JIDDI ABOU YOUSIF

JIDDI ABOU YOUSIF

Jiddi Abou Yousif was a man.

And when I say "a man" I do not mean to describe his gender as one does when filling a profile for Facebook or a visa application to the USA.

When I say "a man" I mean what it took in those days for somebody to be referred to as "a man," when such men were few. He was a man of his word.

Jiddi was a man of sufficient means. He did not have to work for a living. Actually, he looked down at working for a living, but not at those who worked for a it.

Jiddi was always well attired when out of the house. A dark blue suit with double breasted jacket, a blue polka dot bow tie and a black ebony cane with an etched silver handle. Always wore a tarboosh " fez." He had three positions for the tarboosh, upright for official, cocked to the side for casual and tipped to the front for relaxation. The same way westerners would use their hats?

He was fair complexioned with green eyes. A beautiful face. The name of his family, Ballouz, originated from the Italian word "Bellos," meaning beautiful ones. Italian? I do not know why and how

Likewise his wife, my grandmother, Sitti Imm Yousif, she also was fair complexioned with blue eyes, as described in another article. That combination was passed to my mother, who passed part of the genes to me and my sister Umayma.

Jiddi indulged in the hobby of raising cows in his yard. I think he did, because his wife, Sitti Imm Yousif loved cow milk. Milk produced always exceeded home consumption. So early every morning Jiddi would make a round distributing the excess fresh milk to his neighbors. For free of course and purely as a neighborly gesture.

Then there came a time when for one reason or the other, Jiddi had to give up this hobby of his. So when he informed his neighbors, one of them, a well to do Bassoul family, said jokingly, "so what shall we do now without you ya Abou Yousif?"

Jiddi would not take it as a joke.  He  took it upon himself to fetch them their milk every morning from a supplier who lived somewhere near the Abou Taleb crossing. Took me with him one early morning on this chore.

This the Bassouls would accept only if Jiddi would agree to get paid for the service. Jiddi accepted to receive only what he had to pay the milk vendor, not a single piaster more. He accepted because it was a condition imposed on him and therefore the only way he could live up to his

word.

That"s what it took to be referred to as a man in those days.

Jiddi also involved  himself in raising rare expensive  breeds of pigeons. He belonged to an exclusive circle of friends who shared this hobby.  This circle met regularly in a downtown cafe to exchange news, updates on new breeds, feeding techniques, medications and the like. Networking to use the present days term. The cafe was a melting pot for men of all denominations from all parts of Beirut.

One member of this exclusive circle was Hajj Nqoula

(Nicolas) Mrad, the famous Achrafiyyeh notable of his time.

I remember Jiddi once remarking to me that Christians are good God fearing people just like us Moslems

. جماعة أوادم مثلنا بيخافوا الله

And the nearest of them to us, (I love this part) are the Greek Orthodox. Evidently, Hajj Nqoula, an avid Greek Orthodox himself, and in enlightening my grandfather on Christians and Christianity, had planted a cookie in his head.

It turned out, Jiddi also shared this passion for pigeons with King Farouk of Egypt. Emissaries from the Egyptian embassy would visit him from time to time in search of specific rare breeds for their monarch’s collection.

At the age of six, Jiddi treated me like a man.

He once took me to the cafe when I was still five or six years old. Placed me on a chair by the table with the other men and ordered for me the traditional small glass of tea (istikana.) When the waiter bowed and placed the glass on the table in front of me, I felt so full of myself as I never have.

On Ramadan eves, he would instruct the "tabbal" to include  my name in the list of men he called to wake up for the suhoor.

On the Ramadan feast, he would give me one full Lebanese pound for an Idiyyeh. That was worth around ten thousands of present value. Not only this, but the banknote itself was more than double the size of present ones, multicolored and fashioned in the patterns of a Persian carpet. Crisp, shining, colorful freshly minted banknote. A feast for the eye and a good treat for the pocket. 

Whenever he lifted himself up or had to apply an effort, Jiddi would always invoked God by murmuring audibly to himself "Ya Mueen.” يا معين.

    

I have heard it so often as a child that it got imprinted in my mind and now I use it myself for the same purpose.

Recently, I was very happy to hear one of my sons use it. Amazing how such things pass effortlessly from one generation to another.

The last I saw of Jiddi in good health was when he came  to visit us after I had graduated from AUB as an Engineer in the year 1962. I had made it to the Big Diploma (الشهادة الكبيرة) in the manner they used to refer to a University Degree. We took this picture with my father and my sister Umayma.

At the end of the visit, he asked me to accompany him visiting some friends in Ras Beirut. Wanted to show them his Engineer Grandson. He was so proud of me.

After that, he fell ill to the common old age ailment of multiple sclerosis and passed away in peace.

May God have mercy on his soul.