‘Everything will be the same,’ she said. ‘Nothing will change.’
Nothing will change. It became a sort of mantra.
‘Do you want to go?’ I asked my sister
Asma laughed. ‘Of course, silly! It will be an adventure. London is a big city, there will be lots to do, lots to see.’
‘What will our school be like? Will it be like the one in Mardan?’
She shrugged. ‘It will be better. Undoubtedly it will be better.’
But I knew she was nervous.
And so was Ammi. She busied herself sorting out what we needed to take with us. Several people in the village knew London. Some of the men had worked there for a while and their families went back and forth, so Ammi was given plenty of advice from all the uncles and aunties. There was a telephone connection to the village, so she heard from Baba, too.
‘Bring plenty of warm clothes,’ he shouted down the line.
‘Hush,’ said Ammi, laughing, ‘Your voice is so loud, you will turn the buffaloes’ milk sour!’
And then one day, in the early summer heat, Baba came to fetch us. He brought the boys back with him.
Suddenly it was really happening. We were going to leave everyone and everything.
The last few days passed in a whirl of activity. It was too quick for me. I needed time to say goodbye to my playmates, to the aunties, to the buffaloes, but Ammi kept me busy running errands for her, helping to check lists, going off to buy last minute stocks of this and that.
The morning of the day we were due to leave, Baba announced that he needed to look at his land, to check everything one last time.
On impulse I said, ‘May I come with you, Baba?’
I don’t know what made me say it, because I was sure he would say no, but he looked at me for a long time, frowning, before he replied, ‘Hurry then, Halima, we shall have to be back before the bus comes.’
We walked out of the house one last time and down through the orchards to the fields. Baba stopped and breathed deeply. He stared critically at his neatly planted crops and then for a long time he gazed up at the mountains, clear and sharp against the hot blue haze.
Then he said an extraordinary thing. He turned and looked me full in the face and, for the first time in my life, I sensed some uncertainty in his voice.
‘You will guard my land when you come back, won’t you, Halima?’
I was puzzled. Why me? I was only ten, and a girl. Surely, when we came back, the boys would oversee the land for him. Then Baba gave a short laugh.
‘But all that is in the future, eh?’ he said. ‘Now we must concentrate on making the best of our time in England.’ And he turned on his heel.
‘Yes Baba,’ I said, trotting behind him to keep up, as he strode back into the village, taking no account of my short legs. He didn’t look back and he didn’t wait for me to catch up. When, at last, we had retraced our steps I was breathless and hot, with a bad stitch in my side.
And there I stood panting, the sweat trickling down my back, surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers, waiting for the trusty minibus to take us to Mardan on the first leg of our journey to London.
CHAPTER THREE
The boys – and my father – were insufferable on the plane journey. Imran and Khalil knew it all. They had been in England for two years and they knew all about air travel. My sister, Asma, had been bursting with confidence when we set off, but I could see it was ebbing away.
She nudged me as we took our seats. ‘See those women over there,’ she whispered. I glanced along the row. There were several Western girls, their heads uncovered, shrugging their backpacks off their shoulders to stow in the overhead lockers. We’d often seen women like this in Mardan, loud and confident, laughing together with Western men, so unlike Ammi or the other women from our village. But we’d never been quite so close to them. I turned to Imran who was still standing in the aisle, waiting to sit down. ‘Are all the women like that in London?’ I whispered.
He laughed. ‘You’re such a baby, Halima. You don’t know a thing.’
I frowned, not daring to ask more. And if I was already getting nervous about our new life, poor Ammi was terrified. I was in the middle seat and she was next to me, squeezed up against the window, kneading her hands in her lap, her eyes large as she stared around her. When at last we took off, she closed her eyes and I could see her lips moving in prayer.
My father and brothers all sat together in the seats in front of us, noisy and laughing. I whispered to Asma, ‘Baba should look after Ammi. She’s so scared.’
Asma was in the aisle seat. She looked across at Ammi and sighed.
‘Baba will never comfort her,’ she said quietly. ‘We are the ones who must do that, Halima.’
I frowned, and looked at Asma more closely. In the last year she had blossomed. She was fourteen and of marriageable age – a woman now. Looking back, I think that, even then, she saw Baba for what he was.
‘Will Baba find you a husband in London?’ I asked.
Asma smiled. ‘Perhaps.’
‘But you said he wants you to finish your education there,’ I said, puzzled.
‘Yes. Can you believe that?’
I knew what she meant. It was almost unbelievable. On the one hand Baba treated us girls with such disdain, and on the other he wanted us to have a good education. I would never understand him.
‘I suppose he’ll look for a husband when I’m through school,’ she said.
I snuggled nearer her, suddenly very glad of her presence.
‘Will it be very different over there?’
Asma nodded. ‘Of course it will be very different, you silly girl. You’ve seen all the photos Baba brought back, you’ve seen pictures on the television. You know what it’s going to be like. Khalil and Imran are always going on about it.’
