Ramadan (4)

Today I am really grateful and happy. My father called and told me that I should get to my grandpa’s house. Youpiiii, we goona breakfast at my granny. I am sadly happy. I did my best not to go there the couple of weeks ago. I hesitated to go and wish my grandmother and my two aunties a Ramadan Moubarak. I call then instead of visiting; for my grandpa died 4 months ago. I really don’t know how it is going to be, all I know is that I should be there, as always, as each Ramadan, as when my grandpa was still alive.

*****

I was the first to get there. I found my granny in her white clouds, pale faced, tired looking; my two other aunties in the kitchen. Their smiles were a reward, my reward. I saw in their eyes the effect of my visit. They told me that the two days of Ramadan were hard, speaking not of hunger and thirst, but speaking of the one only person they've lost. I knew that.

I was their little spoilt niece, each asking me what I would like to eat for breakfast. One of them remembered that we had a bet, so she decided that was the time to pay the bet: A traditional Moroccan Tajine with chicken, olives and lemon. They told me that my father visited them in the morning but they didn't say that my father told them anything about all of my little family breakfasting with them, so I was at loss: whether to tell them or keep my mouth shut. I opted for the last option. I played the role.