Simply Stories - Growing Old by Omkeltoum Serroukh

Growing Old

by Okeltoum Serroukh

I just arrived at my grandfather’s house. Every time I come here; I always seem to reminisce the past. This place made my childhood unique and special. It felt as if I moved backwards in time, at least a decade, when I visited this place. My grandfather lived in a village located between two mountains in Larashe. The landscape of the environment is just outstanding; it has the magic to make your imagination run wild, to the extent where you’d think that heaven isn’t just in the afterlife, but that it is on Earth as well. All the beauty around the globe that fascinates the thinker about the Almighty power in his creation of the beauty, conveys that we need to believe that we are already living with the bliss of heaven at this moment in time, and not only in the afterlife.  

       My grandfather was doing his routine meditation outside his room in the front porch. He just stayed quiet for a certain amount of time and stared into space. No one knew for certain what thoughts went through his head as he has reached the age of eighty, maybe he reflected on his long and productive life. He had six children who all moved out as soon as they reached the age in which they were able to get married. He now lived with his wife, who he married after my grandmother passed away. Admittedly, it was quite a shock for me because I loved my grandmother. She had a strong personality as she was very intelligent and confident in her abilities to make herself and people around her live-in heaven on earth.

When I was young, I used to visit my grandparents’ home every summer as I would enjoy an extended holiday with them until my holiday ended. I never forgot what breakfast was like with my grandparents. It was a ritual for my grandmother to milk the cow after the prayer of dawn; this was so the milk would be available for our breakfast as it would still be warm. When you drank the milk, you tasted the fresh thickness; its flavour was natural, you could tell as it tasted like the scent of the lawn and cow combined. My grandfather poured me more milk every time I finished my cup. My first glass of the milk, it always was delicious, as it tasted differently from regular milk, but when I would have my second glass, I would have difficulty swallowing it due to its rich flavour, which resorted to me feeling absolutely full. I would look at the table in front of me and I would see so many wonderous things that looked so delicious. Fried eggs looked golden and smelt exquisite than usual; this was probably because my grandmother picked them from beneath the chicken after she finished milking the cow. The olive oil and olives were handmade. My grandparents had a field of olive trees, in which they would collect the olives annually and last them for an entire year. They made the oil from them as well, the old fashion way, my grandmother would clean her legs and then stamped on the olives until the oil started pouring into a wide barrel. I used to secretly ask my grandfather whether the oil was clean to eat because I believed that our legs were never clean, at least not enough to touch food with. He said that oils are clean naturally and it is not affected by external substances. The brown bread tasted different from the city breads; it tasted sour and looked not as puffy as the bakery bread in our neighbourhood. I used to eat them with pleasure because everything we swallowed was natural and made using old fashion methods, in the same way our ancestors used to make food. This lifestyle and healthy foods were a big source for our body to resist the illnesses and weight gain. This was the secret to good health for the last generation.

My grandfather never forgot my grandmother even though he was happy with his wife. Apparently at times he would wake up late at night calling for my grandmother. He told me many times that I looked like her and he remembered her every time he saw me. This made me happy as my grandmother was beautiful even in her sixties as that was how I remembered her. She had wide green eyes, her hair was long and blond, it was unusual for a woman in her sixties to still have her blond hair without any trace of white hairs. This was due to the fact she inherited it from her father, as even in his eighties, his hair was bright black. She was tall and slim, but even though she gave birth to six children, her shape was extraordinary beautiful. Her skin was white as cotton and at first glance, you might even think she was European instead of Moroccan.

All these of reminisces stopped when my grandfather realised that I was around. With difficulty he stood up to greet me warmly and apologised as he did not notice my presence. I reassured him that it was perfectly fine as I was just embracing the place with my feelings and emotions.

‘How is everyone Malak? How come your mother did not come with you? Does she not miss her father?’ My grandfather asked sadly.

‘She sent you her regards but she could not come with me because her knee is killing her, as you know we need to walk one hour to reach the village and she felt like she couldn’t do this trip at this moment. Not to mention that the doctor advised her to relax for the time being while taking some tablets for the pain. I suppose it is just old age, but I promise as soon as she feels better, we will come together to visit you. She is very upset because she hasn’t seen you for a year.’

