I was already on the slope down the little hill not far from where I live that early morning when I met her. At first, I didn’t pay much notice to the figure ahead of me, but then her ataxic gait caught my attention. In her right hand was a loaf of bread in a see-through bag clutched tightly at the top with her fingers. Hanging from her shoulder down to her shin was a coloured flower robe underneath which was a plain dress. 

On her feet were grey faux fur slippers; it was apparent she wasn’t on a morning walk like most people jogging past. She was in some kind of discomfort as she dragged herself. From time to time, she would rest her slender body against the metal frame that separated and lined the street. That morning, the wind was ravaging. The old lady’s flowered robe flapped around her under the strong wind. Interchangeably, she clutched her hands around the metal frame and the loaf of bread. The picture she painted was pitiful. She shivered. The wetness of the morning rain made her wet grey hair clinged to her face, neck and head.

I shortened my pace when I got closer to her. Something about the way she looked didn’t settle in well with me. Through the drizzling rain and the whooshing sounds of the wind, I could hear the rattling sound of her keys somewhere within her clothing.

“Do you need help?”. I asked. She looked at me with piercing eyes filled with great confusion and replied, “Where is Duarte Place? Do you know where Duarte Place is?”. I intruded; “Is that where you live?’. She answered with, “Duarte Place?”.

Fishing For Help

Unfortunately, I am not great with geography, not even the area I have lived for over a decade. Not knowing where DUARTE PLACE was, I took out my phone to check. However, I got the spelling wrong and Google didn’t help signpost that day. The old lady leaned back on the metal frame. I stood beside her dazed; wondering if I wasn’t adding to her distress. At that point, a pedestrian walked by and I asked if she knew DUARTE PLACE. She did, however, it would take about 20 minutes to walk from where we were. 

Furthermore, the rain drizzles had turned into a heavy downpour. The wind was more intense. The only phrase coming out of this lady’s mouth was DUARTE PLACE. It was more of a whisper, escaping through her quivering lips. She was cold and uncoordinated. A part of me felt I should call an ambulance. Another part felt I should run home to fetch my car. My house was less than 10 minutes if I ran fast. I weighed the two options and fell for the latter. 

Before breaking into a run, I explained to her that I lived nearby and I was going to run home to fetch my car. She nodded. I advised her to stay where she was. She locked eyes with me, but I wasn’t sure if she understood me. 

In Search 

She wasn’t where I left her when I returned with my car. I found her wandering in front of a house. Parking the car beside her, I went down. She obliged when I told her to get into the car. She clunged stubbornly to her loaf of bread while I helped her into the car.

I drove slowly down the road asking her to let me know if she recognised any landmarks near her house. Along the way, I said a prayer or two about her safety, about getting her home alive and about locating the exact place called DUARTE PLACE. 

I never knew it could be so daunting having a strange, frail and confused old lady in the confinement of my car. To worsen the case, I wasn’t sure of where to go. The person I know who has complete knowledge of the area is my husband, but, he was out of the country at the time. I made a resolution to either drive the old lady to the police station or look for the place.

The DUARTE Place

After driving down the long street and not getting to any place in particular, I decided to turn around. To do this, I had to drive into a narrow street, but I found it difficult to turn within this street. I drove a bit further down the narrow street to turn at the end. It was at the very end that I spotted the street sign DUARTE STREET. Excitedly, I asked her the number of her house and she said; “You’ll see a blue wheelie bin at the entrance of my house” and she was accurate.

The house was by the right in a little compound. In front of her house, one could see the side view of a block of flats adjacent to it. Helping her down the car, we walked to her door. I looked around to see if I could see any of her neighbours, but there was no one. I felt I needed to explain what happened to someone. Anyone. The compound was deserted except for two parked cars in front of the block of flats.

In The Old Lady’s House

At the entrance of her house was a little flower bed directly under a window, the window of her living room, I presumed. The main entrance door was black and at the top of the door frame were artificial rose flowers with texture leaves, stems and thorns. A full mirror was to the left of the door and by the far right was a camera just above the window with the lens focusing on the mirror. At the top of the door, I caught another live camera. I began to wonder how many shows I was on.

She dipped her hand into her dress pocket and fetched the keys out, her hands were a bit shaky and it took her a while to open the door. Something told me not to get involved in getting the door open; I watched as she struggled with the door and waited right behind her until she finally opened the door.

Saying My Goodbye

The door opened to a neat decorated living space. I caught a glimpse at her oak dining table. On it was a wired basket with some apples and oranges. There was a knitted cloth underneath. Across was a television set on a black frame matching the colour of the dining table. Not far from the main entrance were the fully carpeted stairways. I waited by the door until she was safe in her home before walking to my car. 

Thought of this old lady occupied my mind throughout the day. It was strange she walked a mile to get a loaf of bread in such wet, cold and windy weather. There are other shops near her home. She didn’t need to take that journey for a loaf of bread. I wondered if she was okay. The next morning, I drove down to check on her. 

Before ringing the doorbell, I took a second look around the old lady’s house. Susan lived in a stylish home. It didn’t take long for her to open the door this time around. She stood by the door, one hand holding the door handle, the other hand by her side.

I blurted out, ” Can you remember me? I dropped you home yesterday. Do you need me to get you anything? Can I help you with your shopping today?”.

“Yes, I do remember you”. She said calmly.

“Thank you, but I don’t need any help. My son lives not far away across the street. I am fine, thank you. Don’t worry about me. This is nice of you”. I stood there not knowing what else to do. ” My name is Sherryfah “. I said. “I am Susan, bye”. 

The Act Of Ageing

I walked away leaving my old lady alone to deal with life as she felt like. Sitting in my car, I thought of the woman I met yesterday and the one I just left. There was a slight difference. The woman standing at her door was in better shape, though a bit pale. She was well-composed compared to when I met her just over 24 hours ago.

Susan gave me so much to think about. I couldn’t but wonder about the decline of the human body. What would make an old lady walk a mile in the morning to get a loaf of bread and then get lost or should I say depleted? 

The truth about ageing is that it is the most natural part of living from the beginning of conception, however, one gets to wonder at the harshness of this natural transition. I know that wrinkles, weakness, greys and memory loss telltales of living, of challenges, experiences of life hard climbs. I can’t help to think of Susan whenever my morning walk took me to the path we met on that wet, windy and rainy morning.

God is the one who created you from weakness, then made after weakness strength, then made after strength weakness and white hair. HE creates what HE wills, and HE is the Knowing, the Competent.

Quran 30:54