Set in Sudan in the 1890s during the Mahdi uprising, this novel echoes with voices and stories through the ages – and all moved me. But the strongest voice for me is that of the orphan Akuany, telling her experiences. It left me feeling angry and sad that mankind never learns that war brings nothing but grief; that religion can never be an excuse to slaughter others; that skin colour does not matter and all human beings are hurt in the same way.
At the outskirts of Khartoum, there was a change. Zamzam saw the river; she had not seen it for years. Old friend. Appearing like a savior in her hour of need. The captives were commanded to bathe, and she did not need any encouragement. She could stay in the water forever, becoming clean, losing her thirst, desperate to lose her weakness, too, and all the bad memories. How familiar the water was, its flow and color, She understood it, could speak to it and marvel that the river had flowed all this time, all the years she had been away from it. Her very same river, the White Nile. This was her habitat, this mellow moving water. And it could fill her ears and leave no space for anything else, carry all anxiety with the breeze, the unknown hideous tomorrow.
