Visit rarely, and you will be more loved, says an Arabic proverb. But in this particular story, that sentiment could not be more wrong.
The lift wasn't working so, grumbling, I walked up the flights of stairs to the 11th floor. It was the middle of summer in Lebanon and, as usual, there was an electricity outage at the most inconvenient time.
Lugging a bag full of gifts, I kept telling myself that I was doing this for the greater good, the wajib, or duty, one has to one's family members. Even if we don't know them well, or even care that much, most of us try to show respect and do our duty towards relatives. But this principle is slowly fading from society, as I was about to learn.
On the ninth floor, I paused to catch my breath. The door to one of the apartments was wide open. I was about to continue up the stairs when I heard a great fall and a muffled yell. So I stepped to the doorway and called out in Arabic, "Hello, everything OK?"
When I didn't hear anything, I walked towards the noise in the back of the apartment, and ended up in the kitchen.
On the floor was an elderly woman, and, she had spilt food all over herself. She looked quite distressed and still didn't notice me.
When I spoke again, she looked up in embarrassment and then asked me to help her to her feet. Elegantly dressed with a 1950s hairstyle, she was all smiles as she asked me to stay over for tea. Just like that, a complete stranger who had entered her home was invited to tea.
After helping her clean up, I was making my excuses to leave when I saw burn marks on her hands. Then, after a closer look, I noticed that her make-up was smudged, especially the lipstick. She kept misjudging distances and dropping things, so I concluded she must have poor eyesight.
As we entered her living room, it was obvious it needed tidying and dusting, so I asked if she lived alone.
"Yes, I used to take care of my mother and when she died, she left me this apartment. My sisters are all married, and all are outside the country," she said.
She told me that no one visited her, everyone was busy, but she didn't mind and was "still waiting".
"Waiting for what?" I asked this woman, who must have been about 70. She said, with a twinkle in her blue eyes: "I am still waiting for my prince."
She told me how suitors would flirt with her and promise to marry her, but then never follow through when they found out they would have to take care of her mother as well. And when her mother passed away, she was in her 30s and it was "too late".
Before I left, she gave me a small box, a gift for keeping her company. I opened it and found a clump of gold jewellery in it, earrings and necklaces, all tangled up.
I was heart-broken. This might have been all she had, and she had just given it to a complete stranger. Of course, I refused to take it and said it would make me happier if she kept it until my next visit.
As I was leaving, I gave her one of the gifts I had brought for my relatives and joked that I would bring a cat to keep her company. She said her Tuti had died from old age, and that she could not go through that heart-break again.
When I told my relatives about the woman on the ninth floor, one said: "Oh, she is the crazy one who leaves her door open and talks to herself."
Loneliness can do this to a person. They start hearing things, talking to themselves and forgetting things. Who is there to remind them?
I met her three years ago, and I just found out that a distant relative has taken over the old woman's apartment. And what happened to the kind old lady? Her 30-something relative had placed her in an asylum.
This is just an example of what happens to some elderly people in our communities. Yes, some may get difficult in their old age, but that doesn't make them strange or "crazy". They just need a visit from time to time.
