BU

In memories of a great man.

A wonderful husband to my late mom.

A responsible and loving father to my siblings and me.

A great friend to countless of his contemporaries.

As far as I can remember, he worked very hard to make sure all his children well educated. When I was young, every month I sat down with him to help him organize the little we had to be sent to my elder siblings for their schooling in residential schools. When I was in primary school, I was already given the responsibility to go to the post office and send my brothers and sister their monthly money orders through registered letters, to make sure they arrived safely.

Years back we went through his files and where he kept everything. From what ever receipts of money orders to all our report cards. He spent a lot on us, he ignore the luxuries he could have afforded.

He always advised us to be early to the bus station or to the airport.

He always reminded us to keep all important documents properly. This saved me from a lot of trouble once when I went to Europe. In Amsterdam my other friends lost their passports. I didn’t. I followed his advice. I was safe.

He taught me how to wash our family car, how to change oil, how to keep the tire pressure and how to deal with a flat tire.

He taught me how to use those switches in the car when I was small. How to use the handbrake. How the signal indicators work. What is an automatic transmission car compared to manuals.

He pointed to me the cars and their names while driving on the road. I remember he had always been fascinated with cars, especially Jaguars. I memorized the names of cars when I was in Darjah 1. That’s why I like cars until today.

He taught me how to operate a manual camera when I was in primary school. How to shoot, how to manipulate the shutter speed and how to decide the aperture. After that I used to go around the neighborhood take pictures of my friends, make prints and sold them.

He sent me fruit basket when I was in college. That was a pleasant surprise.

He only scolded us when we were naughty only with his words. He never laid a finger on us. Never!

We miss our Bu or Abu - father in Arabic.