In the bosom of merciful fangs

                          

It was a sunny day spurring every soul into an unforgettable picnic. It came to me that my fishing rod was under the bed, and then I hurried into the room to fetch it. I started my car and bid farewell to my wife and my lovely girl, Sarah.

The region had known a great deal of change, for there had been a fierce scramble between some of the fast-growing economics over gaining a foothold in this open market and the benefit of which had catalysed flashy infrastructure, which the locals had been lauding for ages.

In a matter of minutes I reached the “Temodo River”, in contrast with the preceding years when it used to take me more than two hours. The river was teeming with colourful fishes and beautified with a majestic view.

The canoe was still at the same place and in the care of Mr. Adam, a short and plump man, and an older-timer and friend of the family. Once I was on board, I started rowing past three deserted jetties. After a while, I stopped to bait my hook and then cast it into the water in a blink of an eye. Waiting for a chance to catch a fish, I immersed myself in a deep sea of childhood memories of the place.

When I regained my consciousness, I found myself lying on a bed and surrounded by bodies in motion, most of whom wearing white garments. Two accustomed hands were patting mine, in an attempt to soothe me and to show sympathy without knowing for which reason. Her soft voice was telling me “Welcome back to the land of living, Omar!”

All I could recall was that my canoe had capsized, but the course of the events was detailed by an eye witness, a local whose name I can’t recall.

The man’s account revealed that a hippo, a large creature, attacked my canoe viciously ramming into it at full speed. As a result, the canoe capsized and my head hit an edge of it.

What happened next, according to the man’s version, was striking and   breathtaking, and the first of its kind he had ever witnessed.

A fight took place involving two huge beasts, the hippo that had attacked me, and a crocodile, in what might have seemed to any passer-by as a normal fight that occurs frequently in the wild. The hippo lost the fight to his rival and left the scene. The man told us that he had immediately started his tireless supplications asking God to save my life, for there was not any possibility of rescuing me from the hideous situation, nor was he able, at least, to catch the beast’s attention and drive it away from me. It surprised him when the animal carried me inside his terrifying mouth and dragged me ashore into a safe place. What’s more, the creature let its gaze rest on me motionlessly till I was able to move some parts of my body, and then went back to the water, maybe to celebrate the crushing victory.

A familiar voice came from a corner of the room telling us” It’s Kimmo who saved your life. The crocodile you and your deceased grandpa saved when you were just five years old.” It was my grandma’s voice.

Kimmo neither forgot my face nor how I acted towards him, albeit the physiological transformation it occurred to me; he still remembered me and my helping him. Words do fail me, when an animal proves an unmatched gratefulness, in contrast with human being’s stances sometimes adopted in similar situations, in a world where countless people are becoming callous and morally corrupted.  

Ismail KAMAL

Why storytelling is important?

    

Everyone’s life is usually full of all manner of stories, some may be boring or unpleasant, some, on the other hand, are so exciting that we may remember them vividly. As for me, there is something that has remained on my memory of such a tremendous impression while making my recollection work.

 I do well remember when the door swings open, and then I rush in no time into his room and threw myself into his arms, thirsting for the flow of words coming from the mouth of an older-timer. He used to hug me and start, with no hesitation or delay, narrating his impressive and never-ending stories, effect of which still working to date. I used to let my soul saunter along that street of thoughts and emancipating myself from every possible earthly link that could have subverted the enjoyment of the moment. I used to succumb to his eloquence of an experienced story-teller, and though sometimes people were present, obliviousness was dominant, however. My imagination grew wide by attempting to visualise every part of the story, and it was as though I had been watching a movie. The man died two years ago.

Through this personal experience, and child as I was, I would like to tell that this process of narrating a tale, or even while reading, could inevitably have a potent effect on a child’s imagination and his intellectual stamina.

When a child is listening to an individual who is narrating a story, the brain, through its sophisticated mechanism, turns into what let me call it the like of Hollywood’s studios; as a result, it makes up for the role of the television, by visualising the characters mentioned in the story, as well as their countenance and demeanour, and the whole course of the events. To reach this stage, the child makes an effort that helps him uncover his dormant skills that are likely to broaden his ability to imagine things.

In fact, imagination plays a critical role in how to shape a child’s personality, to wit:

§   It sometime helps him rely on himself to sort out his problems without asking for someone’s intervention, by improvising or coming up with a way out. This could pave the way for building up a sturdy and self-made person.

§      It has a good effect on enhancing the child’s style of writing by helping him acquire the capacity of organising his ideas following a perfect chronology, as well as providing him with abundance in ideas always on standby.

