoping not to get blinded. We would surely get a new place to live, a new home, I hoped.
We stopped at a hill when we saw a cloud of smoke rising to the sky in the middle of the forest miles away beneath the hill. This wasn’t be a hunter roasting meat, I thought. The smoke was as thick as a hippo’s neck. Perhaps, a clan lived there. They would probably take Sewa and I in. With the last of my strength, I proceeded towards the source of the smoke.
“Where are we going?” Sewa asks, “do you know the people there? That’s not a village. Or do you think it is?”
I raised my sword comically and wore a big fake grin. “They can do us nothing. I have you, and I have my sword.”
I marched forward and she followed me. As we trudged down the hill into the forest, I discovered a trail. It was probably left by a lot of people who passed here earlier. Though we were scared and apprehensive, we waded closer to the source of the smoke. As we walked closer, I hear exclamations and chants, and it feels like we were walking back to my village. I kept exchanging wary glances with Sewa.
We trekked for almost thirty minutes and the smoke which was dying already seemed closer than ever. I crouched behind a tree with Sewa to observe what was going on.
I saw people, bathed in grime and dirt like ourselves. These forest-people—or what would I call them?—encircled a huge fire. Some men cut metals off their hands with swords and threw it into the fire. Women and children stood behind them, a smile plastered on each of their faces, though some of them were crying. My eyes swooped down on the fire and I saw that they were burning… Human beings!?
Sewa screamed in horror almost at the same time. I looked at her and returned my gaze to the forest-people; they now looked in our direction. Contrarily, when the men spread out, groping their swords, they suddenly appeared familiar. And when a man who seemed to be the leader stepped forward, my knees weakened at the massive familiarity.
“Father!” Sewa cried as she broke into a run. Tears rolled down her cheeks. I joined her.
My father met us halfway. My mother sprinted to us from the midst of the women. We were all locked in a wholesome embrace for minutes, shedding tears of relief.
“How did you find us?” my father finally asked when the embrace breaks loose.
“We weren’t searching for you actually,” I shrug, “we were just looking for a place to stay after we fled from home.”
“You fled?”
“Yes,” Sewa replied, “Uncle Abiola and Uncle Wande came for us. They wanted to capture us and sell to the slave raiders.”
My mother’s eyes rolled incredulously. “How did you escape?”
I dramatically held up my sword, and everyone laughed clumsily.
“You killed them?” my father asked.
I shook my head and my father sighed deeply.
He pointed at the fire. “And those are the idiots that wanted to turn us to commodity. They turned the back of my people against me. But their mistake was that they didn’t give us enough reason to believe we were meant to be in chains. Even while in chains, we revolted! And here we are! Triumphant! Killing them with their own swords!”
My father’s arrogant cackle reverberated in my ears. I flump on in the floor in a mix of delight and relief. A smile spread on my lips—my first smile since the time I last prepared dinner with my family.
“Everyone!” my father called, “we need to leave here now. You know this is the slave raiders’ route. But we can’t go back home. That village is no longer home. We have to go east, find some black soil with green plants near the river and settle there. It shall be our new home.”
We cheered scamtily. Deeper into the forest we marched. Sewa ran to my father and slid her hand in his.
“Daddy.” She asked, “why aren’t we going back to the village?”
“No,” my father shook his head.
“But that has always been our home!” Sewa protested.
“Home is not a place, princess,” my father says, “home is not where you live. It is amongst whom you live. Home is where the heart resides.”
Happy Constitution
Deuteronomy head book.
The appeal of all the people,
Disaster of freedoms
Happy Constitution.
He pledge of peace Harmony,
Light of happiness the fountain.
Of perseverance,
Fortunately the Constitution!
Maftuna Rustamova
Bukhara region
Jondor district
30th school
8-"a" class.
Trevor sat in his fancy new ergonomic computer chair, an early Christmas gift from his parents. The spare, sandy-haired man was seated comfortably in the open-space public assistance office, where he worked as a caseworker, managing welfare cases. He had been so employed for almost a year. This chair, he thought sadly, as high-tech as it was, couldn’t prevent his hands from shaking. Sometimes it was worse than others; just now, his hands quavered furiously. Clearly, this was not a good day.
