The Dearest Child is the Child of Your Child
This piece of writing is dedicated to the light of my life, my beautiful three-year-old grandchild Faatima. After I’m gone, she will have a piece of me to carry with her all her life, and I hope she will understand through my words the depth of my love for her and the importance of a grandmother in one’s life. My legacy to her is simply love.
I am also dedicating this piece to my paternal grandmother, Qadria Leila. Her name in Arabic has a few shades of meaning: the one who is capable, who embodies honour, dignity, power, endurance and greatness. She was an extraordinary and loving woman who taught me how to express love wholeheartedly. She shaped me and shaped the grandmother I have become, the grandmother I am. For this I am truly grateful and will always hold her in high esteem and deep affection.
I discovered why we are called grandmothers when Faatima was born: we have so much to offer this new generation of family; life becomes grand after the entry of a new little one into our world. And life has become even grander, as we have been blessed with another grandchild, Muhammad Lateef, an adorable, happy baby boy, now five months old, whose smile has me weak at the knees. When I first saw him, I was transported back to the birth of my own baby boy Adam, his father, thirty years ago. My two grandchildren are the centre of my world and I cannot wait to share the same connection with Muhammad as I have with Faatima. I secretly hope that their parents are always busy, so I have an excuse to spend more time looking after them.
Faatima arrived at a very painful time in our life. We received the news that we were going to be grandparents about a month after we lost our youngest daughter, our beloved Sara, to Hodgkin’s lymphoma. She was only twenty-one. Her death shook me to the core as a mother. My heart shattered and I wondered whether I would ever mend and whether the tightness in my chest would ever subside. The news that I was going to be a grandmother could not have come at a more perfect time. I could face life again. I felt I had something to live for and to look forward to. Faatima’s entry into the world began a new chapter in my life, one filled with hope and joy.
My son rang at two o’clock in the morning on the fourteenth of March 2016 with the news that we had a healthy baby girl, born at her home in the eastern suburbs of Melbourne. My excited husband rushed to our bedroom and whispered to me: ‘Wake up, Nena, your granddaughter has arrived.’ You would have thought I was twenty again from the speed with which I leapt out of bed and got dressed. We arrived without breaking the speed limit. Once I had congratulated the new parents, I got down to the real reason for being there at such an ungodly hour.
As soon as I saw her, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of love and pure joy. She was a rather small baby with olive skin and thick, dark-brown hair. She also had the longest eyelashes and most defined eyebrows I have ever seen. A perfect specimen of creation. Tears welled in my husband’s eyes and in that moment we both knew that this child was now the centre of our world. Being from an Arab background, we tend to ignore personal space and privacy, so we were at the house every single day for six weeks, showering the household with food and gifts for the baby. We eventually eased off and visited every second day. It was like a drug of addiction. We had to have our fix otherwise we would go into withdrawal.
The depth of my connection with Faatima was and is clear for all to see. Our bond began as early as three months for her, when her eyes followed me wherever I went. For me, it began the moment I saw her. There are so many priceless moments we have shared with Faatima, but one of my favourites is when she was about eight months old and she came to visit with her parents. Apparently, this clever little girl knew exactly where she was when she arrived at our front door. She started flapping her arms and legs and making noises, as if to say, ‘Hurry up and open the door so I can see my grandma.’ When she saw me, she gave me a huge smile and threw herself on me. It was such a heart-melting moment, captured by my son on his phone. I can’t tell you how many times I have watched that video.
As Faatima grew, so did our bond. I took care of her quite regularly as her mother was involved in Islamic community work. She is a participant in the interfaith program and takes tours to a range of mosques in Melbourne. Faatima’s father is a Sunday-school teacher. He teaches Islamic History, the Quran and Basic Arabic. My son is following my lead: I used to teach Islamic Studies to children in the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne, and later taught teenagers at the Heidelberg Mosque. Faatima’s maternal grandparents are prominent members of the Islamic community and have served the wider community through various interfaith programs. Faatima is fortunate to have all her family members in agreement about her Islamic upbringing. We all want her to learn and appreciate her heritage and rich cultural background. We also want her to live in peace and harmony in this country.
Faatima has always loved coming to our house. Perhaps she understands that this is the house where ‘Yes, sweetheart’ are the words she will always hear. I occasionally say no, but when she looks at me with those pleading eyes, well, it is obvious what usually happens.
My daughter, now thirty-two, often remarks on how much Faatima gets away with. She says my parenting style has softened. ‘But I’m not her parent,’ I respond. ‘I’m her grandparent, which entitles me to spoil her as I see fit.’ I guess I now know why my mum used to make hot chips for my kids at eleven o’clock at night on demand.
My mother’s indulgence of my children used to horrify me, yet I find myself at the stove at midnight making popcorn for Faatima. It is no surprise that, when she leaves our house, she is kicking and screaming. Despite being exhausted, I feel she has taken a part of me with her. I long for the moment I will see her again.
I have always loved children, loved being with them, and I have set up a room in our house especially for Faatima. It is full of toys, dolls, books, puzzles and all sorts of activities. We also have a big cinema screen for her to enjoy her favourite shows. She knew what Netflix was before she was two years old and would often say ‘Netblix’.
