SITT
ADAWIYA
(Kirkuk, around 1950) |
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Sitt Adawiya (Kirkuk, around 1950) My aunt and Sitt Adawiya were friends. They worked at the same school in Kirkuk. My aunt was the director and Sitt Adawiya, a Turkoman, one of the teachers. I was thirteen or fourteen at that time and my aunt would send me every now and then to deliver a message to Sitt Adawiya; tell her this or tell her that. I used to take my bicycle and drive to where she lived with her family at the entrance of Imam Kassem, the mainly Kurdish neighborhood, at the bank of Al-Khassa, Kirkuk's river, violent and full of water in winter, empty and dry in summer. One
day I arrived at Sitt Adawiya's house with a message from my aunt. A
soothing warmth radiated from her. Her healthy face was slightly rosy.
She kept passing her finger on the mouth of the perfume bottle, moistening
it and passing it to her ears, neck and dress. Then, out of a sudden,
she extended her arm towards me and passed her perfumed finger on my
hair. Years
have passed since then. I still recall that gesture. A decade ago, remembering
Sitt Adawiya, I began to understand why she passed I keep this reminiscence as a gem. I go back to it whenever I face hardship. I just recall it for a while, get a glimpse of its beauty, ensure that it is there, and then leave it until the next time. It gives me freshness, hope, and renews my energy. My
aunt lives in Kirkuk, retired and over seventy. I know nothing about
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