Into the room strode Bert, a colleague at the agency, just back from lunch, who observed Trevor’s affliction with the usual bemusement. He took off his winter coat, placed his Starbucks cup on his desk, which was next to Trevor’s, turned to the other man and said, “Hey, Tremor, what’s up?”
Trevor instantly became self-conscious and tried to hide his twitching fingers. Bert’s coarse misuse of his name only added tension to an already tense situation.
Bert picked up his coffee, took a sip, smiled winsomely, but said nothing. The genius to his technique of torturing Trevor lay in levying the insults and putdowns only half the time. Always keep him wondering when the other shoe would drop, thought Bert smugly. To that end, Bert unwrapped a stick of gum and slowly placed it on his tongue, watching the other man from the corner of his eye. He chewed rapidly, soon getting the wad of gum limber. Then he began loudly popping it. He smiled with satisfaction as Trevor reacted severely to the chewing and to the sounds.
Trevor, who already suffered the early stages of Parkinson’s Disease, had only recently been diagnosed by his neurologist as also suffering from misophonia, a condition in which the patient exhibits untoward reactions to certain “trigger’ sounds, such as lip smacking, gum popping, dogs barking, clocks ticking, or people chewing with their mouths open. As a result of this condition, Trevor routinely frowned, sighed, or even stared at his nemesis. Which only encouraged Bert all the more. Also accompanying these reactions were increased heart rate, panic, anger, and a strong, almost desperate desire to escape the source of the trigger sounds. Just now, Trevor glared balefully at the other man. Bert smirked.
“What can I do about it, Dr. Patel?” Trevor had asked, when told of the diagnosis. “How do we treat it?”
The physician shrugged indifferently. “There is no treatment,” he told him bluntly. “You can wear sound-deadening headphones or play music or,” he suggested, “ask your co-workers to stop their annoying behavior.”
Trevor had had this condition since he was nine or ten years old—more than twenty years ago—though in those days there was no available diagnosis.
“Trev,” said his father, when the young man was eleven, “pretend that dog’s not there; that’s a boy!”
“Mom and Dad are going to take you to a shrink,” threatened Trevor’s brother, two years older and embarrassed by his sibling’s constant overreactions to ordinary sounds.
The malady was still relatively unknown. Even today, Trevor’s own MD has never even heard of the condition.
Throughout school, Trevor had felt that he wore a cloak of misfortune that no one else seemed to understand. Bert knew none of this; he knew only that Trevor was “different” and “sensitive” and must therefore be punished.
“Want a piece of gum, Tremor?” asked Bert, cracking the Juicy Fruit between his molars. Trevor closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and mentally placed himself somewhere far away. Snap! went Bert’s gum, and Trevor was brought back to the present, nearly sobbing with frustration. He felt a bead of perspiration on his forehead. He had to do something!
Trevor sprang suddenly to his feet and called out, “Ms. Shaefer, could I have a word?”
Norma Schaefer, the office manager, also returning from lunch, frowned unhappily at Trevor but crooked a finger. What was it this time? She thought peevishly. “A quick minute,” she said. He followed her into her private office, dropped into a chair before her desk.
Once they were both seated, Trevor explained his recent diagnosis, described his symptoms, both physical and mental, and, in spite of his abject embarrassment, appealed to her for help. He had previously had to account for his tremor, which was due to Parkinson’s, because some of his welfare clients, as well as his co-workers, had questioned his sobriety and his sanity. Some had even conjectured that he was undergoing withdrawal from alcohol or drugs.
“What do you expect me to do about it?” she asked impatiently. “I mean, I’ve never heard of this condition, and besides, how can I tell employees they can’t chew gum?”
“It’s just the popping,” he stressed, “and chewing with their mouths open; it’s not gum chewing itself. It’s the noise.”
