I dream of Bibi

Scrubbing myself with a loofah this morning in the shower, I was daydreaming of my Bibi Karima. Bibi means "grandma" in Arabic.  Bibi Karima was my mom's mom.  She passed away in 2001; unfortunately, not being able to meet Zoe or Zena.  She would've loved to meet them, I can see her shaking her head and tsk-tsking at the idea that I actually had a baby. She always saw me as a little kid.

Anyway, Bibi Karima never thought that we were actually clean.  I mean, we showered everyday, but she didn't think we did a good job, especially me.  So, when she had the chance she'd take it upon herself to give us a bath.  There was no escaping.  The bath went something like this:  

• Bibi runs boiling hot water in the bathtub, and fills up the large basin that was in the tub.
• I have a seat on the tub stool, while Bibi leans over the edge of the tub.
• Bibi pours boiling hot water on my head.  Several times.  I scream.
• Bibi washes my hair all the while muttering disgustedly, "Ehn guhtah el sahboon," (the soap is cut off), while she scrubs really, really hard. The "soap is cut off "means that you were so dirty that the initial washing could not even produce lather.
• Bibi starts scrubbing away on my body with the loofah, the really rough one she brought from Baghdad just for this purpose. The soft one was reserved for my mom.
• Bibi is satisfied the dirt was gone when my skin cells have been appropriately removed, and I was red enough. 

I lived to be bathed another day.  

One of the many ways my Bibi lives on in is what I now call "the Bibi Karima treatment."  My own daughters know exactly what's coming their way when I announce it's Bibi Karima day.  And you know? She was right, the soap does get cut off on these small children, despite their showering everyday.

Note:  I grew up using loofahs and large pumice stones.  Except we couldn't get them at Rite Aid or Walmart, or whatever equivalent we had then, you had to wait until someone was coming in from Baghdad, and they would be special requests.  Non-Chaldeans who saw them always thought they were strange.  Sometimes, I wondered what it would be like to just use a washcloth like the rest of the world and not the rough loofah and black pumice stones.  Now when I'm in the shower, and am using my very special loofah that my uncle brought back from Jordan,  I'm excited that I don't have to use my low-rent store bought loofah.  And of course, I dream of Bibi.

This guy would never survive the Bibi Karima Treatment.