“This short story stood out to me because of its emotional depth, each line weighted with a sense of loss, longing, and hope. It felt authentic and reminded me of Mahmoud Darwish’s poetry collection, “The Butterfly’s Burden.” The imagery vividly evoked aromas and home remedies the writer was speaking about. I particularly enjoyed the use of letters as a narrative device, tracing her genealogy and highlighting each person as a pillar in her bloodline.” John Bernard, Coventry Poet Laureate, spoken word performer and Orwell Youth Prize 2024 judge
To My Brother, Wherever You Are
Dear Mahmood,
I write these words on a scrap of paper the same golden hue of the desert sands we crossed last month. I hope this letter finds its way to you.
Mama tells us stories of our home in Darfur, of the aroma of spices that permeated the rooms, and the echoing laughter, once, among us all. Between the growing distance and time we’ve spent away, it is becoming difficult to remember, what was once a truth is now a bedtime fable.
I remember your face and its every crease, but most of all, the little lines of joy that bordered your smile. Do you still smile, my dear, because here there are few smiles.
We are always moving, Mahmood. Before the break of dawn, Mama is already getting ready to move once again. We carry little, but the weight of memories of home push us deep into the sand, each step a reminder of lost laughter and echoing lullabies.
On cloudless nights, when the sky is pure, the stars, scattered like loose cotton balls, remind me of each shattered promise of the home I once knew. Looking at the moon makes me think of you, Mahmood. Unique in its attire, it’s impossible to miss when the time is right. And as I gaze at it, I imagine you doing the same, wherever you are. In that shared moment, we’re home again, together.
~ Aamira
To My Grandmother, the Storyteller of Our Past
Dearest Nini,
It’s been three months since I last heard your voice. Where are you? I hope you are someplace safe. Mama, Nahla and I have heard stories of our people walking to Egypt and Ethiopia; knowing this, I wonder where you may be.
I miss your home remedies, the concoction of herbs that were carefully picked by little Nahla from the garden outside and brewed by your hands. Now, I trade the feeling of warm goodness down my throat for the dry taste of hunger and prickling thirst.
My feet ache from walking, like they used to when we’d come home from a long day at the market, only now I don’t have you to massage them.
Across the many lands we travel, each further away from you, I carry you in my heart, the one place which, amid chaos, remains untouched. Your stories, Nini, they have become my sanctuary, my home in the wilderness.
~Aamira
To My Father, the Pillar We Lean On
Dearest Baba,
I hope to see you again. Your optimism is needed now more than ever.
I remember, Baba, how you used to say there is joy in everything if you look hard enough. You’d make games out of stray twigs and shrivelled leaves and pluck stories out of thin air. I miss that, Baba, without you all the fun is gone, I look at the rocks and sand and see nothing but what they are.
We long for your guidance Baba. In your absence, decisions are difficult. We ran out of food yesterday and won’t get any more for a while. Nahla is struggling, we all are, but we are forced to keep a consistent smile to not add to Mama’s mountains of stress.
Every day it gets harder to carry on. It seems like things will never be the same but I remind myself that you taught us that perseverance always pays off and now is no different.
I’ll keep writing until I can post these letters. Your words guide us through the darkest nights, like a lighthouse guiding a lost ship back to safety.
~ Aamira
To My Mother, the Keeper of Our Flames
Dearest Mama,
Although we walk together on this journey, I still desire to write to you. And although it’s impossible to show all my gratitude on a single scrap of paper and my diminishing ink, I hope this letter illustrates how much you mean to both Nahla and me.
From my first steps to my elementary graduation, you’ve always been my biggest supporter, and this journey’s been no different. Although we encounter frequent obstacles, your hope and faith shield us from any danger.
We’ve wandered far from the land we once called ours, but you’ve shown us that home is wherever our hearts can find peace. It’s in every cherished memory, every lesson learned, and every dream we dare to dream.
I wait for the day where I can enjoy your hot dinners once again, but until then, may we have strength to continue. Your strength, Mama, is the foundation of our makeshift home, your love, the walls that protect us from the harsh winds of reality. I love you Mama.
~ Aamira
To My Missing Family, the Heart of My World
My beloved family,
When the gentle light of dawn washes over the dry land, there is hope of a new beginning. It’s in these quiet moments of solitude I feel your absence the least.
The war has scattered us like seeds to the wind, and I don’t know where you’ve landed, whether you’ve found soil to root in or if you’re still adrift. But in my letters, I’ve built a home for us, a sanctuary made of words and wishes, where the war cannot reach.
I’ve written to Mahmood, to Baba, to Mama, and to Nini. I’ve poured out my soul in ink, hoping that somehow, my words will bridge the vast distances between us, that they will find you and bring you back to me.
Though miles lie between us, our bond remains unbroken. I carry you in every step, in every breath. Until we meet again, I hold onto the hope of a new beginning, a place where we can, once again, build a home – not of bricks, but of love and unity. In writing these letters, I’ve found a home within myself, a sanctuary built from memories, hope, and the unbreakable bond of family.
~ Aamira