Norma’s mouth formed a straight, unhappy line. “Look, Trevor, we already stopped employees from smoking. Many of them substitute gum for cigarettes, and I think that’s a good thing.” At his disspirited look, she pounced: “Maybe casework isn’t the right job for you…” He looked up sharply. “You just don’t seem very happy here,” she added, with feigned concern. You have little to say to anyone; you’re not even signed up for the secret Santa gift exchange this Christmas.”
Trevor thought back to the office Thanksgiving party, which had been held only the week before. Sitting by himself in the break room, he had witnessed Norma herself eating noisily at the next table.
She sounds like a garbage disposal, he thought wearily, looking dismally at the otherwise elegant woman. “What are you staring at?” she demanded, dropping a Buffalo wing back onto her plate. “Don’t stare at me!” Her loud chewing hadn’t seemed to bother anyone else, he’d noticed.
Trevor blew out a tired breath. Norma spoke again, drawing him back to the present: “Your work is adequate,” she conceded, “but if you can’t get along with the other employees and you aren’t happy here, then maybe you should consider a change.” And she left it at that, stealing an overt glance at her watch. Pushing himself to his feet, Trevor exited the manager’s office, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
Thirty days later, just in time for Christmas, found Trevor, master’s degree and all, sweeping the breezeway that bisected the strip mall where he now worked as a maintenance worker and groundskeeper. The air was cold, the wind brisk, but he didn’t mind. The salary was scarcely adequate, but at long last he had found what he most coveted: peace and quiet. He sighed and smiled a little. Peace. It was so sweet.
Nour Kassem (Woods), Prominent Young Egyptian Painter
I am proud to present in this internationally appreciated magazine the very special, young, prominent Egyptian painter Nour Kassem (Woods).
Nour says about herself: “I am a fast kinetic person, who wants to work, do activities, and most importantly, create.” The common opinion is that an artist must be focused on a specific artistic sector to give the best. This is not always the case and it is not so in the case of Nour who lives to dance, paint, and even golf, drawing from each of these activities creative, joyful and extremely professional energy with which she nourishes these activities. So Nour does not remain seated or standing to paint but wins trophies dancing tango and salsa and winning golf tournaments. Then she returns to painting, often immersed in the nature and beauty of El Gouna, a wonderful lagoon city on the Red Sea founded only a few decades ago by entrepreneurs Naguib and Samih Sawiris, the creator of El-Gouna International Film Festival (Cinema for Humanity) directed by Marianne Khouri, granddaughter of the legendary film director Youssef Chahine.
In fact Nour has her first collective exhibition in 2014 right in EL Gouna at TUBerlin / German University. Theme: By Diversified Gouna Artists. Then her first solo art exhibition was also in El-Gouna in 2015 at the luxurious Ocean View Hotel with the congratulations of Mr. Samih Sawiris. Other big “solos“ of Nour were in 2017 and 2022 at the Nile Art Gallery in Cairo.
Nour lives in Cairo, where she has her studio in Heliopolis, but at the moment Nour, with her mother the beautiful Mrs. Mona Safey, is again in El Gouna to paint, where the dialogues of the films presented at El Gouna International FF still echo. But there is also a cinema debut for Nour! A color version and the other in black and white about the famous director Youssef Chahine will appear in the USA-Italian Art Doc Thriller: “Ancient Taste of Death” directed by the Italian director Antonello Altamura about the Hollywood Golden Age and ancient Egypt, with the Egyptian star Wael El-Ouni. Nour, among her 400 paintings, has a series of paintings inspired by Egyptian superstars like Omar Sherif. Probably Nour’s art will be exhibited along the red carpet walk of the sumptuous palace of El Gouna International Film Festival in 2025. Some SF art galleries have expressed strong interest in Nour, whose painting meets the super lively and colorful style of the city of the magical Golden Gate Bridge.
Village morning
Morning, the spring's canopy shutter,
The heart is ready for the feeling of purity.
Simple people, simple people,
The bag turns the black heart into colors.
