Ode to My Family

When we were younger, one of my father's template sermons was the one about studying hard and striving to be successful so as not to grow up to be "servants" of much wealthier uncles, aunts, and/or cousins. This was something we scoffed at; nonsense, we said. I now see the wisdom behind this motivational technique (one that, in my opinion, didn't work). By "servant" I mean "errand boy", someone who is asked to do any number of menial jobs around the house, a social pariah, useless, therefore, pushed around. As a result of the stigma my father has put on this particular kind of servitude to relatives, I fear it above all. I resent all my relatives who ask favours of me, be it something as simple as handing over something, to bigger favours. I’m always fuming inside, indignant, “do they think I am some kind of a slave?”

Is it arrogance on my part?

***

My cousin Kaka Cody passed away Eid morning at about 7am, Jeddah time. I felt a momentary shock, as per usual, but the moment passed so quickly it was almost not worth acknowledging. This could be an indication that I handle shock very well, or it could be a warning sign that sometime in the future, I will break down mightily and... I don’t know, lose it big-time.

I never knew Kaka Cody very well. He was, to me, one of our many well-off relatives. When we were younger, we would go to Riyadh and visit him in his home. We loved his IKEA furniture and his surround sound system. He was, like most of our relatives from our father’s family, an articulate man, always conversing with us as if we were adults. He was a chain-smoker, too, I remember, he was never without a cigarette. He was always very casual, an approachable adult, very rare. We knew he and my father were inseparable when they were growing up, even though they were cousin and uncle.

My father was devastated. He stayed in bed most of the day. I can only imagine how he must've felt. It must be a complete shock for him, and quite scary as well, because he and Kaka Cody are exactly the same age. I imagine he must’ve thought he would still see him sometime in the future, perhaps when they’re both much, much older, retired maybe, reminiscing the past, playing chess. He must’ve been thinking how much he wants to do for him and his family now that he has passed on, the way we all do when we think of our very close friends. It must crush him the thought that he isn’t capable of doing anything, being so far away from HIS own family, being financially unstable, and being so disconnected from everyone else who knew Kaka Cody as well as he did.

It’s sad, and at the same time, quite fortunate that it takes death to reunite a family. People are suddenly very forgiving of each other, and reminiscing better times has always softened people towards one another. We spent our Eid morning, as did all our Tamano relatives, in collective mourning, sitting solemnly in my Mom’s living room. We had a quiet breakfast, after which we sat around in groups, teenagers together, 20-somethings together, in-laws together, listening to my father tell stories of our cousin, who was well-loved, who was a very kind soul. In some ways, it was a celebration – of family ties that bind us together, of a decent man / father / son / brother’s passing, and ultimately, of life.