This is a far cry from my own childhood, when my sister and I entertained ourselves for hours picking up stones in the garden and playing Jacks. Some might say Faatima is being spoilt rotten, but I say I am creating an environment that she never wants to leave. It is her little haven, her retreat, and she knows it. Children are intuitive beings and know who goes the extra mile for them; that is why Faatima is so attached to me. When she is at our house, she is quite disengaged from everyone else. Only Nena is allowed to do things for her. My poor husband occasionally sneaks off to visit her in her own home, so he can have time with her, without me.
I was excited to take Faatima to the Royal Melbourne Show by myself this year. I had never taken my children on my own. We even took the train to make it into a little adventure. After some interesting and entertaining conversation, we finally arrived and Faatima’s first comment was: ‘Nena, where is the show?’ I replied: ‘Sweetheart, this is the show.’ She stared at me, a confused look in her eyes, but quickly settled after the purchase of her first showbag. We did all the usual show activities, but within an hour she wanted to go home. I was shocked! What child wants to leave the show after such a short time? Faatima. She preferred to be at Nena’s house. It was Tuesday, our special day together every week. What a wonderful feeling, knowing that your grandchild loves to spend time with you and enjoys being in your home so much that not even the show can compete.
I now understand the old Egyptian saying: The dearest child is the child of your child. I used to think this was ridiculous. How can you love any child more than your own? Impossible! Any mother knows this. Now I laugh at my short-sightedness. I have come to understand and embrace this wisdom. As I have matured in years, I have seen the world through different lenses and know now that a grandchild is the most precious child to touch your heart and life. It is your own child twice over.
Where do we learn to be grandmothers? Is it instinctive or do we have role models? A combination of both, I suspect. I was blessed in having an incredible role model in my paternal grandmother, Qadria Leila, who passed away when I was pregnant with Sara. She, like so many women of her time, was devoted to serving her family. Today she would be called a ‘superwoman’, but she was only doing what came naturally to her.
My grandmother had seven children of her own, plus the endless family members who constantly came to her house, usually seeking help and comfort. Things became even more hectic when my father married and brought his seventeen-year-old bride to live with his family. About two years later, I was born, then my sister sixteen months later. There were up to sixteen people living in the modest home. It may not have been big, but there was plenty of love and warmth.
My grandmother was a devout Muslim woman. She had a deep connection with her creator; serving her family and her husband’s family was an expression of that connection. She was welcoming and never turned anyone away from her door. I was seven when I migrated with my parents and sister to Australia, but I still have powerful memories of my childhood in that house. There were five rooms that were used as bedrooms, a sitting room, a small formal lounge room, a small kitchen and one bathroom. Can you imagine how challenging it would be to share such limited space with so many people?
Who was Qadria Leila and what made her so special? She was born in 1916 in the town of Mansoura, approximately one hundred and fifty kilometres from Cairo. She was wise and worldly, despite her lack of formal education. She attended lessons at a local mosque, where she learnt to recite the Quran by heart. An attractive woman with a full figure, she dressed elegantly, especially when she went out. She loved colours; purple was her favourite. Lack of time and money meant she wore little jewellery and no make-up. Even though she was religious, she wasn’t prudish and had a great sense of humour. Her talent for impersonating certain family members and neighbours provided the family with many moments of laughter. She had a strong personality and was not at all the submissive wife so common in her time.
My grandmother was special to me because, on top of her enormous responsibilities, she made time for me. I have fond memories of the cotton dolls she made me and the clothes she sewed for them. Where did she find the time? More importantly, how could she be bothered? Did she stay up late at night so she could surprise me in the morning with my new toy? I suspect she did.
Love shapes a child, and I have come to the realisation that I am a lot like my grandmother. I sew for Faatima as my grandmother sewed for me. I will always be in awe of Qadria Leila and her selflessness. Did she ever put herself first? I don’t believe it would have occurred to her. She showed her love by serving others. Even when she had an opportunity to escape the whole clan to accompany her husband on a business trip, she took me with her.
Even after I married, she sat me on her lap and sang to me as if I was a little girl again. Such memories are etched in my heart. These are the feelings and memories that I would love my own grandchildren to have of me. Love like this is to be passed on from generation to generation.
My grandmother came to Australia twice. Once in 1974, when I was twelve, and again in 1988, when I was the mother of a one-year-old daughter, her first great-grandchild, Yasmeen. Both visits were exciting for me and the whole extended family. Qadria Leila spent most of her time caring for the children and making everyone’s favourite dishes. Her trip was not a traditional holiday but rather another opportunity for her to serve her family. She gave and then looked to see what more she could give.
In 1991, my beloved grandmother became ill and was diagnosed with eye cancer. Being bedridden and looked after by others was devastating for her and she did not live long after her diagnosis. When she died, I remember thinking that life would never be the same for anyone who had experienced the warmth of her love. On my first trip back to Egypt after her death, I was heartbroken when I saw her empty home, which had always been full of people and activity. May she rest in eternal peace, and may I be half the grandmother that she was.
Love is the most precious gift that a grandmother can give. Her love, wisdom and experience connects her with her grandchildren in a special way. Those fortunate enough to have a loving and active grandmother in their life are blessed. Experiencing such love and connection is mutually beneficial. Many grandmothers have a renewed sense of purpose and a new focus in life. That is certainly the case for me: my grandchildren have restored my passion for life. I would love to live long enough to witness many more milestones in their lives. Who knows? I may even sew Faatima’s wedding dress. Maybe I’ll be blessed enough to live this dream.
I must end here! Faatima has come bursting into the house, calling out, ‘Nena? Nena? Nena?’