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Authors: Benjamin Zephaniah
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of the children’s home, but he couldn’t help thinking about the bigger picture. ‘How long will I be staying here for?’ he asked.
‘No one can say, Alem. We could trace members of your family tomorrow.’
‘I haven’t got any family here,’ Alem interrupted quickly.
‘OK, but your parents could turn up tomorrow, or the fighting could stop tomorrow; we just don’t know. First of all we must make sure that you’re safe and secure, then we will look further into your case.’
Early that evening Alem was taken back to the Fitzgeralds’ household, where he received a lively welcome from Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald but a more cautious one from Ruth.
Alem spent the first two weeks doing nothing but watching television and reading books. Mr Fitzgerald hardly ever left the house, except to go to the shops with Mrs Fitzgerald. Ruth didn’t talk to him much;she spent most of her time in her room listening to Brit-pop bands complaining about love and the system, or patrolling the streets with her girl gang. Alem could sense a deep unhappiness about her.
He would get quietly excited when he walked the streets and saw other Ethiopians and Eritreans. He could identify East Africans easily but they didn’t seem to acknowledge him in any way. It didn’t take long for him to realise that this was not malicious, it was simply the way that people lived in London; everybody was minding their own business. There were many Africans and he would go nowhere and do nothing if he was to have a conversation with every one that he saw.
He was slowly getting used to the food, but he didn’t find it inspiring. It was very much the meat-and-two-veg type, but the Fitzgeralds did experiment sometimes and gravy was always available to make the food wet. He was bought warm clothes with the financial allowance that was given for him. Sheila phoned regularly and visited them twice, and on one occasion she brought Mariam along with her. Alem was doing fine but he did lack one crucial thing, which he brought to the attention of the Fitzgeralds over the remains of an evening meal.
‘Do you think that it’s possible for me to go to school here?’
‘Of course,’ replied Mrs Fitzgerald. ‘In fact, I didhave a word with Sheila about that and she said that she had already spoken to the local school and that we should apply when you have settled in. We can go any time, they’re expecting us.’
‘I have settled in,’ Alem said gleefully.
‘You can say that again,’ said Mr Fitzgerald, nodding in the direction of Alem’s empty plate. ‘Now would you like a cup of tea?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Biscuits?’
‘Yes, please.’ Alem had developed a strong liking for biscuits, especially the Bourbon type, but he wasn’t keen on tea.
Ruth picked seedless grapes from a large bunch on the table in the dining room. Alem stretched his arm out, holding the plate of biscuits in her direction.
‘Would you like a biscuit, Ruth?’
‘No,’ she said, staring into the grapes.
He asked another question in an attempt to strike up a conversation. ‘Do you like biscuits?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘In Africa we have very strong thick coffee, do you have that here?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ruth replied.
‘What I have noticed in England is that so many people drink tea; everywhere you go, people ask if you want a cup of tea. We have tea back home but here people drink it every five minutes, and teahere is so full of milk.’
‘So what?’ Ruth answered abruptly. She stood up and stormed out of the dining room.
Mrs Fitzgerald shouted, ‘Ruth, you come back here now!’
Ruth walked slowly back into the room. ‘What’s wrong now?’
‘You know what’s wrong,’ Mrs Fitzgerald said. ‘Why are you speaking to Alem like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like that, all rude and abrupt. Have some manners!’
‘I’m not rude and abrupt – anyway I’m not feeling well, I have to go to the bathroom,’ she said as she started to walk out.
Mrs
‘No one can say, Alem. We could trace members of your family tomorrow.’
‘I haven’t got any family here,’ Alem interrupted quickly.
‘OK, but your parents could turn up tomorrow, or the fighting could stop tomorrow; we just don’t know. First of all we must make sure that you’re safe and secure, then we will look further into your case.’
Early that evening Alem was taken back to the Fitzgeralds’ household, where he received a lively welcome from Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald but a more cautious one from Ruth.
Alem spent the first two weeks doing nothing but watching television and reading books. Mr Fitzgerald hardly ever left the house, except to go to the shops with Mrs Fitzgerald. Ruth didn’t talk to him much;she spent most of her time in her room listening to Brit-pop bands complaining about love and the system, or patrolling the streets with her girl gang. Alem could sense a deep unhappiness about her.
He would get quietly excited when he walked the streets and saw other Ethiopians and Eritreans. He could identify East Africans easily but they didn’t seem to acknowledge him in any way. It didn’t take long for him to realise that this was not malicious, it was simply the way that people lived in London; everybody was minding their own business. There were many Africans and he would go nowhere and do nothing if he was to have a conversation with every one that he saw.
He was slowly getting used to the food, but he didn’t find it inspiring. It was very much the meat-and-two-veg type, but the Fitzgeralds did experiment sometimes and gravy was always available to make the food wet. He was bought warm clothes with the financial allowance that was given for him. Sheila phoned regularly and visited them twice, and on one occasion she brought Mariam along with her. Alem was doing fine but he did lack one crucial thing, which he brought to the attention of the Fitzgeralds over the remains of an evening meal.
‘Do you think that it’s possible for me to go to school here?’
‘Of course,’ replied Mrs Fitzgerald. ‘In fact, I didhave a word with Sheila about that and she said that she had already spoken to the local school and that we should apply when you have settled in. We can go any time, they’re expecting us.’
‘I have settled in,’ Alem said gleefully.
‘You can say that again,’ said Mr Fitzgerald, nodding in the direction of Alem’s empty plate. ‘Now would you like a cup of tea?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Biscuits?’
‘Yes, please.’ Alem had developed a strong liking for biscuits, especially the Bourbon type, but he wasn’t keen on tea.
Ruth picked seedless grapes from a large bunch on the table in the dining room. Alem stretched his arm out, holding the plate of biscuits in her direction.
‘Would you like a biscuit, