Tongoli, The City of Water Queen

”Grandma, lean forward.”

It was easier to have my grandma bring her head forward to use the eyeliner pencil. My eyeliner always went zigzagging on her thin eyebrows. Putting on her plusher was more fun. I used the same red lipstick for her cheeks and her lips. The circles on her cheeks were never symmetrical. My mother's creamy red lipsticks penetrated and filled all the deep lines above her lips. To create the perfect look, I applied and reapplied the lipstick on her lips and cheeks.

"I'm making you a beautiful grandma."

"Of course.” Grandma would agree, shaking her head.

For her hair, the design of the day differed from a chignon, and a ponytail to my no-name special. She would help me take off her white cotton scarf and undo her bright red henna-colored braids. Grandma would untie her braids with her shaking arthritic hands. She'd place the white narrow ribbons inside her pouch. My grandma had only peripheral vision and had to keep track of what went where. 

After undoing the braids, I often split her hair into the upper and lower sections. I tried to make her hair look like my mother’s. Whatever the style of the day, her hair needed more volume, especially at the top. 

“Grandma, your hair’s way too thin.” I always complained while putting 

rollers on her hair. 

“You know, your mother will come home for lunch.” She would warn me, hoping to prevent me from getting too carried away with my hair styling.

"Yes, Grandma, I’ll be quick.”

"If you finish soon, I'll tell you a story you're gonna love. How's that?

Her makeover finished with a lot of my mother’s finishing powder. It was on top of all the lipstick on her cheek. It made it hard to wipe the makeup off. 

On one of those days when I had asked my father to help me make a paper crown, he finished the makeover by crowning me.

"Grandma, you're going to be a queen, look, I have this crown for you. You'll be likeTongoli. Tongoli was my favorite Chinese doll. 

"Oh, nice, thank you, dear. So, I’ll tell you her story. You’ll love her story. But remember, you’re now a grown-up little lady. You’ll soon be six years old. We’re going to clear the breakfast table together.”

What does she mean by that? She is half blind and has difficulty walking even with her cane. She means I'll have to do the work. Darn!

”Now, help me wash my face, and I'll tell you one of my best stories, Tongoli; the City of Water Queen.”

I held her hand guiding her to the bathroom and stayed by her side while she washed her face. Our deal was: that I wouldn’t go to the yard and play with redfish. I had to stay close to her. I could have her face and hair as long as I cleared the crime scene before my mother returned. None of us knew when that would be, we had no idea where she went. On the day I crowned my grandma, she kept the crown on her head and told me the story.

The story was about a beautiful little girl born in South China. Her stepmother beat her, starved her, forced her to do all the housework, and called her stupid. Her grandmother in secret taught her to read and write. One day, Tongli had to fetch water. She walked to the river, left the water bucket, and walked alongside the river for several days. She finally arrived in the City of Water. In that city, people heard her poems and listened to her stories. They all fell in love with her, and admired her, making her their Queen. She became the first Queen in China. Many of her grandmothers made dolls that looked like her. They also retold her story to their granddaughters. The story traveled far and from China to the heart of Persia. 

Tongoli's story was one of Grandma’s best stories. After reading the fairytale, it thrilled me. I helped her clear the mess, putting away all the makeup I had borrowed from my mother’s dressing table. I sat next to her while she took the crown off her hair and tried to fix her hair.

The next morning, I took my time getting out of bed, hoping it was my grandmother who would get the hint.

"It's time for our little princess for breakfast.” 

Grandma had put cheese and butter on small pieces of nan.

“Now, wash your face and hands, and come to me.”

She helped me change my pajamas and sat me down at the table, pouring me some tea.

“You know, you need to learn a little bit of housework.”

I was glad I had made a big mess of her hair the day before. My mother would be pleased to know this. Grandma spent most of the afternoon trying to untangle her hair. God knows how much hair she had to pull to comb it. Grandma from the father's side of the family belonged to what my mother called the loser's club. I didn’t want to be part of them. I wanted to belong to my mother's side of the family, the winner’s club, and be like my mother, smart.

“Little princes bring the tray from the kitchen.” She put three small cups next to each other. They were next to three saucepans, piling on top of each other, on the tray.

"Now, take them to the kitchen and wash them.”

I picked up the tray and walked up the stairs towards the kitchen, which was on the lower floor of our townhouse. On the third step, the tray slipped from my hands, and everything dropped.

