Farewell Abu Mishal.. The Inspirer of My Narratives

I consider myself fortunate to have friends who are life itself—in its artistic, cultural, intellectual, and social meanings. How great is the fortune of one who finds in a friend most of what he seeks and needs: humanity, skills, life experience, and sometimes cunning, which grants the ability to understand your reality, express it, and cautiously avoid traps and ambushes with neither discouragement nor excessive optimism. The most valuable experiences are those gained indirectly—from the school of life, not from textbooks.

There are suns that shine upon us without being tied to the day, lamps that light the paths even when we are not in darkness, rain that falls without any electromagnetic connection to clouds, and a language that chants with no relation to dictionaries or lexicons, building the foundations of sensitivity in feeling and expression, energizing stories with vitality and power; it helps the style transition from narrative to poetry and satirical criticism, then reconstructs the plot with a different context in its beginning and end.

I write about my teacher and mentor, Abdulrazzaq bin Saleh Al-Mudhi Al-Ghamdi, the inspirer of my narratives and the founder of the infrastructure in my awareness, preparing me to face the expected and unexpected, confront hidden corners and blind intentions, and provide me with advice that eases the boredom of summer and the dullness of winter, stimulates memory to tell stories and use them without provoking reactions from those who misinterpret what we write as a reflection on themselves with ill intent.

Abu Mishal passed away yesterday, and as soon as a person receives the news of the departure of a dear one, movement freezes in place, words become stiff on the tongue, tears harden in eyes promised an encounter that greens the deserts of the soul, memories flow and multiply; memories are our bridge to the purity of dawn and the clarity of springs, as if when we remember, we resist the specter of departure and the pain of loss.

When I moved from Basheer Elementary to Al-Baha Scientific Institute, I transitioned from a village to a city, from an intimate institution to a company bustling with faces and colors. The circle of knowledge and relationships expanded, and the sheikhs and teachers had a reverence that instilled awe in us. Each teacher had his nature and personality in dealing with students, and while teaching methods might be similar, Abu Mishal was a different model.

Of course, due to the proximity of villages and relationships among their leaders, he knew my father, and between them—may God have mercy on them—was a strong friendly relationship. Although I do not rely on lineage but on work and achievements, a literary affection grew between student and teacher. His style of explanation, using the environment in lessons, enriching classical language with proverbs, stories, and poetry in the spoken language, along with gestures, all rooted the bonds of kinship and friendship between the sheikh and the disciple.

Years passed, and time brought me back to the institute as a teacher. Despite the awakening sweeping some of our feelings and the temptations of paths away from the beloved homeland, Abu Mishal never lifted his hand from the sanctity of what he built in six years, nor suppressed the ambition to change the world! He strengthened my connection with teachers who were also colleagues—indeed, excellent colleagues. I learned from their ethics and stances what protected my humanity from the consequences of corruptions. When Abu Mishal noticed a slip or folly from me, he would say in his beloved dialect, 'Son, be a man.' And if it happened repeatedly, which it often did, he would escalate the language and reproach by saying, 'Look at the donkey.' I never found offense or complaint in these nicknames; rather, I felt a caring fatherhood without oppressive guardianship.

Of course, circumstances and conditions passed that disturbed the river of our affection, but it soon cleared, and I grew close to my sheikh again. I came to know in him the devout, generous, loyal, cautious about secret charity, attached to the remembrance of God, always asking about friends and colleagues. The Friday afternoon when I met him at his home was a source of reassurance for my heart, in it and through it extended my emotional connection to the presence of a father, an elder brother, and the teacher who nourished my narratives with his inspiration, which I hope will never cease, even though my inspirer is now in the abode of truth.