I'm satisfied with sincere tunes today,
The sound of the swallow decorates my heart.
Walking in the city streets, I found out that
The value of such stones is like a stone.
By a rightful mistake of fate,
I'm in love with basil today.
That another place is like this,
Majnuntol, you didn't say, why didn't you say.
My magical world with moving walls,
The rooster crows in the early morning.
After all, you are honest, you are wonderful,
The rustling of trees, the dawn of my village!
Nilufar Anvarova, daughter of Ulugbek: born in 2011 in Chimyon town, Fergana district. He initially studied at 31 schools, and since September 2023 he is a student of the 8th grade of the creative school named after Erkin Vahidov in the city of Marģilon. His creative works "Human rights in the eyes of children", "The swallow that chased my imagination", "Sizdek sultan yòq" were published in the newspaper "Tong styziri" and the poems "Ha, men oshà..." and "Uzbek's dish" were published in the newspaper "Yangiyer Tongi". published. In addition, creative samples were published in the prestigious "Raven cage" of Germany and "Kenya times" magazine of Kenya. Currently, he has many certificates, diplomas and international certificates. Our poet is active and known to the world for her creative works in anthologies that collect the creative works of various artists! One of his future goals is to win the "Zulfiya" award!
I stood up from my cubicle and shouted, “Michael! Your report is due today!” A red-faced Michael stood up and piped back, “I thought Gurinder was working on it! To which the sheepish turbaned Sikh Gurinder responded, “Almost done Alana!”.
You see, I’m Alana, a native of Guatemala. My uncle had escaped with me in 2010 during the drug fights with the government, leaving my mother and father behind.
Michael, Gurinder and I, besides being co-workers were good friends. Michael swung by and said, “Come on ninita (little girl), let’s break for lunch!” To which I responded, “OK, big guy!” Our office was on the 14th floor of a high rise building in Manhattan, so the three of us took the elevator down to the ground floor. As we walked out the hallway Gurinder suggested, “Hi guys, I feel like a taco. Can we go to this nice Taqueria around the corner?”
“Gurinder, how come you like tacos?”, I asked. Gurinder leaned sideways, straightened his turban and said waving his arms, “You know it tastes like Indian food a little, plus I love the refried beans!”
Sitting down, together at the restaurant I looked at us and remarked, “You know, we have three nationalities here – Irish, Indian and Guatemalan. This table is like a mini–United Nations!”. To which Michael smiled with his toothy smile and replied, “Yeah, only in America. This place is like a melting pot with people from all over the world.”
We were an engineering company and mid-afternoon, Gurinder got his report finished for the boss, and judging from the smile on the boss’s face through his window office, it seems like he had done a good job. He stopped by at my cubicle and wiped his brow like he was wiping off a lot of sweat and said, “Whew, Alana, I was worried about that one!” To which I responded, “Don’t worry, you’re a good engineer! If only you didn’t dilly dally and wait till the deadline to finish it.” To which he gave his sheepish smile and retorted, “I know, I need a tough gal like you to remind me!”
It was Friday and at the end of the day, Michael swung by and said to Gurinder and I, “Hi guys, my birthday is on Sunday, but I am celebrating it at my apartment with a dance party tonight. Can you guys come?” My eyes were wide, “Michael! Your birthday was coming up and you didn’t tell us?” To which he replied, “It’s not a big deal – just one more joyous revolution around the sun!” Trust Michael to give everything a planetary twist. To which Gurinder and I replied, “We’ll be there!
That was quite an evening! Gurinder did his very energetic Bhangra dance, jumping up and down and round and round, while shaking his shoulders and pointing his fingers. It was a fun dance and a good cardio workout. Then Michael walked over to me and asked me if I would like to try some ballroom dancing. “Who me? I’ve never done it in my life!”, I replied. He said, “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you”. So, he taught me how to do the fox-trot dance – that was not too tough, but I was nervous. He then put on some slower music, and we did some fox-trot – it was easier than I thought. Gosh, he was so gentle and romantic – different from the Michael I had known till then. As he swung me around in his arms, I felt an affection for him that I had not felt before. Anyway, we cut cake for his birthday and all the folks cheered and sang the happy birthday song. I was tired by then and decided to take off. As I went to sleep that night, I thought it great to have such good friends that are fun and considerate!
