AFGHAN GIRLS

‘Are they just plants or are they food?’ says the second eldest girl next door. She looks at my patio with lobelias, petunias, geranium taking up the space I had meant to sit in and the night scented stock and jasmine making the night fragrant and the girls are not impressed. My two buckets with potatoes growing in them do impress them. I give them a flowerpot with a small potato to grow and they bring it out and demand a progress report every time they see me. I was away for a week and it still hasn’t appeared above the parapet of the pot – I suspect Nadia who is seven has been digging it up to look.
That was last summer. Now spring has finally arrived and I am back home and sitting in the garden so I expect more questions about how to grow vegetables. Already there are questions about my dog, who is in Greenwich having a lovely time. I tell them she is with my friend and yes I do miss her. I have nobody to talk to. 'Do dogs talk?' she asks, 'No but they listen.' 'Do they understand?' she asks, 'Probably not.' I say and we laugh. Anyway I regularly talk to old ladies I have known for 25 or more years, they speak Punjabi or Urdu, I speak English we touch hands and we communicate, I think!
When my partner of many years died, and when I was going out of my mind with grief a guy called Soucha took me to his father George 's funeral at the Gurdwara and I wept with the other Sikh women. I regard this as an extreme act of kindness. The two men had been drinking buddies and both died in the same ward within days of each other. 'Because my (Irish) guy always talked to his mum.' Soucha said.
And he was well got in the area,
When the Afghan family moved in a couple of years ago there were five girls, then a boy was born and now there is another one. The boys must be some of the most adored babies in the world the older sisters cuddle and kiss them almost non stop. The result seems to be that they are adorable. So much for 'spoiling' eh?

The sisters are amazed that I live alone in my house, a two up two down terrace. My friend comes to stay weekends and they are puzzled by our relationship – now they call her ‘the other mummy’. Which is about right really, she is my lover, not included in their repertory obviously. I am a subject of some wonder to the local community I expect. The Nepalese woman who braids my eyebrows for £3 worries about my welfare, 'Who looks after you, who cooks for you? I can make food for you.' I don't take her up on this because of the limitations of conversation and my lack of time.

When the old lady next door moved into sheltered accommodation and the Iranian landlord told me the new people had five kids I was worried about noise. He didn't tell me they were Afghanis and if he had it wouldn't have meant much to me. I expect I am fairly typical in the fact that my knowledge of Afghanistan, until recently, was limited to the fact that it had never been invaded successfully and that their major export was heroin. Now the Taliban have been added to my sum of knowledge, all hazy, all with undue influence from the media. Now I hear daily news of the killing of people, soldiers and civilians and I find it hard to relate to these facts, the guy next door is a taxi driver who loves his family and is always friendly.
When I went to see the new baby it was like going into what I imagine an Afghan house to be with cushions on the floor and a pretty young mum holding a beautiful new child.
These kids delight me though I sometimes hide from them with my Saturday paper in hand. But not for long, they intrigue me and it is mutual. A nine year old reads to the others with perfect pronunciation and the second girl writes stuff that would have made me very happy when I taught creative writing to adults,English is their second or third language. The youngest girl is still at the 'Why' stage of development but she is funny, bright and cheeky and daughter number one tells her off..
I expect this is why I feel we should know how many Afghans are killed and we should mourn them too, I do hope my neighbours don't count me as in agreement with our involvment in the occupation of their country!