Toward the Almonds of Jannah
Bobo jaan was a tall, sangeen (dignified, respectfully polished) woman who wore long dresses, crisp white pants, and soft chiffon hijabs. Her friends called her Bibi Shireen. She had this quiet confidence about her that came with being the matriarch of our family. Her husband, my grandfather, passed away from a heart attack in Afghanistan when she was still very young, and her youngest son, my father, was only four years old. She never remarried. Growing up, Bobo jaan would babysit us when our parents were at work. She lived in the same apartment complex as we did.
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