his story is blurry. no one seems to know exact time frames and locations are ambiguous. everyone has a different understanding of his life but the overall concept is the same. he is loved.
his name is jorge abelardo sayegh and he is my mother’s father. he was born in aleppo syria and moved to venezuela during his mid 20’s, a few years after he married his wife georgina. his dad sent him off on a month long trip overseas with the clothes on his back and told him that he was going to the “americas.” he traveled through the country until he settled in cumana, where he heard of business opportunities in a small arabic community. he somehow managed to open a small business and brought his wife and three kids over. my mom was born in venezuela where my grandfather opened a few stores that my mom has always referred to as “las tiendas.” he would mainly sell clothes, furniture and electronics to the community. it was a family affair. the kids would all take shifts in manning the business, which was not always the best idea given that they would accept sandwiches as payment for merchandise. somehow they made it work.
he picked up enough of the spanish language to get him through, but to this day he mainly speaks arabic. when we were younger, my brothers and i would imitate him speaking spanish. his accent was so foreign and comical to us “come todo,” he would say and “todo bien.” we would pull our pants up passed our belly buttons and waddle while yelling “emira!” (that’s my mom’s name in arabic) and then we would giggle. communicating with him has always been a difficult task that has gotten a bit easier over the years. now, i just make sure there’s eye contact and hand gestures and a smile. we’re doing just fine.
my memories of him consist of my brothers and i playing outside on his patio or in the terrace behind his house getting into trouble and him coming to our rescue. as it turns out, my mom has the same kind of memories. he also cooks the most delicious arabic foods and was a carpenter for a chunk of his life. he smoked tobacco from a pipe and to this day smells like tobacco. it’s a good smell. the kind that makes you nostalgic about the “good days.”
he is as arabic as they get and it’s those arabic roots that make me a bit more unique. i’m thankful for those roots. they are the reason i am asked where i’m from and what’s my background. they have allowed me to embrace culture and to welcome traditions. my mom breaks a plate when we move into a new home, we eat kibbeh, hummus, tabbouleh and yabra on the regular and grace says “ohh” when something’s hot. we have memories of arabic weddings that would go on for days and have family grace us once a year brining more of our unique culture with them.
he’s still a bit of a mystery to me but he’s the only grandfather we have. my mom loves him very much and so do we.
happy 86th birthday jiddo! 
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