.. العمر من وين بشتروا !!

Quote: Letters to my Children On TURNING SIXTY It is 2005. I woke up this morning and was shocked to discover that I have turned sixty. I was surprised and saddened; surprised because I could not account for my thirties, or forties, or even early fifties. I have no idea where all those years have gone. I am sure that somebody was fast-forwarding the wheels of time when I was asleep or not looking. Come to think of it, I have often noticed that my fingernails grow long a day or two after I have clipped them. I was saddened because turning sixty means, (by whatever yardstick), that only a few years are left to be on this magical, wonderful planet. Although life expectancy in my home country is set at 49 years, my father died at age 80. So at best, I have about 20 years left, and that's surely not enough. There are just too many places I did not visit, too many books I did not read, too many movies I did not watch and too many crazy things I wanted to do but did not do and could never do. The tragic bit is that I do not feel sixty (or fifty or even forty, for that matter). According to me, I am still the youthful, vigorous, energetic young man I used, and continue, to be. I still enjoy modestly brushing aside admiring looks from younger girls and envious glares by older men. I am always amazed by how old and grey my younger brothers, age- and schoolmates look. I reason internally that maybe it is the food they eat, or the hard life they lead, or whatever makes people age prematurely. It's only when I pass by a mirror and accidentally see a reflection of this older person staring back at me that I have some doubts, painful but brief; that I do not have that many years left. Too many places to go. Too many things to do. I have not been to Borneo or Amazonia; where I just want to be, organically speaking, part of the magnificent, colossal rainforest. I have not crossed the Sahara Desert, and spent starry nights in the open with the mysterious Touarges, and other exotic nomadic people. I have not walked barefoot on the beaches of Copa Cabana in Rio de Janeiro, gaping at the Brazilian girls in their swim and everyday wear. I have not been to Lapland, chasing herds of reindeer across the frozen tundra, nor to Inner Mongolia, drinking horse milk and eating yak steaks. I have not foraged with the Bushmen in the Kalahari Desert. I have not frolicked in the snow with the Intuits of Northern Canada. In fact, I want to spend more quality time in my village, shedding all those shields acquired through education and travel, and retrace my childhood with my age group of relatives and friends who stayed behind, busy being farmers and of large families. I want to be around and well to see my children's children. Well, before that, in fact, I want to spend hours and hours boring my children with tales of my childhood and youth, and how it used to be in the good old days, trying desperately to make them relive my experiences, and, well, frankly, to make them a bit like me! I have turned sixty and there are still too many places to go, too many things to do, too many projects yet to be undertaken and too many dreams yet to be realized. I am sorry to say this, but I definitely feel cheated (and I am not blaming anybody). I just need more time. And I am not asking too much. I do not want another life. I am satisfied with the one I had, warts and all. It is just that if I had another go at the same life I had, I would be very attentive, very alert. I would savour every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month and every year. In fact I would keep a diary so that I could commit to paper and to memory every fleeting moment, every experience and every face. I would continuously strive to be a better son, a better sibling, a better husband, a better father, a better friend and a better colleague. In short, a better human being. Is that too much to ask for? Awad Elhassan Addis Ababa, 2005