Her teeth glisten like white pearls reflecting off the sun’s rays. She lived up to her nickname – the Queen of Clean. When I visited her house with my brother, her floor was so clean you could see your face shine through. She would make chicken and humus, the aroma was like a warm abound of embracement. The flavours of sweet, sour and chilli flared the taste buds. Children from around the town would come and then she would tell us Somalian folktales:
waxaa jirey labo nin, war hebelow, maxad ugu jeclaan lahayd heshid?
Waxaan jeclay inaan helo ari badan. War adna maxaad jeclaan lahayd inaad heshid?
Waxaan jeclaan lahaa inaan helo raxan yey ah oo arigaaga cunta. War maxaad yeyda arugayga u cunsiinaysaa, ma sidaas baynu saa xiibo ku nahay? Maxaa yeelay, keligaa baa ariga. Ka dib way isu caroodeen ooo dirireen, ilaa iska daaleen oo midba dhinac u dhacay. War maxaynu isku dileynaa? Rajo heli ah!
Once lived two men, neither had any property. One day one of them asked the other:
Tell me, my friend what is your wish in life? I wish I owned many goats. The second man asked what’s your? I wish I owned a pack of wolves that could feed on your goats. But why do you wish my goats be hurt by your wolves. Because you wanted all those goats to yourself and gave me nothing, is that what you call friendship. They both got angry and fought until they fell apart unconscious. What are we fighting for? Only a wish.
She would tell us of jokes and stories mostly every night we came to visit, he love of children so as immeasurable as the light that reached out into infinity.
Her love was tremor that stopped the beat of everyone’s heart, through the village. She loved people and children, she was a like poem enriched with hugs and kisses. She could not stop giving since her father was a wealthy man, she was like a Samaritan brought upon the world to relieve pain and unhappiness.
If there were a tiger in human form, she would be it. Since she would defend you if she saw anyone hurt you on the street, she would go against anyone or anything just to see a feather of happiness in people’s eyes. Her heart was as strong as an Cox not to mention her fist. This is why she was suited for her job. She was like a human form of superwoman. Mother by day and by night the sounds of grenades would sweep the town, and there she would be running to the camps where the soldiers would be. They would call out for her “nurse, nurse”. Cries of wounded, bloody men could be heard from corners of the town. She gets her an-theistic injection, which would calm them or put a cold towel over their heads. The soldiers would sometimes whisper to her to send a message to their families. Then when dawn broke out she make or bake something and she would go the soldier’s families to tell the message. She put a spark of hope through people’s lives. Since the civil war broke out in Somalia, things were hectic as grenades and shots of bullets clouded every corner of the street thus it was dangerous for anyone to go out.
Once the war was over, she took a vacation to Sweden, but when the news was received that she collapsed because of her heart attack. She was a cloud a hope that surrounded a damaged nation. A star that brightly shines in the midst of the sky, glowing through out the closed universe. The news twisted my soul, it was the darkest of pains like a rose slowly decaying through and the beauty stripped away as if it were a dream. Everyone’s heart was dying for some form of warmth that my grandma brought. Every balance collided with the news spreading through the village, people breaking down in tears one by one. Times come and times go, In a never ending continuous flow, Time can never be tamed, And yet aspects of it never change, the laugher that she brought and the tinker of happiness in people’s eyes lost within memories, people could not go cannot go on and they could not stop,
One chance is all we’ve got, We have to live life how we want to, no one knew how to deal with such news hoping that it was not yet real. It was like broken pieces of glass that was unable to mend. When joy is caused by materials it is meaningless to lose it but when it is caused by a grandma that gives wisdom and comfort your whole world come crashing down with blazes of fire. Those few days everything that seemed living, died. People were in their own distress, trapped in a circle of misery of the havoc to be reaped upon the human heart, a nightmare closing in, an empty shell walking without that adheres to be helped. Bodies cold, minds rotting and old, but still times come and then they go, on an endless and insatiable flow.
The tinker of light upon the sky floods in memories of happiness, times come and go, people come and go but memories last a lifetime.