Scooped Aubergines II

Scooped Aubergines II
My eldest uncle, my mother’s half-brother was relatively rich. He had two respectable religious titles: Haji and Sayyid. You could even see that from his clothes and his headgear. He was said to be economical, maybe because he was the first to have a car in our town and people envied him. His car was brand new and its red colour shone in the sun. It was the attraction of the whole town. Often burglar’s tried to break into his house but in vain. In addition to his big shop in the town he had a big piece of land which stretched from behind our house and then spread to the front in all directions. It was full of trees like: apple, fig, and pomegranate and of course roses and onions. We used to go to the down town taking a shortcut through his land. We had a feeling he didn’t like it but he said nothing, maybe because he was embarrassed. After all he was my mother’s half-brother.

My father was not happy with the long and muddy road to the town. So he went to the head of the municipal authority to persuade him to build an asphalt road. The man responsible showed a lot of understanding but didn’t do anything. So my father decided to give him some honey, sesame and walnuts which our illiterate relatives brought for us. Still nothing happened for some time. My father then tried finding other ways to make him do something. One evening, he suggested: it would be better if you (pointing to me) went with me to him. I know you are still a child but you look more serious, thinner and poorer than your elder brother and he might feel more pity for us. I felt that that was a big job for me but somehow he abandoned the idea later and I was relieved. One day he came home excited and said: Just imagine the mayor saw me carrying chicken on my way home and I said: You see our respectful mayor how stressful the whole matter is for a family father. He said: Don’t worry I will do my best to help you.

A week later a bulldozer came early in the morning, woke up everybody with its noise and cut a wide road right through our garden splitting it into two. The part on the other side of the road was now no man’s land. The road cut through the land of more than ten houses without prior notice. Everybody was paralyzed. A big crowd gathered from all parts of the town and I saw my mother and father watch tied-handed how their garden was being destroyed. My mother’s vegetables including the big onions and tomatoes were now razed to the ground. Our neighbours (including my uncle) lost a smaller piece of land.

This turned all the neighbours particularly the one to the right to our enemies. This neighbour was so furious that he insulted my father in a loud voice in the town in front of all the people present: I know this son of a bitch (referring to my father) is behind the idea of building the asphalt road. When my father heard it he thought his honour had been ruined. He was restless for his honour counted most. He couldn’t bear it anymore. He was now bad-tempered and very nasty to my mother. One evening he nearly kicked the tin stove which was in the centre of our living room. It was full of embers and he would have set our house on fire. This left my mother as usual speechless. The next day he went to the city, went at our neighbour and hit him in the face. The two men began hitting and insulting each other till a crowd of people separated them. My father came back home visibly relieved in spite of his injuries. I believe he felt his honour and pride were now restored. But from that moment on our communication with the neighbour ended. It must have been difficult for my mother because the neighbour’s wife, Paria was a good friend of hers

One day however, my father surprised us by asking my mother to go to our neighbour’s wife for reconciliation. In the evening my mother paid Paria a visit and we were friends again. Women were usually more peaceful and considerate but I believe nobody was pleased with the new asphalt road and our big garden was now really small. My uncle was not pleased either but then he decided to build a house on it for his two wives. Suddenly the shortcut we used to take through his land was cut as well. We were completely out of the way and had to take the new asphalt road which meant a long distance to the town. My father started blaming my mother for that: Look what your brother is doing. My mother kept quiet.

My father thought of revenge. Revenge was an important part of our life. Even the Germans proverbially say “revenge is sweet”. He knew my uncle kept ducks and chicken on his land. At mid night he sent one of our illiterate relatives to steal some of them for a big feast. Our relative managed to catch three or four, killed them and brought them to my father. The next day my poor mother had to pluck them one by one and prepare food for more than ten people although she knew very well they were stolen from her half-brother. I couldn’t understand but one of my uncle’s sons was also invited. Afterwards my father kept laughing and repeatedly said: Look he ate his own duck and thanked us for it.

My father’s illiterate relatives were farmers who lived in a village about one 100 Km away. They used to come for a visit and stay for a week or two at our house. They had lice because they never washed their bodies. Soap and bathroom were unknown to them. The first thing my mother did when they came was to boil water and heat the bathroom so that they could have a bath. She was afraid we could get lice from them. My mother was worried when we started scratching our bodies. Our illiterate relatives often brought walnut, sesame and honey and sometimes a squirrel for us children to play with and of course a lot of lice. My mother never let them feel they were a drag and they held her in high esteem. But I think my father kept in touch with them to show off and signalise he was not alone. Sometimes I thought he kept contact because he was either an outcast or maybe because they were his father’s relatives who died when he was a child. Later his mother married again and he got a step-father who I think loved his own three children only. He was in every way a fifth wheel on a car.

The meals were usually rice with okra (lady finger), big beans, potatoes or aubergines as a side dish. I was sent again to Zul to hollow the aubergines for an additional dish called Dolma. Zul, as always, was very kind, never asked for reward and she never got anything for her services apart from her unrivalled reputation. I enjoyed watching her plump magic fingers scoop the aubergines skilfully. When she scooped the aubergines and the big onions, her chubby soft cheeks wobbled and she had a running nose which she cleaned now and then with the tail of a black thin scarf round her neck. Nobody could imagine the number of onions she peeled everyday.

Onions were the most important part of our food. They were always served even for breakfast with fried eggs. Every household hoarded big sacks of onions on a monthly basis. We usually ate them raw with a piece of bread with our meals. No meal could be eaten without bread and raw onions. I always wondered why our national flag didn’t have three big onions instead of the stars. The onion would have made a perfect national anthem as well. But as with Zul, nobody paid it the tribute it deserved. I still eat a lot of onions. My wife wonders how a human being can eat so many raw onions everyday but sometimes she admits: Maybe this is the reason why you are so healthy. When shopping, people often look at us wide-eyed when they see all the onions in our trolley.

My Wife’s phone never stopped ringing. The line was always busy, often for more than three hours in a row. I was forced to apply for a new phone number because those who phoned me complained that the line was always busy. Anyway I had the impression people phoned because they wanted my wife to cook for them. We seldom ate at their houses. They usually sat, ate and chatted in the kitchen. This was their favourite place and when it was mid night and they wanted to leave it took them more than one hour to get up, put on their coats and go to the door. Every quarter of an hour I heard them say: We must really go now it is becoming late but then they would fall back and start chatting again. When they finally managed to get to the door, they would still keep chatting in front of the door for a further half an hour.

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