Sultana

After what seemed like an eternity, I hear the building’s door rattle and I immediately run right in front of it, but to my surprise and disappointment, it isn’t him, which means…more waiting…maybe I should explore other options.

In moments like this, where I can do nothing but wait, in company of no one but the hunger and the cold, I wonder If I should join one of the local gangs, safety is in numbers after all. But then I think of the drama, the constant fights and the competition, and I remember why I chose to be alone in this harsh environment.

Aaand here comes again, my guts are twisting from hunger and nobody is coming down, I approach the door and start calling my friend, or maybe someone else that will answer to my cry for food just like that…a lights turns on!, someone is coming, I stand in front of the ginormous glass door looking at the stairs, without blinking for one second and right before the lights turn off, I see him, walking down the stairs, my friend, an old man with soft voice and slow walk, one of the very few people that speak with me but more importantly, my main and most trusted source of food.

As he opens the door I make room for him to walk and serve my food and as soon as it touches my plate, which is just a piece of plastic with a rock on it so It doesn’t fly way, I dive into it, with the promise of a full belly and the relief not only of knowing I won’t starve but of having my friend save me once again, despite not sharing the same spoken language, a daily action that keeps my faith in him strong.

He waits behind me while I eat, and when I’m fully satisfied, we just hang out for a bit, we talk even if we don’t understand each other’s words and following that we split once again, until the next day, he goes up home and I head to what could be described as a nest, a pile of clean garbage that keeps me a bit warm at night, it’s not the best thing but at least I’m safe from the wind and separated enough from the gangs.

The only thing I fear is not a concern anymore, at least until tomorrow when my belly starts craving for food once again. The rest? I do not fear anything, I am Sultana, a street veteran, a fighter, a queen in my own right. I have earned every bit of territory I control and I’m proud of it, but that’s not to say the others cannot go in, they are welcome, as long as they are respectful and kind; a privilege I give that has brought me fights and headaches but despite that, I’m not waving it, because I know that just like I do, they need a friendly hand, some help and a bit of love, not more scars, fears and traumas.

-In dear memory of Soultana, who parted in early 2023-

It is a night like many others, the hunger hits, the wind howls and despite the chilling temperature, all I can think of is a bowl of food.

There was never a time when I didn’t have to wonder what I was going to eat during the day and yet, the uncertainty is always the same.

I slowly walk around my block checking the usual spots, avoiding the numerous gangs, the mean people and the cars; I head over to one street with numerous workshops and a couple residential buildings and I sit there, next to my empty plate and my dry Tupperware. I sit and wait, I don’t have a watch and I don’t know how they work anyway, it might be a few minutes, or a few hours but I have faith he will come, after waiting for some time I seek shelter nearby, with my ears on high alert and my faith almost intact, assuring myself that he won’t forget that I exist.