§         Imagination is the mother of invention:

It is no wonder that technology advances quickly, but what should be understood that no advance could have been reached if it were not to imagination. Ideas represent the real capital to be based on while attempting to improve human being’s life. A dreamer child is a future inventor.

§          A good listener, a good thinker, then a good communicator:

What distinguished civilised nations from “the uncivilised ones” is their capacity and readiness to settle their conflicts and frictions peacefully, but the origin of this emanates from the whole process of education. It starts at an earlier age of the kid, by instilling in him the basic principles to make him a person of dialogue. Story-telling, besides reading, can make a child a good listener and thinker, and also bring about the existence of individual who can grasp the set of rules within his geographical extremities, and cooperate in accordance with its laws and customs. When a misunderstanding is discerned, he tries to fix it by means of communication or following the path of institutions.

By Ismail KAMAL

The stupid sons and the cunning outsiders

The stupid sons and the cunning outsiders

There was a father who had been doing his utmost to provide for his sons. Life had been taking its toll on him since the death of his wife, which seemed to have made it so tough a mission to be handled by one person.

He used to work night and day without conveying any sign of withdrawal, saving as much as he could because he simply wanted that his sons would lead a decent life after his death, and didn’t want them to be forced to beg anybody for help. He also wished that when they grew up they would invest the available money together, increase their wealth and live in peace and harmony.

After his demise, things took a direction diffrent from what the father had wished. A melee erupted on how the money should be split and some went further by asking the lion’s share. This dug a deep hole of enmity among the family, and instead of settling this predicament under their roof, everyone resorted to asking help from outsiders.  

The outcomers with their cunning wit plotted together behind the doors, and unanimously decided to pose as honest conciliators and trustworthy supporters. They convinced the sons to trust every step they would take. Instead of easing the disagreement, they made it more insoluble by deepening the dividedness within the family; they took all their money and run away, leaving behind a shattered bunch of stupid boys.

                                                                                                      By Ismail KAMAL

A life-changing reproach

He was a young man, and like every ordinary person had numerous ambitions and wished one day all his dreams would come true. However, at certain moments, he was in full disarray as a result of a mixture between being serious and having fun in tandem. Such paradox, in the normal course of life, will never come up with any fruitful outcomes. He got lost and didn’t know which path to follow, either the good or the bad one.

Out of the blue, an unmatched creature came into his life, and fortunately, it was a hero and a star that lit up his path.

It was his teacher that awoke in him the inactive treasure within his soul, let him know how great his skills are.

It was a harsh reproach, in public, in front his classmates, too hard to resist as he had a youthful heart. « You are a good guy and you can go further provided that you change your behaviour as well as your seat. From now on, you will be sitting alone.» she said.

It may seem for you that it was a simple reproach that every father, mother and teacher can address to their kids and students, but, indeed, this one was completely different, a life-changing reproach whose effect has worked to date, as though it had been a magic spell.

She guided him throughout the year, like a gardener adeptly watering his flowers; and to add some flavour to the cake and make it more scrumptious, the teacher gave her student a book, a gift that was a token of gratitude and guidance, which her student is still commemorating in his special manners.

                                                                                                  By Ismail KAMAL

Greed is blind

Once upon a time there was a widow living with her two sons. Feeling her age and seeing her final days looming ahead, she decided to reveal a secret she had been hiding for ages. 

On a rainy day and at her behest a meeting was held, and this was the very high time for everything to be clear.

"My lovely sons" she said "you know how much I love you, but you also have to know that my strength is wearing out day by day, and for sure my last day is coming soon, in that, I've called for this meeting. But first and foremost, there is something I want to share with you, something I do believe that it will be a boon to your future. Back to my childhood days and while I was strolling in the woods, I came across a box and because I was packed with curiosity, like every child scanning its surrounding for the first time, I decided to open it. What was inside caught my surprise, and though still a child, I had the awareness as to the divisiveness it would bring into the village, then I decided to keep it for myself and tucked it away out of sight. Now it's all yours, on the understanding that you keep looking after me till my last day, then you can go both there and use that map on the table, it contains all trails leading to the spot where the box is located." 

Two days later, the younger boy took the map secretly, and after scanning it well, and without a hint of hesitation he made it to the woods. When he reached the place, he immediately started the digging process, and a broad smile was drawn on his face. He opened the box, and to his surprise nothing was inside but a small envelop. He opened it and read:

"Greed is blind." 

A witch appeared from nowhere, and by her magic spells burnt the greedy son to ashes and made him vanish for good. 

                                                                                                                            By Ismail KAMAL