I had just had coffee that morning and got a call from my mother. I was barely awake and blurted out, “Mama, why are you calling me so early?” But she was not thrown off by that, and said affectionately to me, “Alana dear, we miss you. Things have improved where we are now, and Papa is doing better financially. Can you come back now and be with us? There are job opportunities now that have opened up.” My father spoke up in the background, “The government of Guatemala has begun to take climate change seriously and develop some better commitments as per the Paris Agreement, but they need good, educated people. You’ve always complained about climate change issues – now it’s a good time to come and join their effort!”
As the only child, I told them I would think about it, or better yet, come back for a visit to Guatemala and then decide. I thought and I thought, and I thought – I would miss my friends and work in New York, But maybe I could catch up on that later. Right now, my family was calling, and I always wanted to help with some of the things my dad talked about. Why not give it a try?
On Monday, as I sat in our work lunchroom with Michael, Gurinder, and Alicia (another of our co-workers) I turned to them and said, “Hi guys my family wants me go back to Guatemala and help them and take up some work on environmental issues”. Michael was shaken and the look on his face was one of dismay. Gurinder put his face between his hands.
“OK guys, I know I will miss you big time, but we can stay in touch and keep visiting?”
Michael was the first to speak, “Alana, you will leave a big hole here at work and our friendships. But it if you want to do it, you should do it”. Gurinder said, “That’s how I feel too Alana, but I’ve always admired your guts and so gal, go and do it! We’ll support you from here!”. Later my boss was taken aback, but he said,” Hello Alana, if that’s what you want to do then go for it! If business stays good, we’ll always have a position for you.”
So, I hugged my friends and before I knew it, I was on a flight to Guatemala City. As the plane took off, I had mixed feelings. I would really miss Michael, Gurinder and Alicia. But I was looking forward to seeing my parents and spending some time with them, while helping with stuff I was passionate about. Guatemala City is one of the biggest cities in Central America and it looked great as I looked out of the window as we approached for a landing. “We will be landing at Guatemala City in five minutes.”, bawled out the flight attendant in English and then Spanish. Past immigration, my face lit up as I saw my father, Esteban. “Papa, I’m so happy to see you.” I gave him a big hug! Gosh, how much I had missed him. “My little Alana. Me too. Como estas (How are you)?”“I’m good Papa” I replied. Boy had he aged – there were so many more wrinkles on his face, and he had tanned. We drove up north to the centrally located city of San Cristobal Verapaz, and then up to the village of Queja up in the hills where Papa had moved after retirement. Papa had built this nice villa up next to the village after retirement, as he said he wanted to escape the hustle and bustle of crowded cities. Standing in the doorway was my mother Brisa, all smiles. I ran up the walkway, feeling like a little girl and gave her a big hug. “Mami, I missed you. It’s so good to be back with you”, I said. “So good to have you back my chica (little girl)!” Boy did she get busy cooking my favorite dishes. My favorite was Kak’ik, traditional Mayan turkey soup with spices like coriander, achiote, and chili peppers.
As I looked around, I was lucky to land a job with the Guatemalan Coordinating Agency for Disaster Reduction (CONRED), which was the government agency for dealing with natural disasters and aimed to prepare before, respond better during and do better reconstruction after such disasters. This only made a lot of sense as climate change was making the climate related disasters worse every year, and Guatemala had both a high probability of such disasters and for many reasons was more vulnerable which increased the risks of damage.
It was so different switching from working in English to working in Spanish (Espaniol), but my language skills came back. Also, my English-speaking skills helped our communications with United Nations agencies, especially UNDRR, the global UN disaster risk reduction agency. My boss was a paunchy amiable man named Kaapo (which meant bravest man). He was always dressed well in a suit and tie, but he usually discarded the coat and tie when it was hot and muggy. He looked me in the eye and said, “It is hurricanes that need the most attention, Alana, and so please help improve the plans we have in place”.