"Oh, what happened, dear?"

"I don’t know."

I knew Grandma would get into trouble with my mother, not me.  Well, she shouldn't have forced me to wash up.

"Hurry up and get the broom.”

For some reason, my mother came home early on that day and found out what had happened. She fumed when she saw my grandma had forced me into child labour. They launched open warfare from that point. I wished I had paid more attention. The next morning my mother took me to school to register for the first grade, even though I was not yet six years old. My mother was a winner. She could do anything she wanted. She even registered me in the middle of the school year as a participant, not an actual pupil. This removed Grandma's reason to be in our house. My mother had solved her problem.

"I won't allow my daughter to do any housework.” My mother kept announcing to my father. She did so. This line earned everyone’s admiration. It showed her as a loving and progressive mother. 

After my grandma’s cruelty towards me, she became unwelcome and had to be shipped to her daughter for good. My mother finally managed to kick out grandma. She did it without looking mean. She proved to everyone that she was a loving mother. The last part of the mission was the physical removal of Grandma to her daughter for the rest of her life.

It took many years for me to realize who my grandma was; she was not what my mother called her, a silly old woman. She was literate in Persian, and Arabic, and knew the Quran by heart. Grandma wore old clothes. She shuffled between her son's and daughter's homes, but she did have her own house at one time. She gave in to her mother’s demand to sell her house. She had to give my father’s share of the inheritance for our townhouse's down payment. In her 80s, she became homeless. In her senior years, she was back and forth between her two children, whom she had raised as a single mother during the chaos of the First World War. 

After the child cruelty incident, Grandma disappeared from the site.  I never saw her again; she was gone, and so were her lovely stories. Today, when I think about my playtime, all the makeover sessions and hair styling come to life. Her stories bring an involuntary smile with a chill in my heart. Her stories come to life when I hear fairy tales. I feel her warm, arthritic hands with blue veins, her painted henna red fingers stroking my head, while I cuddled Tongoli and listened to her deep voice. She tells me about the dreamy Queen from the City of Water.  Her memories make me appreciate the precious gift she left me-the desire to tell, and write stories.

Tongoli, The City of Water Queen 

”Grandma, lean forward.”

It was easier to have my grandma bring her head forward to use the eyeliner pencil. My eyeliner always went zigzagging on her thin eyebrows. Putting on her plusher was more fun. I used the same red lipstick for her cheeks and her lips. The circles on her cheeks were never symmetrical. My mother's creamy red lipsticks penetrated and filled all the deep lines above her lips. To create the perfect look, I applied and reapplied the lipstick on her lips and cheeks. 

"I'm making you a beautiful grandma."

"Of course, Grandma would agree, shaking her head."

For her hair, the design of the day differed from a chignon, a ponytail to my own no-name special. She would help me take off her white cotton scarf and undo her bright red henna-coloured braids. Grandma would untie her braids with her shaking arthritic hands. She'd place the white narrow ribbons inside her pouch. My grandma had only peripheral vision, and had to keep track of what went where. 

After undoing the braids, I often split her hair into the upper and lower sections. I tried to make her hair look like my mother’s. Whatever the style of the day, her hair needed more volume, especially at the top. 

“Grandma, your hair’s way too thin.” I always complained while putting rollers on her hair. 

“You know, your mother will come home for lunch.” She would warn me, hoping to prevent me from getting too carried away with my hair styling.

"Yes, grandma, I’ll be quick.”

"If you finish soon, I'll tell you a story you're gonna love. How's that?

Her makeover finished with a lot of my mother’s finishing powder. It was on top of all the lipstick on her cheek. It made it hard to wipe the makeup off. 

On one of those days when I had asked my father to help me make a paper crown, he finished the makeover by crowning me.

Here is the corrected sentence: "Grandma, you're going to be a queen, look, I have this crown for you. You'll be likeTongoli. Tongoli was my favorite Chinese doll. 

"Oh, nice, thank you, dear. So, I’ll tell you her story. You’ll love her story. But remember, you’re now a grown-up little lady. You’ll soon be six years old. We’re going to clear the breakfast table together.”

What does she mean by that? She is half blind and has difficulty walking even with her cane. She means I'll have to do the work. Darn!

”Now, help me wash my face, and I'll tell you one of my best stories, Tongoli; the City of Water Queen.”

