Mood Swings:
My grandfather, the journalist
By
Reem Nafie
"Should I pursue a career in journalism or should I switch to marketing?" I asked my grandfather as he lay in a hospital bed. "Go for it, Al-Ahram will teach you everything," he answered in a weak voice. A few days later, I went back to see him, "I'm going to work at Al-Ahram Weekly," I announced. "Great, my granddaughter is a journalist," he answered. That was the last conversation I was to have with my grandfather; he died a few days later.
One year ago today veteran journalist Ahmed Nafie passed away, following a two-year struggle with cancer. He started his career in 1947 as a translator at a Muslim Brotherhood-published paper. He went on to become an editor and reporter at Al-Misri newspaper, then at Reuters, the Middle East News Agency (MENA) in Damascus, the Emirates News Agency and finally at Al-Ahram.
On 26 June 2002 I was in Saudi Arabia with my father when we received a phone call from my mother saying that my grandfather had passed away. We instantly packed our bags and took the 4am flight back to Cairo. We were both silent during the trip; occasionally I would cast a glance at my father and I would see tears rolling down his cheek. Although we had expected my grandfather's death, we never really thought it would happen. What would life be like without him?
Memories flooded back to me of our traditional family gatherings each Thursday at his house in Dokki. I remembered how he sat on his chair, centred in the middle of the living room watching TV. He used to love to watch football, no matter who was playing. If any of his young grandchildren played in front of the TV set, he would immediately scold them and tell them to play elsewhere. When the clock struck 9pm, it was essential that he watch the Channel 1 news.
He would listen attentively to the happenings of the world over, taking particular interest in news of the Palestinian - Israeli conflict. His belief that one day Palestine would be free was unwavering. In his writings he elaborated on that view, saying, "It will be impossible to achieve peace unless all Arab nations united behind the cause."
My grandfather spent nearly all his waking hours reading and writing. To him, writing was life itself, it was his hobby, his job and his passion. I remember when he was first diagnosed with cancer, my aunt decided to take him on a one- month vacation to the North Coast, where he could relax. Even though he agreed to go -- after long talks and arguments with my grandmother -- he insisted on faxing an article every week to Al -Ahram. His weekly column, "The Arab Nation", tackled diverse concerns and was one of the most popular columns in the Arab Affairs section, which he edited.
A week after his death, I started working at the Weekly, and that day I stopped by his old office on the fourth floor to clear out his desk. I was greeted by his lifetime friend and colleague Kamal Naguib. They had been friends for more than 50 years, and had shared the same office for more than 20. "I feel lonely without him, he was like a brother to me. I will not allow anyone to replace him, I can't bear to sit across from anyone else," Naguib said with deep affection.
I sat on the chair that was once my grandfather's and listened to his friend praise his work, his journalistic style and most of all his humility. "The most important thing about Ahmed was that he taught younger journalists the true meaning of journalism, he was one of the few who made time for others, even if he was busy with his own work." Our conversation ended with tears for both of us and I have since been unable to make the trip to his old office.
While some will remember my grandfather as an outstanding journalist and columnist, his passing leaves a larger gap for our family. The driving force who brought our family together each weekend, he instilled in us the importance of family ties, teaching his 10 children and 20 grandchildren the meaning of closeness and the importance of loving and caring for one another.
Now, his chair is empty, although his portrait hangs on the wall above it. We still watch the 9pm news, even though no one really listens. I still miss him terribly and wish he was here, not only because he was my grandfather, but because he was a mentor to me, providing me with much wisdom and guidance.
