Your Bowl of Gratitude Must Never Be Empty…
The year of the unbearable grief…
This was a very good year for our older brothers and sisters. They were all part of the age-group that came before us. They successfully passed their exams and were going to their chosen universities. Our parents, Lalla and the elders could not stop cheering their accomplishments while looking at us sideways. Our brothers and sisters some of whom were traveling abroad for their studies, wanted to celebrate together one last time before embarking on their new journey. The adults of the community contributed so the young people could party at their favorite club.
“This is what happens when children bring good grades. We reward them by giving them what they want.”
These elders of ours, if only they knew when to keep their thoughts to themselves.
We weren’t going anywhere yet. We spent the evening talking about what our lives would be like after we too graduate from high school. We went to bed our heads filled with dreams of what life would be like after high school.
If you see the elders crying, things are not good.
Screams. Cries. Feet running. Indescribable commotion in the house and in our neighborhood. Footsteps. Hushed sobs. Lalla walked into my room.
“What happened?”
She wiped away her tears.
“A terrible accident. One of the cabs that was bringing some of your brothers and sisters home went through the guardrail into the river.”
She didn’t need to say more. No survivors.
Four young adults and the taxi driver lives were cut short. The elders, and the religious leaders didn’t know what to do or say to make things better. And so, as we helped our relatives and neighbors lay to rest the young family members they had lost, it was left to the elders to do something that would help us deal with the terrible losses.
Every night after dinner Lalla, the elders, and all of us, would come together and visit one of the family who had lost a loved-one. After the habitual prayers for the soul of the departed, there would be a moment of silence. Slowly, and carefully, the elders would start talking and telling stories. And when we asked the why of storytelling in such trying times? They replied:
“One of the good thing life offers is the possibility for each of us to turn our attention within to revisit the past with its lights and shadows. You can see from a distance, and smile at the scars left by trials you once weren’t sure you would survive.”
Today, I want to do what they did. I don’t want to talk about the restlessness of the world. Instead, I would like to share with you the story Lalla and the elders told us the year of the unbearable grief.
“N’tin, n’tin!” an elder said, starting the riddles in the traditional way.
“N’tin massa.” We all answered.
“I rode my horse, but it didn’t leave any footmark. What is it?”
“It’s a boat sailing on the waters.”
“N’tin, n’tin!”
“N’tin massa.”
“When grandma shows up, her presence fills the room. Who is she?”
“The light you turn on.”
“N’tin, n’tin!”
“N’tin massa.”
Every day I watch this man patiently weave, but he’s always wearing the same outfit. Who is he?
“The spider.”
The riddles helped ease the heaviness surrounding us.
You don’t wash a good deed with the bitter water of ungratefulness.
One of our elders cleared his voice and began:
“Long, long time ago, when animals and humans spoke the same language, and understood each other, there was a fearless princess who wanted to do everything boys did. She was the only girl in the family. Her parents, the King and Queen of the country, had four children: three boys, and she was the baby of the family. Her parents and brothers loved her so much that they let her be who she wanted to be.
Her siblings taught her one of their favorite games: how to ride a horse. As time went by, the beautiful princess became a better rider than her brothers. But she couldn’t compete in the yearly race because riding was considered a men’s sport, and women couldn’t participate.
One year, the princess pleaded so much with her family, that she convinced them to let her wear her brothers’ clothes and a mask to cover her face and hide her true identity. The camouflage worked as most people believed that she was actually a slim young man. But one elder remained suspicious, and he tried to warn the organizers:
“There’s a woman in this year’s competition and everyone knows that it’s against the rule.
All participants were asked to parade with their horses in front of the organizers so they could see if indeed there was a woman among them. The princess’ stallion came to her rescue.
“Be careful, they are trying to unmask you. You need to be prepared. Before you go out, I want you to take these three leaves of a special plant I got for you. Eat them, wait a little, and then we will go out.”
The princess trusted her horse. She ate the leaves.
“Now we can go.”
The plant made her hands swell and her voice became deeper. When the organizers saw her enlarged hands, and heard her low voice, no one doubted that she was a man. The race could begin.
The young lady rode her horse to victory. And after they gave her the trophy, she took off her mask, jumped on her horse and she and her brothers rode through the savanna before the angry crowd of men stopped them.
The royal siblings arrived home laughing. But when the King and the Queen asked them about the race, the stallion watched in disbelief the prince claim that they had discovered the plant that made their sister’s voice low, and her hands big enough to make everyone think she was a man. She didn’t look at her loyal horse. She didn’t thank him for doing what he did. It was if he didn’t exist.
The stallion was so shocked and saddened by the lies and the princess’ indifference that he cried. It was the horse’s first neigh. And after making this first cry, the stallion decided that it would never speak to people again.
The elders concluded:
“Because of the young people’s ungratefulness, all the horses stopped talking to people, and teaching us what they knew of nature.
“Never wash away someone’s good deeds with the bitter water of ungratefulness. No matter how small you think a thing is, always remember to show gratitude.”
What Would Lalla Say
“No matter how cruel life can sometime be, you have to find something inside of you to hold on to – something that makes you grateful, even when you don’t want to be.”
“Anna, every night, we go to one of the family who has lost a child, it’s not to make things better, it’s to let them know that we are here. No one knows the pain they are going through. But, if as they grieve, we can make them smile even a little, then in the midst of the pain, we hope that they will see reasons to hold on to life and go on.”
“One day, I will not…”
“Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear you say it.”
Lalla laughed. She knew of my fear of the unknown in general, and of death in particular. No one had ever been able to answer this simple question: where do people go when they stop being here? And “Only Daba knows”, was not enough to calm my anxiety. My grandmother held my hand.
“Hey, listen to me… are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“I will not go anywhere, you hear me. I will not go anywhere until I know that you have found your way.”
I didn’t know what that meant at the time. But I can tell you that Lalla kept her promise.
Your bowl of gratitude must never be empty.
I will worry about the restlessness of the world tomorrow. Today, I want to take the time to check my bowl of gratitude and give thanks for all the things I’m grateful for: my health, my family, work, good friends… and everyone who takes time out of their busy day to read my stories.
Thank You!
And until we come together again, be kind to yourself, and do not let the noises of the world make you doubt the voice inside your gut.