Juddi, Our Lone Ranger

My favourite memory of Juddi is of him napping in the spot of sunlight that shines just on the old sofa outside the house. This was many years ago now. It was his habit to have breakfast, then go outside the house to the little porch area, sit on the sofa and read a newspaper, although his eyes could barely see, even with his thick glasses. Once done with the papers, he would curl up on the sofa and take a nap, always positioned right where the rays of sunlight would be. Every time I saw him like that, I always thought he was like a cat, finding the warmest spot to nap. Funnily enough, the porch was also where the stray cats would come to eat scraps, often napping alongside Juddi on the floor by the sofa. Perhaps the cats too saw themselves reflected in my grandfather.

My sister called my grandfather our Lone Ranger. It’s because he used to always take a walk around the orchards after his nap, all alone, like a lone ranger making his daily rounds. Hands behind his back, in his droopy baggy pants (as I used to call them), he’d walk down the stairs from the house, cross the road and disappear into the orchards. His pace unhurried, he would walk silently around, checking on the trees, perhaps occasionally picking a fruit, and walk back to the house just in time for lunch.

Juddi and I had one major thing in common: a sweet tooth. After every meal, he’d ask my grandma for something sweet, sometimes getting a scolding in return. My dad told me that despite his love for sugar, Juddi has never had diabetes. Dad said it’s probably because Juddi worked so hard during his youth that his body is still using up all the sugar he’s eating now. He used to do a lot of manual labour, carrying heavy rocks and working with explosives for construction work. The walls in the orchards are made of stones stacked on each other, all Juddi’s handiwork. Dad told me that Juddi was always a man of few words, even from way back. He never talked much about his work, even though he was a hardworking man who worked on some of the biggest projects of his time in Lebanon. He let his actions speak for him. 

My sister and I always thought Juddi was the cutest grandpa ever. How he sleeps curled up, his sweet tooth, his lone ranger rounds, how he smiles every time we talk to him or call his name. You’d think that since we lived so far away, and see him only every couple of years, we wouldn’t feel attached. But even though he was hard of hearing, even though my Arabic is so bad I could only talk to him about the most basic daily life conversations, we could feel it. We could feel his love for us, his granddaughters, and we loved him back, our cute Juddi, our Lone Ranger. We didn’t need words for that, because like I said, Juddi let his actions speak for him. In his adorable toothy smiles and in the tears that well up on our last day of our visits, and in the extra tight hugs we get before we leave the house.

I’m not like my Juddi; I like words, because they help me remember. They keep a record for me, because my memory is terrible and unreliable. I write these words so the memories stay with me, and to share it with my future children, so they too can know and hopefully love my Juddi, the way I do and always will.

We will miss you, Juddi. May Allah bless your soul and place you in the highest Paradise.