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Once, my grandfather was sitting in the patio facing the valley. He saw an Ottoman soldier coming towards him, holding a big grape in his hand. My grandfather who loved every inch of his grape yard, knew immediately where it came from. The soldier must have guessed what was on my grandfather's mind. He came to him, struck him on the face and went on his way. |
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Stories |
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There are events one cannot forget. Here are some that my mother always remembered. |
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To contact me : |
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Roots | Aitanit | Uncle Georges and Aunt Regina | Aunts Habaca and Toufica | Uncles John and Khalil | Stories |
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Leila Richa |
