My Daughter’s Daughter

This is the English Version of my lastest post, originally written in Arabic.

This post is of a very significant importance to me, and therefore I made the translation for my readers.

When I first heard the news I went back with my memory.. I remembered all those who left us in the past couple of years: My grandmother about two years ago, My aunt in Ramadan two years ago, and two of her sons a couple of years earlier, My grandfather from around 11 years, and my aunt one year before him.

When I first heard the news I thought of Mohamed, my 4-year-old brother. Mohamed did not see my grandfather, he won’t remember my grandmother or my aunts, and lately, my other grandfather.

I will tell Mohamed and my children about him.

I will tell them about his chair in front of the TV, with a pillow at his back and another he sits on. I will tell them that his chair was the most comfortable in the world, always warm, with a small table in front of it on which he would rest his feet and another at his side to put his cup of tea or newspaper.

I will tell them about how much he loved reading and the amount of books at every corner of his home and that he loved buying El Arabi Magazine.

I will tell them that he wrote a poem at the death of Sheikh El Sharawy , and on my uncle’s wedding and in many other occasions I cannot recall now, but I will definitely read them his poems and letters he never sent.

I will tell them about the butterfly he had drawn on our door bell so he’ll mark the apartment, and the palm tree on our wall so he will not forget the direction of El Qibla.

I will tell them that he hated pizza because it did convince him, he called it “pastry with some olives on it”.

-” Try it Grandpa”, I say while carrying a slice topped with Mozzarella that crawled down its sides.

He moves his head. No.

I will tell them that he hated Abdel Nasser, Egypt’s former president, and the military’s rule. He saw that it was the cause for what we’ve reached and that he hated Mubarak the most.

I will tell them about the Italian lady that ran with her husband the housing that my grandfather lived in while he was in college, and that he learned from her many Italian snacks and convinced her with Islam and that she later converted.

I will tell them about the Nile’s silt, my grandfather’s favorite topic.

“Egypt had died when the Nile’s silt stopped reaching after the construction of the High Dam.” He had said.

I will tell them  when he asked he’s friend who was an engineer working in the high Dam about the nature of concrete, that he told him it wasn’t a result of a chemical reaction, but crystallization.

I will tell them about that day on October 2012, when we celebrated his birthday, my cousin’s and mine at our house. I turned 20, my cousin 10, and my grandfather 80.

I will tell them when we asked him: How do you feel when you’re 80?

“I am just the same”.

I will tell them that my mother is a has a lot of him, and I have a lot of my mother.

I will tell them about how he held my cheeks, looked at my eyes and said: “I love you, My daughter’s daughter.”

Rest in Peace Grandfather.

I wish I wasn’t crying while writing this post, maybe then I would remember more things. But I will tell them for sure.

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