Rasha al Raisi - The second generation of my cousins (born between the years 1992-2000) grew up listening and watching fairytales played on Disney video tapes from Aladdin to Beauty and the Beast. But the first generation like me (born between 1978-1987) had a better source of stories: My grandmother ( a.k.a Ammah).
Ammah’s stories came from her childhood in one of the villages here. The villagers divided into: Witches, wizards, bewitched and talking animals. They would spend their days setting each other up or seeking revenge. Nobody seemed to have a normal job the way my dad and grandfather did. The only normal people in the villages were Ammah and her siblings who witnessed the stories happening around them and lived long after to pass it to their grandchildren.
Ammah always chose the right time to tell her stories: When nobody was around but us. Her educated children had stopped appreciating her stories and raised an eyebrow when they heard that someone was eaten or enslaved by the wizard. So our story time was always after lunch, when everybody else had vanished into their rooms for an afternoon siesta. We would sit in the dark windowless living room, with the blaring sound of the AC and tummies filled with rice and meat.
Despite the couches surrounding us, Ammah always chose to sit on the floor stretching her legs out. I would sit in front of her out of respect, although I preferred stretching on the couch while listening to her stories.
Needless to say, my favourite stories were always of revengeful talking animals. Most of these stories went like this: Man hurts black cat, black cat appears in his dream and promise revenge, a sorry accident happens to the man and the cat gets her revenge. Ammah would then spit on herself to ward off evil so that whatever happened to the victim doesn’t happen to us. Such stories taught me to respect animals and never harm them in anyway. I didn’t want to lose an eye or limp for the rest of my life, the way the revenge victims did.
Mum would never let me repeat the stories, no matter how excited I was. Being Ammah’s daughter, she’d heard them before and still finds them disturbing. Dad on the other hand always mocked the stories and asked how could I believe such things? He’d never met a wizard or saw a talking animal his whole life. I would exclaim: “Of course you won’t! You’re from Muscat! These things only happen in the villages!”
At least the kids in my school shared the same beliefs. Every one of them had a different story regarding a black cat or a talking goat. One of the boys even told me about a goat that they bought to slaughter for Eid. When checking his mouth, they discovered a golden tooth. He was bewitched no doubt. “What did you do with him?” I asked. The boy shrugged his shoulders and said that they let him go. I prayed in my heart that he would be able to reunite with his family.
The religion classes contrasted with the folklore beliefs we had. The teachers tried their best to convince us that humans can’t transform to animals and vice versa, yet some of us still had doubts. None of us had seen it happen, yet our grandparents did. Would a whole generation be lying to the next one?
I always shared the school stories with Ammah. She would nod her head in total understanding before saying: “This reminds me of a story I heard from my cousin…”
Rasha al Raisi is a certified skills trainer and the author of: The World According to Bahja. rashabooks@yahoo.com
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