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:: كــاتب نشــط::
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كتب صديقي د. خالد عثمان محجوب عن عمه, الراحل المقيم محمد محجوب
O soul at peace, return unto they Lord,
well-pleased, well-pleasing.
Enter thou among My servants.
Enter thou My Paradise
The Dawn, Holy Quran
Cymbelline, W. Shakespeare
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task has done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must
As chimney sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o’ the great,
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak;
The scepter, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
No exorcizer harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!
Uncle Mohamed had so many gifts and talents, and there is such a range of people here that will remember different aspects of him. He was in many ways such a large-hearted person, he talked to everyone. We will all remember his laugh and his sense of humour and his appetite for people and life. But I always thought that he was a terrific writer, he wrote so fluently and vividly, and I was actually slightly jealous of this. When Mohamed lived and worked in Czechoslovakia in the 70ies and until mid 80ies, the letters he wrote to me when I was student in the Soviet Union, were full of vivid details of his sharp observations of the people and the place, the political crisis in Sudan. And with all that great sense of humour, there was always a streak of sadness, a sadness deeply buried in his heart. Uncle Mohamed never recovered from the two traumas of losing his younger sister Huda in the early 60ies when he was in Al-Ruserys prison for his participation in the military coup against Aboud’s regime in 1959, and of the tragic death of his brother Abdelkhalig and other comrades – Babikir Alnour, Hashim Al-Atta, Faroug Hamadallah and the others.
Mohamed had such great personal gifts – the love he felt for the people closest to him, for family, for his only daughter Huda and his two grandchildren Ihab and Al-Kid, for the friends who loved him, but there was also the work that he did – he made important contributions to the political debate on the role of the military in the Third World and in particular in Sudan, his contributions to the internal political debate of the Sudan Communist Party. He was never part of the Elite or the Establishment of the party – what can I say here? Mohamed was surely a fully-paid member of the Awkward Squad, and we loved him for that too.
His early interest and work in Economics of Oil, wasn’t about getting personally rich, and as our crazy world raced on through the 80s and 90s and the new millennium, uncle Mohamed must have felt increasingly isolated at least partly because of what he was – an egalitarian, a socialist, a true internationalist, someone who cared passionately for the poor, for the struggling marginalized people. I hope you feel that William Blake’s poem the Divine Image makes some of the same arguments that Mohamed worked and lived for.
The Divine Image, from Songs of Innocence and of Experience
To mercy, pity, peace and love
All pray in their distress;
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For mercy, pity, peace and love
Is God our father dear,
And mercy, pity, peace and love
Is man, his child and care.
For mercy, has a human heart;
Pity, a human face;
And love, the human form divine,
And peace, the human dress.
Then every man of every clime
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine
Love, mercy, pity, peace.
And all must love the human form
In heathen, Turk or Jew.
Where mercy, Love and pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.
Dear all,
Thank you so much for your sincere, kind and comforting words.
Khalid Osman Mahgoub
UNHCR, Quetta, Pakistan
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