اخبار السودان – وطن نيوز
اخر اخبار السودان اليوم – اخبار السودان العاجلة
W6nnews.com ==== وطن === تاريخ النشر – 2026-05-31 23:39:00
On the anniversary of the Nirti sit-in in 2023, Rose Mary Nirti, written by: Muhammad Badawi, extended her left index finger towards the frame of her black glasses, along the tip of her nose, and passed both of her braids towards her hair hanging on either side of her head. It looked like a seagull slowly spreading its wings. She repeated the motion of touching the frame of her glasses in an automatic manner that she was accustomed to whenever she took time to think. To release an exaggerated amount of tension that comes over her when some syllables defy the melody due to rebelliousness, so she returns to the note to practice tuning the melody with the rest of the letters. Her right leg bent at the knee joint at an angle not exceeding twenty-five degrees, and she was assigned to bear her weight by an amount that exceeded the other. Because she used her left hand, the left side remained more active than the other. She moved her left hand and then brought it back, as if she were testing her adaptation to her body in a test of the upcoming weather. Maria (Mary) remembered the question of her friend (Fouh), whom she met after more than seven years, since they separated after the end of university studies. The latter joined a bank in a job that was not related to her study of chemistry. Then she turned to her, as they were sitting in the airport departure lounge where they met by chance, and asked her a question: What did you do? She smiled: I work in a perfume production factory. Fouh exclaimed in her sharp, cheerful voice: Ooh! Beautiful, you work close to your specialty, in formulating perfumes! She felt very disappointed; Compiling perfumes is a profession that does not require studying chemistry. She added: I work in a perfume factory. Fawah raised her eyebrows: Ooh! I’m sorry. She replied: Never mind. My tasks are to contract to purchase and import flowers from abroad, from which perfumes are made. Today, he is leaving for Kenya for the same mission. The second thing is that there are specialists who make it. She continued: As for me, my main task, after completing the manufacture, is to test it. How do you do that? She smiled until she almost let out a laugh, then said: I rely on this proud nose, and my sense of smell, which belongs to the aromas of exploring the depths of beauty in perfumes, and determining her approach to the theaters of beauty, the red carpet, and elegance. Fouh’s eyes bulged, her mouth opened, and she shook her head to make sure that she was not asleep. Mary realized that she did not understand what she said, so she smiled, and by then she had picked up carrot-colored lipstick from her handbag, She passed it on her lips and then returned it, flashing a small smile, then said: My job is to buy roses and taste perfumes. I am a standard by which the situation is measured, my friend. The Kenya Airways employee had announced the start of boarding procedures for the plane, so she left after holding out a card to her saying: It has my addresses and phone number on it, please contact me. Then she got up and left. She remembered all of that before she sprayed the perfume on a piece of cardboard, then brought it close to her nose. She inhaled it slowly, a second, and a third time, and extended her hand to the pen on the table. She took a piece of paper with specifications for the perfume ingredients, then wrote in a box designated for the name of the proposed perfume, Special Moments. Her phone rang. The caller’s number was not listed. I looked at him; It was a local number, and after a short call, her memory failed to identify the caller, so she received the call. She quickly smiled; I recognized her immediately, as Fouh’s voice maintained its intense, musical intensity. A month and a half had passed since their short meeting in the departure lounge at Khartoum Airport. Fouh apologized for the lack of initiative and communication; Because she only returned from her trip yesterday. Aww, a good advance to Khartoum, and thank you for the initiative to call, as I did not get your number at the time. They agreed to meet at the flower exhibition, which begins four days later, at the Engineer’s House in Khartoum, and then they delved into intimate chatter. Fouh told her that the training course had been completed with a respectable leadership that might qualify her for an upcoming job promotion, then she went to the markets of Dubai, shopping with her eyes on what she wanted. What about you? How was your trip to Nairobi? Molla said with a sigh: I have put in a lot of effort over the past weeks, and I need a long vacation to rest. Then she added: After my return, I traveled to Ethiopia, where I supervised the import of the Abyssinian roses, which have a distinctive cream colour, and the eucalyptus roses that they produce, along with the red bouquet for which the highlands of Bali are famous. I returned from there to travel to the city of Zanzibar, where the company chose me to film an advertisement in Swahili for a new perfume product: (Blue and White), targeting the East African markets. She added: Then I was hosted on the program (Evening and Bouh), and the talk was about perfume and my experience as a woman in the specialty of perfume production. I planned to appear in an African outfit that I bought from Tanzania, and I brought with me a quantity of accessories made of ivory, ebony, and beads, but the director of the program suggested that I appear in a Sudanese dress. She continued: I chose a brown color with roses the color of the sun before sunset and pineapples in a design that brought them into an intimate encounter similar to a drunken kiss. My black leather shoes showed off their crackle with the beauty of the fingertips that were covered with bright white paint. The director chose to start the interview with me entering the studio stage, the cameras following me with my smile and my slender figure, where he highlighted the tying of the dress at the waist, which, if the poets of the bag song had attended, would have lined up around the clock in the paths I intended, and instead of crying: (Oh Lily Howie, Oh Lily Howie) it became: (Oh Mary Howie… Whoop death). Halal.” She laughed shyly, then Fouh urged her to continue: Wow! I have missed a lot, my friend. Mawla continued: After the program, calls poured in from my relatives, friends, and work colleagues. She laughed: Ha, ha, ha, Kafouh Al-Rose’s laugh! One of my colleagues called me and said: “You now represent the leading generation after the