Page 30 - Fiji Traveller 9

Oh, to be free, like Sarava-Nani

By Shazia Usman to the main road, which was over an hour away. Over the years,
she made countless five-hour taxi journeys from Ba to visit us in
My paternal great-grandmother Amina passed away in the ‘90s Suva—her grand- and great-grandchildren—all by herself. This
when I was in primary school, yet she left a lasting impression seemed fantastic to me, especially since she had never received
on me. formal education yet continued to travel alone well into her late
While we weren’t particularly close, and I can’t recall any seventies. I often wondered if she ever felt scared or how she
significant interactions, my memories of her are vivid. I remember remembered the addresses to direct the drivers in Suva, the
her fearless attitude, her delicious yet sweat-inducing curries, capital of Fiji. Once, when someone asked her this very question,
and her striking red lips—remnants of her last paan. She had a she replied that she relied on landmarks—houses, junctions, and
knack for effortlessly delivering a string of Fiji-Hindi expletives, trees. I remember a time when her driver, also from Ba, couldn’t
sprinkled with Malayalam, whenever she was annoyed. Though find the house she wanted to visit. Instantly, she recognised he
her name was Amina, we all knew her as Sarava-Nani, a beloved had taken a wrong turn. Without hesitation, she made him turn
figure from Sarava near Ba Town in Fiji. back, guiding him from a different street next to a supermarket
What impressed me most was her remarkable freedom to she recognised, until they were able to find the house.
go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted—a privilege Fast-forward 20 years, and I found myself standing on Lebuh
not often granted to women of her generation. Dressed in her Chulia in Georgetown, Penang, in Malaysia with a map in hand
hand-made blouse and long skirt, with a white veil loosely (I didn’t have a smartphone then) and a head full of landmarks
covering her shock of grey hair (not a single strand remained spotted the day before. Memories of that eavesdropped
black, much to the wonder of us great-grandchildren), she was conversation flooded back, along with thoughts of a woman I
a familiar sight walking the dusty unsealed road from her home hadn’t considered in years. Fast-forward another ten years, this

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