‘Huh!’ I said. I was fed up with hearing about London from my two brothers. They kept bragging about their new experiences, their schools and their new friends. They spoke good English now and sometimes they spoke to each other in English – really fast, so that Asma and I couldn’t understand them. They had become so arrogant. I didn’t want to take their word for anything. I wanted to see for myself, experience everything for myself, make my own observations. Nothing they said to me really sank in because I wasn’t there. I tried to imagine how our house would look, how we would live, what the neighbours would be like, and my new school.
But I gave up. It was too hard. Pictures on the television, photos and descriptions from the boys were not enough. I couldn’t make that leap of imagination.
I moved away from Asma and turned to Ammi. I took her hand in mine. ‘It will be good, Ammi. You’ll see.’
She said nothing, just squeezed my hand and then turned back towards the window, but not before I saw the tears in her eyes.
Poor Ammi. How she would miss her friends and relatives in the village, and how she would yearn for those reassuring, ever-present mountains. Would she ever be able to learn a new language and a new way of life?
Once we had been in the air for a while, I started to enjoy the flight. I kept sneaking looks at the other passengers and wondering about their lives. Most of them were Pakistani. Were they all going to live in England or were they just visiting? And what of the Westerners? How long had they been in my country? Were they business people or tourists? What had they been doing there?
Being served with our own little trays of food was fun, and even going to the toilet was an adventure. Once I discovered where it was, I trotted back and forth several times. I’d never seen a flushing toilet before and the first time I pressed the knob, as instructed by Imran, the loud whoosh took me by surprise and I leapt back in fright and hit my back against the door.
The hours went by and the novelty began to wear off. We grew bored and restless. Asma and I both dozed a little but I don’t think Ammi did. She spent most of the journey sitting upright in her seat, staring ahead.
Then at last the aeroplane started t
o make its descent. Ammi closed her eyes again and put her hands over her ears.
‘They hurt,’ she muttered.
Khalil screwed round from the seat in front. ‘If your ears hurt, Ammi, keep swallowing,’ he said.
How irritating he is, I thought. But he was right. It did help.
As we flew lower and lower, I leaned over Ammi trying to see out of the window, but it was gloomy and cloudy and it wasn’t until we were much lower that I could make out the buildings and lights and roadways beneath us. And as the plane touched down and we lurched eventually to a standstill, Ammi finally opened her eyes and let out a huge sigh.
‘Allah be praised,’ she whispered, and smiled at me.
Baba was irritable as he shuffled us all through Passport Control and he seemed diminished when he spoke to the officer at the desk. I’d never seen him like this, obsequious and oily. I watched him closely as he pretended to understand what was being said. He smiled and nodded constantly, wringing his hands. Eventually, Imran stepped forward and answered the questions for him, translating them back into Pushtu. Baba continued to smile until we had passed through Immigration and then he scowled at the humiliation of it all and strode ahead, leaving us to scuttle in his wake.
It was then I realised that he spoke very little English. All these years in England, and he hardly spoke the language!
Was he always like this? Was he only overbearing on his own home ground? This was a Baba I didn’t recognise.
We stuck close together in the arrivals hall. Only the boys seemed confident. Baba blustered and sweated and looked more and more uneasy. The boys hauled our cases off the carousel and on to trolleys and at last we made it through Customs.
Then, as we came out, there were even more people. It seemed that half of Pakistan was there to greet their relatives. We were jostled and elbowed as we stared helplessly about, looking for the uncles and aunties who were supposed to meet us.
‘Where are they, Baba?’ I asked.
Baba was wiping his face with his sleeve. ‘Be quiet, girl!’ he snapped.
‘There! There they are,’ shouted Khalil, pointing.
And then, for the first time, Ammi smiled. A big, wide smile as she waved and started running towards them.
I was swept up in the rush and unknown arms were hugging me. ‘So this is little Halima! And Asma – how pretty she is! How grown-up. We’ll soon be finding a husband for her!’
I looked up at the sea of faces surrounding me, all speaking Pushtu. We could have been back in Pakistan.
Eventually, we disentangled ourselves and rolled our trolleys out of the building and over to the multi-storey carpark. I tucked a stray curl of hair beneath my headscarf and looked up towards the leaden sky.
Although there had been a big crowd of relatives to greet us when we arrived, somehow we all fitted into three cars. Imran got into the front seat with one of the uncles and I squeezed in behind with Ammi and Asma. ‘See, girls,’ said Imran, turning round to grin at us. ‘Every uncle has a car of his own.’
We nodded, suitably impressed.
‘And now,’ he continued. ‘I’ll show you our house.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Another journey! And still squeezed in beside Ammi. I was very confused about all the uncles and aunties, but whichever uncle it was drove confidently, stopping and starting, weaving in and out. I’d never seen so many cars and buses and lorries, even in Mardan.
When we had been driving for nearly an hour, mostly in heavy traffic, I said to Imran, ‘Are we still in London?’
The uncle heard me and laughed. ‘It is a huge city, Halima, and the airport is right the other side from where you are going to live, in Walthamstow.’
Walthamstow. I tried to pronounce the word but I couldn’t get my lips round it.
The uncle laughed again. He was a fat, jolly man. ‘Good try, Halima. We’ll be there soon.’
