When I started filming my mother it was for purely personal reasons. For once she developed Alzheimer’s disease, she steadily lost her memory and her sense of identity and I felt an overwhelming need to “hold-on” to her before the disease took over. I spent hours filming our daily interactions on my phone. She was in Montreal while I was in Beirut. My visits and our conversations became more frequent as she became weaker.
Ever since I started filming her in 2007, the conversation with my mother would inevitably return to Yafa and her childhood and youth there before 1948: her house, her school, her family, her friends. Despite having had a relatively privileged life in Beirut, Cairo, and Montreal, it was always Yafa. Over time, her stories became less and less coherent, except when she began reminiscing about Yafa. It was those memories that we returned to time and time again, and it was those memories that continued to bring a sparkle to her eyes.
Aida had wished to be cremated when she passed away. She had also been clear that she yearned to return to Yafa. After the funeral I returned to Beirut bringing with me all the footage of our interviews along with part of her ashes. I held onto the ashes in the hope that one day an opportunity would present itself for me to take her back for her final rest. Close to three years later, a friend who lives in Ramallah happened to be in Beirut. Tanya suggested that she herself carries the ashes back. As a US citizen, she would be able to do it. What started as a casual conversation, developed massive momentum, as we packed the ashes to take them back to Palestine. Tanya filmed this process and her trip to Ramallah on her phone for me to show to friends and family. I received tens of short phone videos as they made it back to Palestine, meeting strangers along the way - all willingly helping Aida on her return journey.
Once I watched this material, it was clear to me what I needed to do, I needed to continue filming the journey of return. I contacted another close friend in Palestine, Raeda, and she joined the team to return Aida home. And, so, we proceeded, not knowing where it might lead. The result was this film, a labor of love by friends and strangers alike.
Aida Abboud Mansour was a feisty, funny, generous, and gentle Palestinian woman living her last years in Montreal, Canada.
Aida was born in Yafa, Palestine, in 1928 to a Christian Palestinian family; she grew up in Yafa with her father Raffoul, her mother Olga, and her sister Sonia. Along with hundreds of thousands of Palestinian families, the Abbouds were forced to flee Yafa in 1948. They fled to Lebanon, where for a while she was the sole breadwinner for the family.
It was in Beirut that Aida met and fell in love with Michel Mansour, another Palestinian from Haifa. They got married and had three children, Michael, Robert, and Carol.
After the Israeli war on Lebanon of 2006, Aida and Michel left for Canada where she remained until she passed away in 2015.
Aida loved people. She loved taking care of family, friends, and acquaintances. She kept an open house that was warm and welcoming. Her house in Beirut was a refuge for scores of people throughout the years of the civil war in Lebanon, and her house in Montreal was the refuge for the Lebanese and Palestinian diaspora alike, in search of a good meal, hospitality, and warmth.
Despite advanced Alzheimer’s, Aida remained true to herself to the very end: “an elegant and classy lady”.
My Dear Ma,
Ever since I can remember, I have heard people refer to you as a lady, une grande dame au grand coeur, a princess, une femme intelligente, gracieuse, élégante, sitt el koll.
You were indeed all of this to me, but much more.
One of my earliest memories are of sitting next to you to study, while you made me repeat the same sentence a million times. I was never very studious, but you never made me feel that you were upset with me. You wanted me to do my best, you wanted us all to be the best we could be, but you never scolded or got angry. The important thing was for us to be happy.
You were truly a sweet woman, a Saint to have been able to put up with all of us. I guess that’s is why you used to pray to Ste Rita, the patron of impossible cases.
I remember you talking to me about Yafa and Jerusalem, how you and your parents had to leave Palestine in 1948. And then how you had to leave one more time in 1975 to Cairo then back to Beirut, then to Montreal. And with each exile you managed to recreate a warm and welcoming home for us and our extended family and all our friends.
You loved people. You loved interacting and listening. You loved having people over at the house, and our home was always open to our friends and yours. You were always a wonderful and gracious hostess who made people feel at home. You expressed a lot of love through your food…you were an amazing cook! Everyone who has ever tasted your lemon cake knows what I am talking about.
Whenever people came over for a meal or a party, they never wanted to leave your company.
You were always so were generous. Always smiling.
Oh, and you were a great business woman. Miche wouldn’t have been able to survive Christmases at Tivoli without you, you always came to the rescue.
You always came to everyone’s rescue. You were there for Michael, Tino, and me. You were never judgmental, and without your gentle and sweet spirit and without your boundless support, none of us would be the people we are today. We were fortunate to have you as our mother. You were our family’s pillar and our haven.
I remember you always repeating: “ce n’est pas grave, tout va bien aller.” And that is how I will always remember you.
I miss you sorely, every day, but with your memory remaining with us I know “everything will be fine”.
For further inquiries about the film or impact campaign, please reach out to forward productions.
