Haboba

Haboba’s hair smells like back home
Frankincense & myrrh   sandalwood & ambergris
Scents twirling & traveling through the history of each strand

From up close, I can see the Nile running through it
The sand at its base
Tangerine-stained hair to match the tint of her fingertips
like the Nubian sun is glossing it

Every night Haboba rubs karkar through her mane
& every night I admire
Following her to her room
Light dim
I sit beside her on the bed
Reverence in my left eye, fascination in the right

Her hijab falls revealing waist-length hair
Section by section she douses her locks, oil penetrating each tassel
My admiration for the pride she takes over her hair

One night, Haboba lets me take her place
Cheekbones rise as her granddaughter moisturizes her pride
Combing her tresses, I wonder whose hair she has combed before
Her mother’s? The four daughters she bore?
How these moments occur when our tongues speak different languages.

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NEDDA SULIMAN is a Sudanese American native to Brooklyn, New York. She holds a B.S in Childhood Education and currently teaches in a New York City school.