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My Grandma: The Illiterate Storyteller
My First Teacher
Life is full of wisdom. Some people are on missions that seem odd if you know their capabilities. A brilliant example of this was my grandma. Although she was just an illiterate housewife who raised 13 children, she could easily compete with Agatha Christie due to her horrific imagination. Also, due to her “ reservoir” of countless stories she could be the number one author of magic realism. Garcia Marquez would not be happy at all!
She was a woman of morals, principles, and also metaphors. Her metaphors were as unique as her ethereal fragrance, violets.
When the eclipse happened she said that a huge black whale ate the sun. For her, the fog was a collection of white ghosts that had come from a late-night party. Rain was the tears of the sky shed over “ her daughter” the earth and the sorrows of its people. The jasmine of Damascus was the white fallen hairs of the moon when it slept during the day on the shoulder of its favorite pillow ( The beautiful city of Damascus). The clouds were wishes, and the stars were guardian angels with golden crowns protecting the people from their balconies in the kingdom of the universe.