‘Okay, it’s just that I have heard a lot of promises from my children and it always ends with excuses. I always feel deserted all that time; I do not deserve that coldness from my own children. I must admit I do feel lonely but thanks to my wife Zahra, she keeps me company, makes sure I’ve eaten hot food and that everything is clean, it is a blessing to have her in my life.’

‘Yes, it’s true, some people are in our life for a reason so, we need to accept what we have, but you are right, it is wrong for the others to not put you in their priorities.’ 

After we sat together in the front porch talking about different topics, he asked me about my studies, and I explained that I am studying towards a degree in fashion.

‘Your mother as well was skilled in fashion; she used to create many beautiful things.’

‘Yes, she still likes it; I think I inherit my passion for fashion from my mother.’ I said thoughtfully.

After a while, my aunt Zahra came in holding a bucket full of green figs, my mouth filled with saliva. If I had to be honest, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t dreamt of eating all the figs I can get my hands on, even when I’d wake up, all I’d want is for those dreams to have been real. It’s obvious that I love figs, they are my favourite fruits, but unfortunately it was hard to find good quality figs in the city which hindered me to buy them frequently. I never said no if someone offered them to me; I have always found that they have an irresistible taste.

‘Oh, who’s here? My little princes!’ Aunt Zahra was surprised; did you come here on your own? You should not travel a long distance without any company, it is dangerous, you are a young, beautiful girl and there are many wolves around. My sister once told me that an eighteen-year-old girl was hiking and was attacked and eventually murdered by bandits in her tent at night. You can’t trust anyone; the world grows to be dangerous.’

‘Please Zahra, here you go again with your pessimistic thoughts, there is good and evil everywhere and has been since the beginning of time. The son of the prophet Adam killed his brother due to envy. It is not good to generalise, there are always good people around,’ my grandfather protested.

‘She’s talking spontaneously grandfather, she didn’t mean it, and it is true, we need to be cautious, however yes, if we let negative thoughts affect our decisions in life, we would torment ourselves unconsciously. My courage is inspired from my daily spiritual practises as I believe that God will protect me from any danger and my parents taught us bravery since we were children, I even used to go to my nursery on my own when I was five years old.’

‘Don’t worry about it, your grandfather has a way of challenging opinions; we are always like this, anytime I express something, he finds different points to counter it. Anyway, I’m used to it, it’s a habit of his I’ve learnt to not let bother me, I did take issue to it at first but I get it now, he encourages optimism. We believe bad luck is caused by our thoughts, so we need to watch it all the time to not find our life in turmoil.’ My aunt Zahra said while sighing.

‘That is exactly the point, God encouraged us to say only positive things, we need to think and speak rightly,’ my grandfather was happy as Aunt Zahra admitted that he had a point.

‘I’m going inside to prepare dinner, we have some salted meat from the lamb feast, I think you would like them Malak,’ Aunt Zahra said.

‘Yes, of course I would love them, I haven’t eaten them for ages now as my mother didn’t make salted meat anymore. We bought a new fridge which is big, so she now puts the entire lamb into the fridge after my father cuts it into pieces. That way there is usually more space to put other things,’ I retorted while imagining our dinner.

‘If you want, you could go with Zahra and give her a hand at making dinner. I am going now to pray the sunset prayer and probably read two chapters of the Koran. Hopefully when I finish praying the dinner will be ready.’

My Aunt Zahra was talkative, and she liked to talk about different topics at once. She started talking about her childhood and how she refused to stay studying at the mosque because the teacher was beating his students with a hose, which unfortunately was common back then. She said it was very painful when he would flog you in front of the others if you did not memorise the Surah that he gave his students as homework. Then she moved onto other topics such as her first marriage and how she was forced to get married with her cousin because her mother gave them a promise when Zahra was born; it was an agreement between two families and they fulfilled the promise when Zahra was twelve. She said she was shocked as at that age she did not know what the definition of marriage was, at first she considered moving to live with her mother-in-law but it was more than that, her husband was forty years old and she was overwhelmed by the experience. Her mother-in-law gave her tasks to do such as helping her with all the housework, but Zahra was sadly expressing that her body was still weak and inexperienced to do all the work effectively. This made her mother-in-law furious; this resorted to her being kicked out of her son’s life at the first opportunity she saw. Everything happened to her in a short period of time and without full understanding in what exactly was happening.