I helped her walk to the bathroom and stayed by her side while she washed her face. Our deal was: I wouldn’t go to the yard and play with redfish. I had to stay close to her. I could have her face and hair as long as I cleared the crime scene before my mother returned. None of us knew when that would be, we had no idea where she went. On the day I crowned my grandma, she kept the crown on her head and told me the story.

The story was about a beautiful little girl born in South China. Her stepmother beat her, starved her, forced her to do all the housework, and called her stupid. Her grandmother in secret taught her to read and write. One day, Tongli had to fetch water. She walked to the river, left the water bucket, and walked alongside the river for several days. She finally arrived in the City of Water. In that city, people heard her poems and listened to her stories. They all fell in love with her, and admired her, making her their Queen. She became the first Queen in China. Many of her grandmothers made dolls that looked like her. They also retold her story to their granddaughters. The story traveled far and all the way from China to the heart of Persia. 

Tongoli's story was one of grandma’s best stories. After reading the fairytale, it thrilled me. I helped her clear the mess, putting away all the makeup I had borrowed from my mother’s dressing table. I sat next to her while she took the crown off her hair and tried to fix her hair.

The next morning, I took my time getting out of bed, hoping it's my grandmother would get the hint.

"It's time for our little princess for breakfast.” 

Grandma had put cheese and butter on small pieces of nan.

“Now, wash your face and hands, and come to me.”

She helped me change my pajamas and sat me down at the table, pouring me some tea.

“You know, you need to learn a little bit of housework.”

I was very glad I had made a big mess of her hair the day before. My mother would be pleased to know this. Grandma spent most of the afternoon trying to untangle her hair. God knows how much hair she had to pull to comb it. Grandma from the father's side of the family belonged to what my mother called the loser's club. I didn’t want to be part of them. I wanted to belong to my mother's side of the family, the winner’s club, and be like my mother, smart.

“Little princes bring the tray from the kitchen.” She put three small cups next to each other. They were next to three saucepans, piling on top of each other, on the tray.

"Now, take them to the kitchen and wash them.”

I picked up the tray and walked up the stairs towards the kitchen, which was on the lower floor of our townhouse. On the third step, the tray slipped from my hands, and everything dropped.

"Oh, what happened, dear?"

"I don’t know."

I knew grandma would get into trouble with my mother, not me.  Well she shouldn't have forced me to wash up.

"Hurry up and get the broom.”

For some reason, my mother came home early on that day and found out what had happened. She fumed when she saw my grandma had forced me into child labour. They launched open warfare from that point. I wished I had paid more attention. The next morning my mother took me to school to register for the first grade, even though I was not yet six years old. My mother was a winner. She could do anything she wanted. She even registered me in the middle of the school year as a participant, not an actual pupil. This removed grandma's reason to be in our house. My mother had solved her problem.

"I won't allow my daughter to do any housework.” My mother kept announcing to my father. She did so. This line earned everyone’s admiration. It showed her as a loving and progressive mother. 

After my grandma’s cruelty towards me, she became unwelcome and had to be shipped to her daughter for good. My mother finally managed to kick out grandma. She did it without looking mean. She proved to everyone that she was a loving mother. The last part of the mission was the physical removal of grandma to her daughter for the rest of her life.

It took many years for me to realize who my grandma was; she was not what my mother called her, a silly old woman. She was literate in Persian, Arabic, and knew the Quran by heart. Grandma wore old clothes. She shuffled between her son's and daughter's homes, but she did have her own house at one time. She gave in to her mother’s demand to sell her house. She had to give my father’s share of the inheritance for our townhouse's down payment. In her 80s, she became homeless. In her senior years, she was back and forth between her two children, whom she had raised as a single mother during the chaos of the first world world. 

After the child cruelty incident, grandma disappeared from the site.  I never saw her again; she was gone, so were her lovely stories. Today, when I think about my playtime, all the makeover sessions and hair styling come to life. Her stories bring an involuntary smile with a chill in my heart. Her stories come to life when I hear fairy tales. I feel her warm, shaking arthritic hands with blue veins, her painted henna red fingers stroking my head, while I cuddled Tongoli and listen to her deep voice. She tells me about the dreamy Queen from the City of Water.  Her memories make me appreciate the precious gift she left  me-the desire to tell, and write stories.