Last week, Blessing walked through the door holding an envelope.  “I found this under the gate,” she said as she handed it to me.  Inside was a letter, written in careful Arabic script and at the bottom “Thank you” was written in English.  Sitting alongside my husband, we tried our best to read it and came up with this rough translation (I have since lost the letter, unfortunately, so this is a very rough remembrance, relying on my shaky memory):

We are your two friends that live close to you.  We would like to get to know you.  We will come to visit you tomorrow at 4 o’clock.  We hope that this visit is not an inconvenience, and you will not think this a waste of time. 

Thank you

I, at first, missed the “we are two friends” (in the feminine) so I was not sure how many people would be coming and if they would be of mixed gender, male only, or female only.  I took it as a remarkable sign of having adjusted to the culture when I just shrugged my shoulders and set about preparing tea for the next day.  I made Greek pizza, a salmon crepe roll and two-layer chocolate cake with cherry filling.  Again, I prepped the living room by stocking the low level tables with spotless glasses, water bottles, and tissue (the ever present staple).  As the hour of 4 approached, I brought out the juice from the back fridge and started boiling the tea.  Shortly after the tea was finished, the front gate buzzer sounded; my husband and I geared ourselves up for the unknown.  Would it be an entire family?  Was it one of the influential households from nearby that we had not yet had the pleasure of meeting?  Would I be sitting for hours with people that I found to be a chore to spend time with?  The suspense was excruciating.

The gate creaked open and two young faces peeked through.  I motioned for them to come to the front door, and ducked back inside to give my husband the update: two young girls, alone.  It would not be appropriate for him to sit with us.  He mouthed a sincere “I’m sorry” as he quietly bowed out of the room and closed the door. 

Again, facing my guests, I hid my disappointment with a wide smile and welcomed them into my home.  Going through the basic introductions, I learned that they were ages 13 and 14. 

The fourteen year old girl lives across the way from us, on the other face of the mountain.  I wanted to exclaim, “Oh, you live in the crazy lady house!”  There was a time when a crazy woman would stand outside and yell to the masses, it seemed.  She would go on for hours, but we didn’t understand a word of her ongoing rants.  Catching my tongue in time, I didn’t share my knowledge of the potential family shame, but I am curious to know what has happened to crazy lady.  It’s been months since we’ve witnessed a tirade. 

The 13 year old lives behind us in a house that can not be seen from any of our windows.  It would be easy to find her home, though, as she said that she lives beside the only mosque on that street. 

The girls said that they had been watching us for some time – finding it interesting to watch our children play in the garden.  I made a joke about us being like a television show, to which they twittered nervously.  The 14 year old girl confessed that they had thought I was Pakistani.  This information makes me feel much more comfortable about being in my garden uncovered.  If they think I’m Pakistani, they obviously can not see me very clearly.  I am the palest Pakistani around!

The girls said that they would like to practice their English with me.  But when I tried to say some things to them in English, they ducked their heads nervously and giggled.  It was a great practice time for me in Arabic, one that I think I weathered through with some level of success. 

Thankfully, the girls did not stay too long.  They took their leave by 6 p.m. in order to be home in time for prayer and before the sun set.  After they disappeared through the gate, I sat on the balcony to watch for the one girl’s arrival home, just to make sure that she got home safely.  As I waited, I was witness to one of the most powerfully beautiful sunsets.  I didn’t take any pictures because I didn’t think I would do it justice.  Instead, I took the moments in as a fleeting gift. 

After some time, I saw the dark figure of my new, young friend arriving home, skipping up the steps.  I’m sure that I’ve seen her since, standing on the lookout, facing towards us.  I resist the urge to wave to her, for I know it would be a shameful display, perhaps misinterpreted by another as being for him.  She has made contact with me once since, inviting me to visit her family.  My schedule did not permit me to visit at that time, but I look forward to meeting them soon in the future. 

I admire the courage of these girls.  Writing a letter to express the desire to begin relationship.  Would I have done the same to a new immigrant in my home country?  I’m ashamed to say that I don’t think that I would have.  As much as the past week has shown me how evil some can be, I have stronger examples that have taught me positive lessons that I plan to carry with me forever.