In Memoriam: Tayeb Salih
I got a dose of bad news this morning as I checked through my usual news sites. I read news of the passing away of ElTayyib Salih (Tayeb Salih to you non-Arabic speakers out there) at age 80 in London. This is a global tragedy for such a distinct literary voice to be so decisively silenced forever. It's also a national tragedy, certainly in Sudan, where we have had so little to be proud of in recent years; but it's also a tragedy on a personal level. My father met 'amu (uncle) ElTayyib during a conference in the UK more than a decade ago. The older man befriended my gregarious and inquisitive father, and they remained friends in the years after their meeting. My Dad made an effort to visit 'amu ElTayyib whenever he was in the UK, to catch up and exchange stories and news. In fact, it was during one of these trips that my Dad mentioned that I had never read his seminal book, Season of Migration to the North. He generously responded by giving my Dad two inscribed copies of the book in English and in Arabic. When Dad got home, we all read the books. My brother was shocked and scandalized by the books, with their frank discussions of sexuality and violence - taboo subjects in the Sudan in every sphere. "No Sudanese could have written these books!" he exclaimed. As for me, I wasn't sure; this had opened many intellectual doors for me, but rocked some of the foundations of my thinking on what it meant to be Sudanese. I wondered if I'd ever get to meet the man himself, thank him and talk a little about what he'd written.
Of course that cannot happen now, and I sit here feeling several things beyond the obvious loss. First of all is the general anger that this under-appreciated author recieved such shoddy obituaries in the press. There was no mention cause of death or anything. Yes, he's an old man, but considering that the New Yorker practically devoted last week's issue to John Updike, it wouldn't have been too much to just show a little more of the circumstances of his life and death. It wasn't till quite late in the day that those circumstances were revealed. I called my Dad, and he told me that he'd been in a coma due to his kidney condition, and it had only been a matter of time. Guess it was better to hear that from Dad than the NY Times.
The only other thing that I feel pretty strongly about is that he was never recognized on the appropriate scale. I feel like someone (maybe me?) should write to the Nobel committee and recommend that they consider him, but I'm not sure if all that mail goes directly to a shredder in Stockholm.
My outrage is running out steam, and I've stepped back from the precipice of emotion I was at when I started writing. Rest in peace 'amu ElTayyib, and thank you.