generation of local perfumes, such as Al-Khamra and Bit Al-Sudan,” and then he chanted: “Madaniyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”. And who is your progressive colleague? He is in the administration department, but there is nothing between us, my lady. She laughed again, then said: But my heartbeat almost stopped when Mawlana, the accounts manager, called me. He is a dignified man wearing a religious aura. He is cautious in his looks, even though he steals them if the place is empty of colleagues. That was right after I left the studio. Without a greeting, he said, with an overwhelming surprise that inhabited every word of his speech: Muhammad Wardi sang of you before you were born when he said: (The cheeks resemble seasonal flowers, the well-groomed waist and the soft stature). The sun was wearing a blue jacket when the departing clouds passed over it, and it appeared very handsome, as if it were in the sanctuary of a Thai temple that slowly descended to the highest heights of Jebel Marra, knowing that there is a path of worship between the heights, the gods and the sky. And worshiped since time immemorial. Mary raised her eyebrows of joy as she looked at the elegant stage behind the garden of the flower exhibition, which had voluntarily moved from near Muqrin al-Nilin to participate in the third anniversary of the Nirti sit-in, on the peaceful foothills of Jebel Marra. She raised the victory sign, waving to the suburb of Tur, which was advancing in a march ahead of the ululations towards the place that was gathered with all the brilliance and tan of the regions of Sudan, and which was decorated with an elegant mood on top of the hair on his head. An ostrich feather from Wadi Howar. It was not difficult for Fouh to make her presence felt among the crowd. She was a bride of music, and her anklets were an embodiment of what Khalil Farah described in his masterpiece, “Aza Fi Hawak,” as “our perfect doe.” She wore a linen blouse the color of mountain apples, and a skirt that shared with Fairoza the zipper on her nose that left a whisper of emotion on her beloved’s cheeks out of modesty, a small scarlet headdress, a brown bag with a long holder that hung from her left shoulder, and a small Swiss watch that matched the delicacy of her wrist. They shook hands and printed warm, welcoming kisses. Fouh said: I didn’t know you were this smart, oh Mary! How were you able to convince them to change the exhibition to here? She laughed: After our phone call, I flipped through my notebook, and my memory of my day coincided with the date of the exhibition. Before that, I was busy thinking: How do we rearrange our steps and break the chain of habit away from the streets of Khartoum? So I picked up my phone and spoke with the Orchard Farming Association, and I suggested to them that we host the exhibition under my command, and the company would take care of all the expenses. Then I added: To be honest, they hesitated, but when I pointed out that the timing coincided with the third anniversary of that sit-in, to which crowds and generations of Muhammad Qul, Al-Bawqa, Misteri Kulbus, Qazqil, the Mother Abbasids and Subiya Al-Umdurmaniyah, Al-Mujallad, and Qaysan flocked, they were preceded by music. The Eastern Band of Kandakat and Shavut Al-Dyoum to the tune of the marches: “Nirti Bit Al-Amir, the saddle of the pedal horses, the song expels Na’starara… Trarar Raa…” Then she said: Here we are, my friend, in this charming spot in the country. The celebration began with a welcome from Shartay Al-Tijani, the octogenarian man who maintains a strong body, and expressions resembling the happiness of Sudan on the day the colonizer’s evacuation was announced. He said what will remain immortal in the conscience, and let the tears flow, Giving him the freedom to participate in that greatness: We did not despair that there was relief coming, so we did not surrender despite the Mongols’ siege and its cruelty. We firmly fortified ourselves from that mountain. He pointed towards the east, where it appeared. And when the racism and hate speech were excessive, we tied together under the heart handfuls of the bright white sand of Wadi Ramla. He pointed towards the south. Tears watered the small platform without his voice shaking: We welcome you and ourselves, for today we are rediscovering who we are. This is a history that may not be repeated, but it will remain immortal in the memory of school curricula. Then he said with joy: Thank you, and to Muhammad Qul, as we were ready to travel to him, but he preceded us in attendance. Applause, gasps, and tears brought back the memory to the story that the geography course for the fourth grade of primary school told: “A Journey to Muhammad Qul.” He concluded his speech so that the tears increased: I was hoping to repeat: (Sincere, say, no, long live the one who separates us), but it happened, and alas. He left everyone in silence. Sad, and a memory that opened sharply to sudden pain. The cameras of channels and agencies, journalists, photographers, and mobile phone cameras went off at the same time after he announced the opening of the anniversary, when he waved his right hand, making it straight and extended up and down, as if he was waving a flag, adding: Now the opening of the celebration of the third anniversary of my Nirti has been announced. The audience moved to the second section, which was close to the bridge. The place was one of the nurseries of the Jebel Marra project, to which the hands of ugliness and devastation openly extended. Here, Mayor Ahmed cut the opening ribbon. He is a farmer with great experience and care. Flowers were carried by the plane from Khartoum in pottery pots colored by colorful fingers from the College of Fine Arts at the University of Sudan, and other plastic pots in scarlet and khaki, with the slogan printed on them: “The Flower Exhibition… I enlighten my beauty.” Mary took Fouh’s hand, and they walked until they stopped in a far corner on the left. She extended her finger toward a number of small seedlings that began with different colors, then said: These are rose flowers. I brought them to settle on the top of Mount Marra, as it bears some of the features of the Ethiopian slopes, and even better here. Because the cold is rainy and not dry. Fouh looked at her in astonishment and wanted to scream from the horror of the surprise. Mary did not let her finish her astonishment, so she added: Soon we will pick the roses of Jebel Marra so that the perfume will be Sudanese in love. Then the outer box will be written: “The essence of the embers of love between butterflies and petals.” author
