This is my one thousandth blogpost!

Yet it feels like I only began this journey yesterday. And that is a very good thing; you’ll understand why as you read further. First because unlike most bloggers I rarely blog more than once a day, and mostly post on week days, so 1000 blogposts is a big deal – that’s a lot of words.

But before I go any further, I would like to thanks the person who inspired and encouraged me along the way, my very good friend the Blogfather Iain Dale. It was reading his down to earth full of common sense and at times emotionally charged posts that got me thinking, I have a lot to say and can put my point across okay so why not start my own blog? It also helped that at the time I wanted to become an MP and needed to have a website, so I hit two birds with one stone.

Growing up I went to private school, not because my parents had money (trust me there have been times when they could not pay the school fees and it got very tricky with the mother superior). I went private because it was the best education available then in Khartoum. And since both my parents hold doctorates, mediocre education was not an option. So from reception to secondary, my siblings (a brother and a sister) and I were educated at private Catholic (missionary) schools run by Italian nuns and priests imported directly from the Vatican. It cost my parents a fortune but it was worth it. Not only from the academic side of things but also from a social aspect. Unlike state schools, my school had kids from all walks of life, every nationality and every religion. While most state schools were neighborhood schools, where folks from the same environment lived worked and their kids went to school together. My school had true diversity. I sat and played with girls from all over the city of all backgrounds. And because it was one of only two English teaching schools in the capital, all expats and diplomats send their children there too.

While we paid for our schooling, the sisters boarded and educated for free southern Christian children who were orphaned by the war. Many northerners were uncomfortable with that premise and felt it was exploitative. But my parents encouraged us to meet and befriend everyone. I later found out that the nuns secretly gave scholarships to northern girls and boys, who were bright but their parents got into difficulty paying school fees, rather than disrupting the students’ education.

I loved school and hardly missed a day. But school wasn’t always fun. The nuns were tough, they ruled with an iron fist and because I asked too many questions and talked during lessons, I was tagged by them as a naughty girl. We studied all subjects in English except for Arabic, Islamic Religion and of course French. Besides getting in trouble for talking when I wasn’t supposed to, I was also a bad speller. Even though we were taught both Arabic and English at the same time, my English spelling was atrocious.

So I sometimes struggled. This later affected my confidence, and made me avoid writing any large or publicly read pieces. To counter it, I developed some coping mechanisms. For instance, in college (university) I used to ask friends to spellcheck my papers before I hand them in, and for big assignments I paid a professional typist who automatically corrected any spelling mistakes. Later it was a case of always having a dictionary and a Roget’s nearby. Then came the spellchecker, which as some would know can be more of a hindrance than a blessing. Once it recommended ‘Sinisterly yours’ when I wanted to end the letter with ‘Sincerely yours’ or requested to meet at ‘earliest convent’ instead of ‘earliest convenient’ stupid mistakes that should not happen to nice person like me. But I worked with my shortcoming and did not allow it to hold me back.

It’s tough to not make mistakes but I recon it is even tougher to accept making them. So I decided to go the tough route and accept being a poor speller. Wear my bad speller badge with pride and own it. No one is perfect and now my imperfection is out there for all to see. So I decided to stop being embarrassed by it and blog anyway. Plus if I was going to be in the public eye, not owning it will only serve as ammo to those who want to attack me with it.

All I am saying is that I accept and understand that there are those who well ridicule me for making mistakes, and there are those who will be aghast by it. But most people usually see beyond the ill-formed letters, read the essence of what I wrote, get the point and even engage with me. That might sound insignificant to some but it taught me to exercise even more tolerance with others’ shortcomings. I honestly think it won’t have happened if it wasn’t for this blog.

I would also like to take this opportunity and say to those like me who think about blogging or any type of writing. Just do it and not be afraid to write, to be read and be heard. Because it’s freeing, engaging and can open doors and possibilities. Like most things in life it also improves with practice, mine did. I still make dreadful mistakes that make me laugh out loud, but two things definitely changed since I started blogging in 2009. It takes me less time to write and check a piece plus I make far less mistakes than I did when I first started. Plus I have developed my own inner antenna that tells me ‘this doesn’t look/sound right, check it’ now that can only be a good thing. But best of all is the friendships that came out of me blogging, I will forever cherish them.

Finally, I want to thank everyone who reads this blog regularly or occasionally. A special thank you to those who comment either here, on Facebook or via tweets, you all make writing so much worthwhile, and your contributions are hugely appreciated. It is because of you and the joy writing gives me that I continue to blog.

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