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“At the Unity High School in the heart of Khartoum, a place pulsing with ease and luxury, I graduated with a Cambridge certificate. Though far from stupid, studying was simply not my passion at the time. I harboured no desire to become a doctor, a lawyer, or a chemist; my only wants were a home, a man who does not lie, a room in the shade of a tree, and a child to carry my name. However, upon drawing closer to examine everything at close range, I realised that I do not belong here. I have no place in a world that perfects the art of smiling to one's face, only to strike with stabs in the back the moment one turns away.” — Mohamed Al-Mustafa Musa
At the Unity High School in the heart of Khartoum, a place pulsing with ease and luxury, I graduated with a Cambridge certificate. Though far from stupid, studying was simply not my passion at the time. I harboured no desire to become a doctor, a lawyer, or a chemist; my only wants were a home, a man who does not lie, a room in the shade of a tree, and a child to carry my name. However, upon drawing closer to examine everything at close range, I realised that I do not belong here. I have no place in a world that perfects the art of smiling to one's face, only to strike with stabs in the back the moment one turns away.