Welcome Mr. Alzheimer’s

Welcome Mr. Alzheimer’s
Article Author :Sami Moubayed
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My grandfather, a proud landowner for over 70-years, is now 95, and was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in late 2007. Before that and until the very last moment, he was still driving, still going to work, and he still had an exceptionally sharp memory. It is always traumatic to see loved ones fade away so rapidly, while we are completely helpless at bringing them back. Apart from nationalist activity under the French Mandate and a failed attempt at entering parliament on a National Bloc list in 1947, he was apolitical, spending his entire life administering his family’s vast plantations, handed down from one generation to the next. He refused to sell—not even an inch—no matter how attractive the offers were from Syrian and Arab investors. He always took great pride in standing up to Akram al-Hawrani, the godfather of modern socialism, and saying, “What you are doing (in reference to confiscation of factories and redistribution of land) is going to destroy Syria!” I have heard that story over and over from him, but I continue to enjoy it and it always ends with, “Power is all about land! Once you lose it, you are finished!” He took land very seriously, and never recovered psychologically from the socialism of the union years with Egypt.

 

Today in 2008, he no longer remembers former President Shukri al-Quwatli, his neighbor for over 30-years, but still trembles when Gamal Abdul Nasser or Akram al-Hawrani are mentioned in his presence. He still recognizes the voice of Um Kalthoum, but fails to remember Fayruz or Abdul-Halim. He forgets his own name, age, address, and home, but still remembers Damascus; not this Damascus, but the one he knew as a child and young adult with all its places, buildings, and streets. He barely remembers his aged sister, often forgets his two daughters, but always remembers his mother and ex-wife, my grandmother, who divorced him 62-years ago, in 1946. He never saw her again for the rest of her life and she died in 2001. Whenever we mention her name, he nostalgically says, “Poor Nabiha; she’s dead!”

My grandfather no longer comprehends the value of money; 10 SP are no different from 1,000 SP. He can no longer count money but whenever asked about the price of land, he gives accurate, up-to-date figures in millions (the most recent value being when Alzheimer’s started in 2007). He can still recognize “prized territory” on his plantations, where the soil is fertile and there is plenty of water, saying, “I wouldn’t sell this piece for millions!”

He doesn’t remember the name of the party that has been ruling Syria since 1963, but still recalls the National Bloc, of which he was a member in the 1940s. He no longer understands the logic of borders; as far as he is concerned, there is no such thing called “Lebanon.” It’s “Beirut, Syria.” The Alzheimer’s disease eats away at the mind, and every night, while perched on his balcony in Damascus, he thinks that he is dinning at the Hajj Dawoud Café on the Raouche in Beirut. I gently try to explain, “Adnan Bey you are in Damascus not Beirut!” He snaps back, “Damascus… Beirut, what difference does it make? We are still in Syria, aren’t we?”

He sometimes mutters the names of women—probably early romances from his school days in France and college sweethearts, who have all since died, describing them as “beautiful.” Its fun to hear someone who is past 90 still speak with the heart of a 20-year old. He remembers that Palestine “is no longer with us” but cannot recall the loss of Iraq, although he was in perfect health back in 2003. He still visits me at my ofice, then decides to take the tramcar back home. I try to explain that the Damascus Tram has long been suspended. He nods, surprised at why authorities would so something so illogical. I then drive him home in a Korean car and he is shocked to hear of its ‘astronomical’ price, saying that with this kind of money, he can buy a submarine! He then suddenly realizes the absurdity of my statement, thinking that I am the one who has lost his memory, and asks, “Korean? Since when do the Koreans make cars? Go get something reliable for yourself from carmakers in Germany or America. If I were you, I would buy a Cadillac!”

He remembers Franklin Roosevelt but forgets George W. Bush. He remembers Saeb Salam but forgets Fouad al-Siniora. He thinks that the president of France is Charles de Gaulle not Nicolas Sarkozy and believes that Winston Churchill is still around at 10 Downing Street.

I sometimes, just sometimes, cannot but envy him.

Things become a little scary and take when Alzheimer’s takes on a dramatic and ironic twist. “Don’t go to Lebanon” he warns, “there is a war going on there; they are killing each other!” He certainly is unaware of what has happened to Beirut since 2005. “The Iraqis are brutal; they just killed their King and dismembered him,” he adds, completely unaware of what has happened in Iraq since 2003. “The Palestinians are to blame for what is happening to them… they are quarrelling with each other instead of fighting the Israelis!” Again, he knows nothing of the feud between Hamas and Fateh. “Syria is paying a price for its nationalism” he adds, with no information whatsoever about the Syrian Accountability Act, the Harriri Tribunal, the alleged connection to North Korea, or the USS Cole off the shore of Lebanon.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Alzheimer’s is not too bad, if one is living in the Arab World.