Perhaps my detour diaries were a little too enigmatic for some as there seems to be some lingering confusion of my current whereabouts. To set the record straight, I’m done with Darfur and back in the states. My Sudanese adventure is khalas.
Khalas (read: ha-la-s) is one of the remaining words of my small Arabic vocabulary that has integrated itself into my everyday English. Perhaps khalas got stuck in my brain because it seemed to be dropped in every other sentence. Perhaps because it can mean so many things.
Khalas can mean that something is not available. The water jug is khalas (empty), the electricity is khalas (not going to come on tonight), the cookies in the cupboard are khalas (someone ate them all before you). However, khalas can also carry the connotation of a deep finality. The cook got caught stealing and was khalased (fired) or the guard got shot by bandits and is khalas (dead). There is a bit of room for confusion, and as you might imagine, I frequently was corrected for my misuse of the word "khalas" during my days in Darfur.
For example. The small "shop" on our corner in El Geneina had no official operating hours. When the ship keeper Anoor showed up with key to the padlock, the store was open, when he closed the door and went for a nap, the store was closed.
"Anoor is not here, the store is khalas" I said to my friends who sold bread under the tree one day. "La la la" (no no no), they laughed. If the store is khalas, it will never open again. The store is only “gafil” (closed for now).
So I guess that I am right saying that geographically, my time in Sudan is “khalas,” but I have to admit that in my mind it is more like Anoor’s store on the corner- open and closed and opened and closed as frequently as my thoughts of Darfur come and go.
This isn’t a bad thing, big pieces of my heart and many people who I love dearly are still daily wading through the difficult trials of life in Sudan. Although my feet aren’t on there ground there anymore, I hope my wandering tales have peaked your interest enough that your wonderings and prayers for the people of Darfur won’t be khalased either.
Perhaps God will lead my feet back to the dusty streets of Darfur someday. Perhaps the book is closed, but not khalas. Perhaps this ending is just the forward to the sequel.
For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin -- real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way. Something to be got through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.
– Fr. Alfred D’Souza
