Goodbye to a Friend

Marinka was a good person. Anyone you ask will say that, without hesitation and without exception; family, colleagues, friends.

I met her back in 1993 when I went to work at Eastwood. She spoke little English and back then my Arabic was pitiful, but that didn’t stop the communication. She was everywhere. Whatever you needed, Marinka was the person to ask. A human dynamo! Any part of the day-to-day running of the school that she was involved in would be organised, performing like clockwork.

Marinka Saad was not an educated woman, but she was very smart. She was a quick thinker who wasn’t afraid of hard work. Another teacher and I would often muse that if she’d been given the chance of an education she would have gone far. But, the thing that impressed me most from the moment I first met her, and that others also noticed, was her humility. Whatever job she was doing, serving coffee, cleaning up the kitchen, standing in the rain on gate duty; she did it well, with pride, and with a natural humility and grace. Sometimes it seemed that nothing could ever get done without her. You would hear cries of, “Marinka!” coming down the hall. She would smile and say, “Yalla, Marinka khamse dollar!” (“Marinka, $5”) This was a joke we had, quipping that if she got five dollars for every time her name was called… well, she’d have had a far easier life.

Marinka was a hard worker. She raised her family, supported her relatives, and never stopped. She couldn’t stop. Life was tough and money tight. I remember a time when her husband lost his job. She didn’t moan or complain, although she must have been worried. She kept on doing what she always did, in just the same way she always did. She gave everything her best.

This afternoon as I walked towards the church memories of Marinka flashed through my mind. Her daily greetings, her hugs and empathy; her quiet, contemplative moments. I was determined to make this a celebration of her life, not desperation at her death. It was hard. The service, although all in Arabic, was touching. Seeing the people there, the very genuine sorrow etched on their faces, made it difficult to hold back the tears that were so close to the surface. Charles and I slipped away quickly and quietly at the end. I didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone. I wanted to stay quiet, with my “Marinka memories.”

As we left the church small droplets of rain were falling. Their presence fitted the mood perfectly. It was like “angel rain” – tears being shed for all those people Marinka was leaving behind to cope with life without her. My eyes were drawn Heavenwards, and that’s when I saw the beauty of God’s welcome to Marinka. From the horizon to the mountaintop behind us there was a dramatic sunset. Not a hot, postcard sunset – but a rich sunset in all its fullness. At the horizon it shone with red. As it ascended towards the clouds above it mingled with the grey and white to become a strangely beautiful pink hue. The clouds gave the impression of an oil painting. The display continued above our heads, getting ever darker as the fingers of the clouds reached out to touch the mountain, descending into blackness.

An amazing curtain call, totally fitting for an amazing woman.

Marinka wasn’t an educated woman, but she was smart. I learnt a lot from her, especially about humility, forgiveness and love.

I love you Marinka and I’ll miss you.