‘I like your grandfather because he appreciates women and I like his views about different issues. I have learnt a lot from him, he is an educated and realistic man, even though I spent my entire life with my parents. If you are wondering why, it is because after I was divorced, no one asked for my hand. Between you and me, I think my mother-in-law used witchcraft when I was married to her son. Now, I am sixty and I feel happy, and your grandfather does not cause me any problems at all. He spends most of his days praying, meditating, sleeping, and eating. I think because of his old age, he has no energy to do more than that but I am happy to be beside him as I feel I have a reason to live usefully,’ my Aunt Zahra said while wiping her eyes from the effects of her emotions.

I peeled the potatoes, onions, garlic, and tomatoes whilst Aunt Zahra was soaking the salted meat to lessen the salt. She repeated it several times until the meat was shining from all that cleaning. We did not stop talking until the dinner was ready and I went to the dinning-room to prepare the table. I sliced the bread and put it on a plate, I decorated the table with a small bowl of olives, salad, and small aubergines. I went to check on my grandfather who was writing letters.

‘For whom are you writing these letters,’ I asked, curiously.

‘I write letters for each of my children daily, I don’t send them but they will read them after I die,’ my grandfather sadly saying that he missed his children and he consoled himself with writing.

I stared at him for a long time while thinking how we forget our duty towards our parents when we grow up and become independent, we forget that they were in our service when were young and weak but unfortunately no one thinks to return back their debts. It was strange how my grandfather felt at his age and his need to enjoy the company of his children, and that none of his children were willing to share with him his feelings. I promised myself that when I returned back home this would be my first mission; I am going to convince all of them to visit their father, even though he was married but he needed his children to be around him.

‘Grandfather, the dinner is ready, can you take a break from the letters until after you’ve eaten?’

‘Sure, I’m coming now, just give me one second to put the papers away, hopefully I won’t forget their place later, nowadays I find myself forgetting more often as each day goes by.’

‘I forget things as well. Last week I went to the city centre to go shopping and I forgot my purse in one of the shops. Sad thing is, I never was able to remember which shop it was. I had all my money in that purse and then I returned home lamenting my luck and wondering how my memory became less efficient.The forgetfulness is common with youngsters and the elderly nowadays, there is no difference at all and sometimes the youngster’s forgetfulness is more stupid than the elderly.’

‘No, you should focus more, you’re still young and don’t convince yourself that you forget more than me, that’s not a realistic thought.’

Aunt Zahra was calling us impatiently, the food was cooling down, and I was still trying to persuade my grandfather that his forgetfulness was not worse than mine but at the end I gave up because he was not convinced that our forgetfulness are the same. 

We sat around the table eating our dinner, but it was still a shame to not have the others here, and the lack of their presence was noticed. The food was delicious, and I ate more than usual. There is something about countryside food that it just builds up a bigger appetite, which is apparent.

‘I’ve already eaten enough, I have no space in my stomach to eat more,’ I said after Aunt Zahra asked me if I wanted to eat more.’

‘You are with us, so help yourself if you want more, don’t be shy,’ my grandfather said.

After dinner I felt tired and I wanted to go to bed. Usually I would struggle to sleep if I was in a different environment but this situation was different, I was with my grandfather, and I felt at home, so I predicted that tonight, I will have a goodnight sleep. I bid goodnight to my grandfather and his wife and went to a spare room. I changed into my pyjamas and tucked myself under a pink sheet, I felt cosy while thinking about how lucky I was to have my grandfather. I couldn’t remember how long it took me to fall asleep, it must have been five minutes or so. However, after two hours of being in a deep sleep, I was disturbed with the buzzing noise of mosquitoes. I covered my head in order to not be disturbed by the buzzing but it was too hot, so I uncovered my face with the hope that the mosquitoes would have left in peace but nope, they were very stubbornly active trying to find a good spot in my body to suck my blood. I hated the mosquitoes as they left my body sore and itchy; I was hoping that their bite marks would not make me look funny. I decided to switch on the light in hopes they would go away from where they come from, but they were still buzzing around me. With the light switched on I could see them as a battalion, they come together to attack the victim, even though they were small compared to my size, I was heavily attacked. I woke up in the morning with muscle aches as I needed more sleep in order to feel my usual self, I went for a shower in hopes the water would fresh me up and I was surprised to see the mosquito bites on my face, legs and arms. I considered mosquitoes to be one of the horrid aspects of my grandfather’s village, there are always a lot of hungry mosquitoes in the summer season around here.