It was September and hurricane season was fast approaching and so I got cracking. The local expert warned me, “It’s the coastal areas that suffer from high wind speeds and storm surges, but it’s the hilly areas that get the most rain and suffer from flooding, landslides and mudslides. I started looking around the country and realized that the coastal areas to the east were prone to Atlantic hurricanes and the communities need to be made resilient for high winds (roofs and structures) and high-water surges (get the utilities to upper floors and have upper floors to escape to).
Back at the house, sleeping here was so different from that at my New York apartment.
Windows open and sounds of the forest. I was lying awake tossing and turning, and I was surprised I was thinking so much about Michael. I had felt alive in his arms while dancing and had felt a great affection for him.
So, I wasn’t surprised that I was on the phone calling him next morning. “Michael, how are you? How are things at work?”
“Alana, now that’s a pleasant surprise! We miss you. How are you?”
“I’m good. You know it’s been so different here from New York. I’m enjoying it with Mami and Papa and enjoying my work with CONRED too. I miss you too. I think you should take a vacation and come visit us – it’s so scenic and beautiful here!”
“Let me talk to the boss and see what I can manage. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know. Bye and miss you my dear”.
I felt exhilarated by that. He had not only agreed to visit but had also called me “my dear”. For me it was Whoopee and I jumped up and down in my room.
Next day, from my room I could see the nice town of San Cristobal Verapaz down below and since I was working from home, I could see the hustle and bustle. Suddenly my cell phone rang, and it was Michael!! “Hi Alana, my boss agreed to let me have a vacation for a couple of weeks. Will let you know my itinerary. I’m looking forward to seeing you!”
“That’s just super Michael. I’ll reserve a hotel for you here and pick you up at Guatemala City airport”. I was surprised that my heart was throbbing so much. What did he mean to me?
It was late October 2020. Michael stepped out of the terminal, and I was so happy to see him. We hugged and he said, “Como estas senora? (How are you madam?)”.
“Wow, Michael, you learned some Spanish!” I was beaming.
“Well, my dear, I knew I will need it, so I learned a little bit” He smiled.
We got quickly into the car as we could not wait too long at the curb, and we headed up north. He checked into the hotel, and I gave him and the hotel staff instructions on food and other things he may need.
“I’m sooo happy you are here Michael. Your US cell phone works here. I have a full day of sight-seeing for you tomorrow. I’ll come and pick you up at 8 in the morning.” We hugged and I took off.
Next morning, I was full of anticipation, and I wore a nice floral dress. When he stepped out of the hotel in a t-shirt and shorts, he looked so handsome! My heart missed a beat.
“I have a full day of sight-seeing for you dear Michael – a beautiful lake Chicoj and then a visit to a nice coffee growing location. Is that OK?”. “Sure, you’re the expert – let’s roll”, he smiled.
I was day to remember. We went to the coffee growing place first and saw how they grow coffee using mainly organic and sustainable practices. It was a good walk together. I then took him to a scenic lake, and we started to walk around. I must have walked ahead and then suddenly turned around and ran into him. I flushed and said, “I’m sorry Michael!”. “No need to be sorry, Alana” and he smiled. That broke the ice between us, and he reached out and held my hand and hugged me – gosh, he was so handsome. He reached out and held my face in one of his hands and kissed me. My whole body shook with pleasure. That was how we spent the rest of the day, holding each other and kissing deeply and romantically the rest of the day as we walked around the lake. Each time he would turn around and give me a deep kiss and I was getting weak with pleasure. This was too good to be true!
We had dinner back at the hotel, enjoying some good wine and some of the local dishes! Then Michael asked me, “Hi girl, I wanted to show you some photos of Gurinder and I. You want to come up to my room?”. I nodded yes and we headed up to his room. I was nervous as hell and wondering if I was doing the right thing.