I settled back in the seat and continued to stare out of the window. Although it was summer time, there was no sun. No blue sky. No mountains. Just streets and houses and shops.
‘Ah!’ Ammi pointed to a mosque, sitting between two other buildings. ‘Is this our mosque, uncle?’
The uncle nodded. ‘It is the one we go to.’
Then, suddenly, Imran called out, ‘The next street, Ammi. The next street is where we live.’
We all craned forward and the car slowed down to turn. I noticed shops nearby, all sorts of shops, many of them selling the sort of goods we had at home in Pakistan. I also noticed women in headscarves, women who looked no different from Ammi.
Ammi was beginning to relax. Here were things she understood. Her face brightened.
‘There’s a market here twice a week,’ said Imran. ‘Fruit and meat and vegetables.’
‘But will they understand us?’ asked Ammi.
‘Yeah. There are lots of Pushtu and Urdu speakers round here. And anyway, you’ll soon learn English.’
‘But Baba doesn’t speak much English, does he?’ I asked.
Imran frowned. ‘Enough,’ he said shortly.
Then the car stopped outside a narrow house with a door which opened out on to the street. Ammi, Asma and I stared up at it.
Baba had bought the house for us just before he left for Pakistan. Before that, he and the boys had been living with one of the uncles.
‘We shall be together at last,’ sighed Ammi.
A horn honked and one of the other cars drew up behind us, then the third behind that. Eveyone spilled out on to the pavement and began talking and gesticulating and getting out the luggage.
Baba unlocked the front door and ushered us in. Excitedly, Ammi, Asma and I ran in and out of the rooms and up and down the stairs.
‘Girls, this is your room,’ said Baba, opening a door off the upstairs landing.
Asma looked disappointed. ‘Do we have to share, Baba?’
Baba frowned. ‘Ungrateful girl,’ he said. ‘All these years I have been living with the uncles to save money, and now you complain when I have bought you a house.’
‘Sorry, Baba.’
I looked at Asma. She was blushing. She hated it when Baba was angry. She would do anything to keep the peace. And I felt for her even more when we saw that Imran and Khalil had a bedroom each.
‘The boys need quiet to study,’ said Baba.
And we girls don’t? I thought.
The kitchen was smaller than I’d imagined but it was already well stocked and the aunties had been busy cooking food for our arrival.
Ammi clapped her hands together. ‘Oh, those smells,’ she said. ‘They remind me of home.’
Baba scowled at her. ‘This is your home now.’
‘Of course,’ said Ammi quietly.
We all realised how hungry we were when we sat down to pumpkin soup followed by pokara. Everyone was talking at once. Ammi was animated again, relieved to be amongst her own. There were offers of help from all sides.
‘I’ll take you to the market and show you the shops,’ said one auntie.
‘And tomorrow, girls, I’ll show you where your schools are,’ said another. ‘Halima can walk to her primary school. It is just at the end of the road. And Asma will take the bus.’
Baba cleared his throat. ‘Asma, some of your cousins are already pupils at the school. It is for girls only.’
‘A very good school,’ chipped in another auntie. ‘And you don’t have to pay.’
Asma nodded and smiled.
Baba leant back in his chair. Now that he had eaten, his temper had improved.
‘Yes,’ he said, belching. ‘All my children will have an excellent education, God willing.’
‘How lucky they are,’ said Ammi.
There was no trace of irony in her voice but I couldn’t help thinking how little education she herself had had. She was already married and helping to run a house at thirteen, and pregnant with Khalil at fourteen.
CHAPTER FIVE
And so our life in England began.
There were a few more weeks to go before the start of the new school year and during that time we got to know the London cousins. We visited relations and the aunties took Ammi, Asma and me around the shops and to the mosque. And most weekends, the aunties and uncles showed us different parts of London. Once they took us to the West End, and we rode on an open-top bus.
Ammi was so excited. ‘Look, children!’ she said, pointing to Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. ‘Look! We saw those places on television back in the village!’
Sometimes we went to the cinema with some of the aunties, but we were only allowed to see the films of which Baba approved; I loved the warmth and darkness of the cinema and the magic of the stories they showed.
And several times we all went out to eat, crowding into a big local restaurant where nearly all the people were Pakistani like us, and the food a version of what we had been used to back in the village.
In some ways, life was completely different. The everyday smells were different, the skies were greyer and there were no fields, orchards, ancient tractors or buffaloes – and certainly no mountains! But inside the house, Ammi created a mini Pakistan. Smells, ornaments, fabrics – they were all familiar friends.
Ammi was worried that she’d never make herself understood when she went shopping. At first, Asma and I always went with her if the aunties weren’t around. But soon she became more confident.
‘The people in the shops all speak our language,’ she said, beaming.
Asma laughed. ‘That’s because you only go to the shops the aunties show you, Ammi.’
We saw our relations most of the time and only went to the shops where they shopped. It was easy enough to get by, but even so, every day we came across something that was new to us.
When we visited the local park, I was amazed at the way people treated their dogs. They were well cared for and people played games with them. Back in our village, no one had taken much notice of dogs. They were scruffy, mangy things. There, only the important animals – the buffaloes and goats – were well looked after.
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