Inakulay

Ina, in Meranao, means mother. Our generation translated it into grandmother. That’s what I call my maternal grandma. Ina. Everybody calls her Ina, even those who are not her direct descendants. I want my children to call me Ina because of the sweetness of its sound. I named my eldest after her, Mariam, as a tribute to the woman who raised my own Mom.

Ina.

Ina was known for her kindness and generosity. Whatever she has, especially food, had to be shared to everyone who comes to her. She wasn’t rich nor literate, but she has a heart overflowing with love and a mind full of wisdom.

She took care of almost all her grandchildren, especially our brood. I’d like to think my Mom was her favorite child, but Ina didn’t actually favor one over the other. She treated each and everyone of her children and grandchildren equally.

I have beautiful memories with Ina growing up. Her generation is the last of the Meranaos who were not influenced by the Western culture. She chew betel nuts even though she only had few teeth left. She sung bayok (Meranao songs) and tells us pananaroon (Meranao riddles) and thutol (tales). I am familiar with Meranao folklore because of her. I loved sleeping beside her to listen to her bedtime stories, tales of Sulutan Sa Agama Niyog, Bantugen and the Royal Land of Bumbaran, Amomowai (the monkey), Arata Wata, Omacaan and Ola Thangila. She had a particular way of massaging my hair and scalp (kapaninisik) that puts me into deep sleep. I am familiar with weaving Meranao cloth (ka-awl, but I've never done it myself) because I saw her do it with passion. The intricacy of her langkit was one of a kind. We still have her awl-awla (wooden weaving machine) because she said she wants to go back to it once she regains strength. 

My parents owe their ascendance to the peak of their career to Ina. She promised to help my Mom with the triplets when my father received the approval of his study grant overseas. The triplets were three months old then. She was illiterate (with Western education, she can read the Arabic script though) hence she pushed all her nine children to earn an education. All nine children are all professionals, my mom being the second child. All our success, we owe it to her.

Four generations. Glad I have this photo to show my daughter, Amina Mariam. c. December 2015

She had a beautiful death. So beautiful that every living Muslim would ask Allah to die in such a manner. She wasn’t sick, she was just old and weak in her late 80s. She just finished her ablution in preparation for salaatul ‘asr when she fell unconscious on her bed, without any complain of chest pain or dizziness. My aunt, who was tasked to take care of her, called for help and Ina was immediately rushed to the nearby hospital.

We lost her. We lost Marawi and so as our Ina. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful death. She looked so much at peace and so beautiful on her deathbed. I kissed her cold body and I smiled knowing that Ina is with Our Creator and I’m sure she is happy wherever she is.

Hajja Mariam Ayo-Maruhom and Amina Mariam. Ina was chewing betel nut. December 2015

Ya Allah, thank You for the beautiful life of Ina. Thank You that You made her our grandmother. Thank You for the beautiful memories with her. I have many stories about her to tell my children when they grow up, in shaa Allah. We pray that Allah grant her a beautiful abode in Paradise and may we all be united in the hereafter. Ameen.