We sat down together on the sofa, and he opened up his laptop and began to show me his recent photos with Gurinder. That Sikh was looking so great and full of smiles and then with some silly selfies – boy, I missed him as he had been such a good friend – kind beyond words. Michael set the laptop aside and then turned to me and gave me the most romantic deep kiss I had ever experienced. I embraced him and said, “Ooooh Michael, I am so happy you are here and that you like me so much!”. I was full of anticipation when he lifted me up and put me down on the bed and we quickly undressed and embraced and hugged and kissed. I had expected him to be rough, and so I couldn’t believe how gentle and loving he was as he kissed me fondly all over and I was in pure delight. I then kissed him back in turn all over and he groaned and responded.
He then entered me, and we were locked in a tight embrace, kissing and making love like you would not believe. I could not have imagined that it could be so good. My whole body and soul responded, and I then exploded and shook holding him tightly in me. We then lay with each other in each other’s arms for quite some time. He went up on his elbows over me, and smiled and said, “That was the best thing that has happened in my life my dear. I think I’ve fallen in love with you!” I smiled and looked into is eyes and replied,” Yeah, that was too good to be true. I love you too”. And so began our romance.
The next day I took Michael up to visit my parents. My father took one look at him and smiled, and my mother was bubbly. I thanked my stars that they like Micheal. My father said he would introduce Michael to some interesting people in town on San Cristobal Verapaz. So, that is what he did the next day.
That was good as I got really busy with my work. Besides the disaster preparedness activities, I got to see and know about things related to climate change – people and organizations were building solar systems, making electricity greener, building water harvesting structures to store and reuse rainwater, and learning and practicing organic agriculture that increased the carbon in the soil.
Michael was spending time with my parents and enjoying the hills. My boss sent me off to Guatemala City for a meeting that was doing the planning for hurricane season which this year (2020) was one of the most active ones. I was sitting in a meeting room when we got the news that hurricane Eta was approaching in the Caribbean. So the focus shifted from general planning to preparations for Eta. We quickly had local and national meetings to ask all communities to prepare to move and have emergency supplies as needed. We ordered evacuations from some of the coastal areas as they would be hit by storm surges and heavy flooding.
I called and talked to my parents and asked them to be alert and safe. I called Michael and he said he had decided to move and stay with my parents up at their villa as it may be safer than in town that was known for flash flooding.
The warmer than normal waters of the Gulf of Mexico increased the energy of Eta, so that by the time it hit us it was a Category 4 hurricane. Our staff and I hunkered down in a safe hotel a little inland and prepared for the storm. It hit us hard. It was knocking down trees, making roofs fly and the heavy rains were causing flooding. Communication towers were getting knocked out so phone lines were down.
We received word through emergency satellite communications that there was very heavy rain in the area of San Cristobal Verapaz. Worse, it was reported that there were heavy mudslides and landslides in the hills around. Oh no! That was bad news, and I became really worried for my parents and Michael. There was no phone service and there was no way to reach them by phone.
The next day, after the storm had died down, I informed my boss and started driving. There was destruction everywhere and I was lucky that the highways were still clear, and roads were not damaged. When I reached the city near my folks and started to drive up to my parent’s villa, I was blocked by emergency workers as the road was closed due to landslides. So, I parked by the roadside and got out of my car. That’s when my emergency satellite phone gave me the worst news of all. My boss informed me that they had received news that the village of Queja (where my folks lived) was buried in rivers of mud and that emergency workers were trying to dig up bodies from the landslide.
I was absolutely horrified. I sat in my car and put my head between my hands and cried like I had never done before. Dear God, what had I done to deserve such a tragedy to my family and the love of my life dear Michael?
When the road was cleared by bulldozers, I drove up the hill and got close to my parent’s villa. I could see that it was totally buried in the river of mud that had come down. Emergency workers were using shovels and machines to try and dig people up quickly. I sat on a rock nearby and was devastated – I cried and cried and cried. Regular phone services had been knocked out, so their phones were not responding. What was I going to do?
