Tammarah

Tammarah always carried a bunch of flowers when she used to visit me. Her kindly gesture made sure that mother nature was represented in my humble one room abode. She wasn't known for her soft and gentle ways, but more so as a tough, wiry, wrinkled, cranky, childless widower that one would be in fear of locking horns with. Tammarah held a soft spot in her heart for me and would visit me regularly and stand in my doorway until I invited her in, but would never sit down or visit for long. She had a reputation for being unreasonable and gossipy and no one ever knew her age, but I believe her cantankerous nature kept her sprightly and young. Fawaz and I would give her money when she visited because she lived on the generosity of the townsfolk and her brother, who lived in another village further north of the country. She kept chickens and had a vegetable garden although her pride and joy was her flower garden. I was privileged to once enter her one room and saw it was sparsely decorated but had the basic comforts of any home. A bed, gas burner, table and chairs and a cupboard were all placed with precision and thought.
Tammarah lived next door to Um Sieed and like her neighbour, her land and home was situated below the surface of the steep road that adjoined her property, only separated by a footpath where some of the local children (and I am ashamed to admit, that sometimes included Azzam) would throw stones onto her roof and continually call out her name until she ran after them with a stick in hand, swearing and chasing the children down the road promising to tell their parents on them. She died many years later on a cold and snowy evening. She was found lying next to her soo-peear(heater), with the match stick she was going to light it with, still in her hand. Tammarah was over one hundred years old.

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