The Lulus
My Yemma, my great grandmother, had a cousin by the name of Lulu. Lulu’s husband died, leaving her a widow at quite an early age. She had a son who took over his father’s business when he was in his late teens. He was quite bright and made enough money to support them in a fairly comfortable style. He had a head for business, just like his late father.
Lulu was illiterate. She could not read nor write. Lulu’s greatest gift was the gift of the gab! In Baghdad, the day started early. By six o’clock in the morning, everyone was out and about to beat the summer heat. The men came home for lunch and a siesta, then returned to work from four until seven in the evening when the day became cooler.
Lulu would leave at the same time as her son to go to the market. On her way back, she would inadvertently stop to visit her cousin Rifka, my Yemma. Yemma was educated and did the accounting for her brothers’ firm from the privacy of their home.
As Yemma went about her chores, Lulu would recount how she had gone to the ‘souk’, the market, to shop for something to make for their midday meal. “I can only stop for a short while,” Lulu would reassure Yemma. “I have to prepare lunch.”
Many years passed. My parents got married. After they had me, they fled Baghdad because of unrest against the Jews. They settled in Tehran, becoming an active part of their community. Across the avenue, my mother met a woman with three daughters who had a unique upbringing under a strict husband. My heart ached for them, yearning to swim and be free.
Years later, we had to leave Tehran due to the Islamic Revolution. Settling in New York, I met my own Lulu, a lovely person with a heart of gold. Here, in a new home, our destinies intertwined, creating a bond of resilience and friendship.