It’s a warm afternoon in Mombasa, Kenya in the eighties. The sea breeze brings pleasant relief as the smell of durian wafts around the living room. Mixing in with the pungent smell of the fruit is the scent of oudh and talcum powder from my grandmother as she sits on a sofa. My grandfather carefully slices open the thorny fruit as I wait eagerly. He cuts off a piece and hands it to me, smiling. I bite into it quickly and savour the sweet, creamy flesh.
This precious memory and countless others are the bedrock on which my childhood exists and has made me into the type of person I am today. For the first five years of my life, I lived with my grandparents, Noorali and Fatima Bhaijee while my father worked in remote parts of Kenya.
My grandparents are no longer around, but years after their deaths, I’m unable to remember either of them without tears springing to my eyes. My grandparents were the biggest influence in my life. Subconsciously, the values they passed onto my young self are what shaped me into the person I am today.
My grandfather was the patriarch of the house, respectfully addressed as baba or mzee (meaning elder or male head of the household in Swahili). Everyone seemed in awe of him, even my mum and uncle, but I adored him and never once felt scared. He would pick me up from school, take me to his office or the seaside every Friday to buy snacks and eat ice-cream, share his food with me, and take me on outings to the cinema or the Eid funfair. When he was taking naps in the afternoon, I would snuggle up against him, lulled to sleep by his snoring or the rise and fall of his tummy.
The days I didn’t take naps with my baba, I’d lay in my grandmother’s lap, her soft hands stroking my hair, smelling the talcum powder and oudh that wafted off her clothing, as she told me stories of her family in Yemen, or the mischief my uncle, her son, got up to when he was a child.
The author’s grandfather with a baby grandchild. Source: Supplied
As a young child, I stayed with them in a big house sectioned off into different parts for my grandad’s family. There was my grandfather’s widowed sister, widowed sister-in-law with her disabled daughter and two of his nephews. My grandad and maternal uncle looked after them all. Not once did I hear any complaints from them at having to provide for others.
From this, I learnt patience and the value of looking after family, and how to nurture relationships. I try to do the same for the relationships in my life and put my family before my own needs.
My grandparents were unfailingly generous, with their time, their money and their food. The house was open to anyone who needed food, a shoulder to cry on or some financial help. My grandmother Fatima or mamma always cooked extra food knowing someone would turn up to eat with us and often sent food out to various homes in the neighbourhood.
The author as a happy child. Source: Supplied
As a child, I sat at her feet in the kitchen, holding a plate and waiting for hot chapatis liberally spread with the best ghee and sprinkled with sugar. She would hand over as many as I could eat, never telling me off for making a mess or for eating too much. When I started nursery school at three years old, it was she who would get me ready in the morning, and then slip some shillings into my palm to buy snacks. She was so generous, never coveted anything for herself and sometimes went without, passing on her things to others to use. I’ve tried to show the same level of generosity as often as I can.
Through their actions, they showed me the value of sharing what you have with those in need, helping neighbours or members of the community, and cooking and sharing food with whoever needed a meal. Their home was known throughout the neighbourhood for being open and welcoming. Thanks to them, I’ve kept the tradition alive by cooking in bigger quantities and making sure there’s extra for whomever might like it.
My grandfather also helped me develop a love for Kenyan food and tropical fruit like durian, jackfruit, coconut water, bungo fruit, baobab seeds and cassava. Fun events were always marked with vanilla ice-cream and fairy floss. So many years later, the scent of fairy floss or vanilla ice-cream takes me back to evenings spent at the Eid funfairs with him. To this day, I can never resist buying fairy floss wherever I find it, often silently toasting my grandparents.
Grandparents Fatima and Noorali with little Rashida on her birthday. Source: Supplied
Neither of my grandparents ever shouted at me or took to the cane if I misbehaved (which was rare for their generation). Instead, they respectfully and kindly told me where I was going wrong and there was an expectation that this behaviour wouldn’t be repeated.
They were unfailingly kind and loving, and I basked in the glow of their love and affection. I learnt from them that all children need is love and affection, more than discipline. They made me a part of their world and home effortlessly and I’ve never forgotten how secure I always felt with them. Today, I treat my children the same way – with respect, kindness and a whole lot of affection and love.
While my grandparents have now passed on, their legacy and values live on in their grandchildren and great grandchildren. One day, I hope to be reunited with them, and until then they’re always in my heart and prayers.
