Most of them were faces that I could not put names to. But they were all 
welcomed with equal grace and dignity irrespective of their background or 
inclination.

They were also received unreservedly, and I don’t remember a moment that my mother ever complained about hosting them.

I remember with particular fondness an old gentleman, with a bad stammer but a kind face, who had a permanent abode in our spacious attic. Too old to come down, he would shout and try to put together a sentence fifty feet above me, and I would patiently decipher the badly strewn words. It would usually be ‘get me sugar’ or ‘fetch me a glass 
of water’.

Our guests were never a burden to the already ten mouths to feed. I often talk about those days with my mother now and how she felt then. “They 
were the reasons that, even though we had limited resources of our own, we seem to live on the edge of prosperity,” she says.

God’s bounty is not limited to wealth buta in sharing with what little you have. When it came to that, my mother did it in a big way. Being a son in the middle, I was often the bearer of the salvation flag, having to deliver food on foot to distant poor relatives every afternoon. I remember hating it because it deprived me of my free time but knew that I was part of an important chain that held people together. It is a lesson that I carry with me now and try to instill in my children.

Old habits die hard. My mother still feels the urge of stretching a hand to others. Although elderly and frail, the torch of compassion is still burning bright inside her. There is more to her, much more, than a moment of deep gratification of saying those simple words she always says, ‘You are welcome here’. They need to know that she is doing the right thing without expecting a reward.

We left the well-feathered nest a long time ago to build our own. But her home is still a place of clarity and uprightness that others call their home, too. My mother runs an equivalent of a small scale Salvation Army whose soldiers are primarily made of her five children and ten or so nephews. If she calls us for a meeting in her home, then we know that somewhere, someone needs help.

We would gather dutifully and after the usual protest, we would give in, 
and start to chip in something for the good cause.

She has trained all of us to look beyond the value of money for the sake of those who have little or nothing. “You should always stick together,” she says, “for yourselves and for others.”

It is an axiom that we have heard a countless times. Reaching out for others is more than a way of life for her. It is the very air she breathes and lives in and which she still finds plenty in supply. As I was writing this column, my mother rang to ask if I had a little to spare for others. It was another duty call.

Akif Abdulamir is an Arab writer based in Oman