Just then someone tapped me on my shoulder, and I turned around and was totally surprised! “My dear Chica!” my father cried pretty soon I was locked in an emotional embrace of my father, mother and Michael. For me this was the best day of life. “The emergency service had asked us to move to a nearby community center on the nearby hill that they thought would be safer, and luckily the worst part of the landslide avoided us. But there are many buried in the mud in our village. Let’s pray for them!”
I was overjoyed as I embraced Michael, and my body shook with waves of crying and tears of joy! “I was so worried about you my love”, I said. To which he replied, “We were worried about you too as the news was that the coastal areas were devastated”. I sat down on the rock with him with my parents on one side and then smiled and smiled and smiled as tears flowed down my cheeks. God had been so kind to me!!
The next few days were spent living in the emergency shelter in the city down below. Gurinder came few days later to help. That was so great of him! People were so awed by this turbaned Sikh who showed such compassion. They asked him how come he came to help. He said, “First, I had to help my friends Alana and Michael. Then our spiritual leaders have taught us to work for the good of all”. How could I not come and help?” We thanked him for his good heart and his help. Gurinder and Michael went off to shop in the few shops that were still open in the city.
Next day, Michael and I went and romanced around our favorite lake. This time was different and even more intense. We sat on a bench around the lake, and I sat on his lap facing him with my legs astride and we kissed and kissed and kissed. I looked him in the eyes and told him, “Don’t you ever give me a heart attack like that. I thought I had lost you. I realized I love you more than anything in the world!” He kissed me with one of the most romantic kisses ever as he pulled me into a tight embrace. “I will always stay alive and care for you. You are my heart and soul! Te amo mi amor!” (I love you my sweetheart – in Spanish). I was overjoyed and rested my head on his chest.
Soon, he made me get up and sit on the bench by myself. I said, “What happened? Are you mad at me?” He smiled and before I knew it he knelt before me and then opened a little box that had the most beautiful ring in the whole world. I was shocked and could not believe it. He then smiled and said, “My dear Alana, will you marry me?” The soul inside me cried out “Yes!” “I bought it when I went shopping with Gurinder yesterday” and he laughed out loud. I went and sat on his knee as he slipped the ring on my finger.
The wedding was a quick one as Michael had to get back to work. It was a great wedding by Guatemalan standards but austere because of the disaster. Gurinder of course entertained us by his Bhangra dance and taught many of the girls and women how to dance. They taught him some Guatemalan dances and I was getting the feeling there may be some romance developing. Michael and I got a special suite in a hotel and enjoyed our honeymoon night. We had the most romantic night of our lives as we hardly slept and did love making all night long. It was just heavenly!
Gurinder and Michael took off next day as they had to get off to work. My boss called me and together with him I got busy in all the tasks of disaster recovery. We had to help the communities to “Build Better Back” so they would be ready for the next hurricanes and storms and needed to be more resilient. We guided the communities on how they needed to build better and be better prepared. It was tough going as the funds were short, although US and United Nations aid helped the recovery.
Pretty soon I found out that I was pregnant. I called Michael and broke the news to him. He was overjoyed. “I am so happy for us my love. I am so excited for our baby and that we are starting our family”. “You better come and be with me later as I need you mi amor (my love)!’ “For sure, I’ll be there next month to be with you”, he said.
As expected, I was beginning to look more and more pregnant and started slowing down my work activities. Michael called me and sure enough he was there with me. My parents had built another small house near their old villa after the ruins had been cleared away, so that is where we stayed. My pregnancy did not reduce our passionate love making although we had to be careful about the baby.
As usual, we went one evening to our favorite lake and sat on the bench where he had proposed to me. The lake and the hills were looking so beautiful as the sun was setting. I sat in his arms with our cheeks close together. Michael reached over and touched my stomach. Just then the baby kicked. “Did you feel that?” I said. Baby is active like you” he said, smiling.
“I hope the world comes to its senses and starts doing something about solving climate change. It’s so peaceful. Let’s prepare for our baby!” he said.