‘Did you have a good night sleep Malak? You don’t look like it,’ Aunt Zahra asked whilst staring at my face.

‘I slept well at the beginning, but I was rudely disturbed by the mosquitoes after midnight.’ I said quietly trying to push away the sleep from my eyes.

‘We used to be the same, but our bodies developed immunity towards them; they even don’t bite us anymore and if they bite us, we don’t feel it.’

‘They are horrible; we don’t have mosquitoes, at least not as much as you do here.’

Another problem I had with my trip were the dogs, I was very scared of them, I developed that phobia because when I was just eight, my grandfather’s dog ran after me, I was running while screaming, no one was there to help me but the dog grabbed hold of me until he went away on his own. Since then I did not feel safe when they were near me, I believed they were wild animals. My grandfather owns four dogs, so I was in a real dilemma.

After we ate our breakfast, I went with my aunt Zahra outside to feed the animals. She fed the chicken and then dogs and cats, then we went to the stable where they had two horses, one brown and another white, she feed them and patted their back, they looked so cute and happy.

‘The white horse is mine; I bought it in order to go to the market in the village, it is one hour walk and I am old now, and this horse assists me perfectly,’ aunt Zahra told me while sweeping the stable.

‘Rural life is really fascinating; you live here an authentic life, not like a city life; everything is artificial over there.’

‘Yes, it’s true, your grandfather never left this place since he was born, and you see at his age he is still independent.’

‘I always liked the nature and the rural life, I think when I’m older I will have a farm myself where I will raise my children as I think they will be healthy and have an exciting life.’

Whilst we were talking a shepherd popped his head inside the stable and announced his arrival. Aunt Zahra gave him the key to the room where the sheep, goats and cows spent their night. He took them all over the moors to eat from the wild the entire day. The shepherd was wearing clean clothes, shiny boots, and a green cap. When he left, Aunt Zahra told me that this shepherd was self-educated. He studied many books as he wanted to go to the city to work. We carried on our tour and I offered to help Aunt Zahra in cleaning the place of the animals.

‘It is a tiring job; indeed, do you do all this work daily?’ I asked Aunt Zahra.

‘I find it entertaining; we don’t have entertainment like you have in the city, so we occupied ourselves around the house. We can go later to the moors to show you our neighbourhood, and I’ll show you how we baked the bread in a very old-style oven,’ aunt told me.

My morning was great, I was happy with my experience so far. In fact, I did not remember most of rituals that my grandmother used to do as I was young and I was only interested to play, I did not have the ability to pay attention to details as I can do now. My week with my grandfather flew by quickly and then I had to return to my normal routine, my school, my mother’s illness, and my father’s bad temper. What attracted me the most in the rural life was the tranquillity, the simplicity, and even the time seemed to pass slowly than we had in the city. People enjoyed their life without complication, they got up in the morning when the sky was still dark and they start their day early with energy, they sleep early to benefit from good hours of sleep before dawn and thus their life had more quality that people in the city.

The everyday routine in my grandfather’s village was repeated but it was never boring, the time to depart and to go back to the city was due and my aunt Zahra kindly offered to go with me to the coach station, she asked me whether I can ride a horse, and I said yes. It was very good but still challenging as I struggled to sit still on the horse; all the way I was holding tightly to the saddle in fear of slip down to the floor on my face but aunt Zahra was leading the horse in front of me confidently. By two o’clock I arrived home happily, and I had to recount my whole experience to my mother.