My concierge's cookies

With Ramadan behind us for another year, my concierge came to give me a plate of cookies in celebration. She and her husband keep the building clean, take out tenants' trash, help (me) get 30-lb Butagaz bottles up to the 4th floor without an elevator, and are all-around good people.

Ma concierge (the wife of the duo) doesn't speak much French, but she just came to the door with this festive plate of cookies and explained that she has all kinds of relatives in the United States. She and her husband feel responsible for me, I'm quite sure, because they like everyone else think I'm in my early 20s. Furthermore, my concierge saw me one day with a Kleenex and thought I was crying. It's just very dusty here; but she won't believe that I'm not sad and lonely. In fact, neither she nor her husband will take a tip from me for helping with the Butagaz tanks.

This generous and amiable couple, however, lives in a one-room closet on the top floor of the building and earns a paltry 200 Dh from each of 8 apartments as their monthly income (1600 Dh = $200). They have no bed and no furniture to speak of. My concierge is very old, and she's completely folded in half at the waist with osteoporosis. She spends most of her time balanced between her two feet and two hands, and simply can't stand upright for long periods of time. Once I offered to help her up the stairs, but I couldn't bend down far enough to be of use. And she, she couldn't be unfolded for long enough to walk up the two remaining flights.

I'm positively at a loss as to how to begin thanking them. Their selfless generosity is really commendable, and is truly an inspiration.