This is a poetic translation of Language and Literacy Narrative about visiting Sudan, highlighting my feelings of isolation and disconnection caused by language barriers. I focused on shaping the narrative into a poetic form, using line breaks and pacing to emphasize the frustration and loneliness of not being able to fully communicate or belong.

——————————————-

It hits you slowly — and then all at once.

I’m from New York. Born and raised.
But both of my parents are from Sudan.

So Sudan has always been in the background —
in the food we eat,
the stories we hear,
the language spoken around me.

Not always to me — but around me.

And I thought that meant I belonged.
Even if I’d never lived there.
Even if I didn’t speak the language fluently.

I was five the second time I visited Sudan.
I walked in thinking: I’m one of you.

But the country didn’t exactly say the same thing back.

Everyone spoke Arabic —
the kind I heard at home,
but never really used myself.

And I realized…
The Arabic in my head was broken. Scattered.
Just enough to say hi, not enough to say how I feel.

And the script?
Just shapes. Familiar — but meaningless.

Then came the moment I still remember:
My Avengers coloring book went missing.

I was five. It was a big deal.
And I knew who took it — my cousin.

I wanted to confront him.
I even had the words in my head.

But they were in English.
And he wouldn’t understand them —
He was five, too.

And he, like me, existed in his own sphere of comfort.

So I just… stayed quiet.

That moment stuck.
Not because I lost a coloring book — I got it back eventually.

But because something bigger was missing:
The language to express myself.
The ability to be heard.
To belong.

It felt like having the right thoughts,
but the wrong tools.
Like trying to fix something with a screwdriver that doesn’t fit.

And that moment followed me home.
Even though I wasn’t fully aware of it at the time,
it made me start asking:

What does it really mean to belong somewhere?
Is it blood?
Language?
Geography?
Memory?

I still don’t have answers.
But I do know this:

You can grow up with a culture all around you —
and still feel like you’re on the outside.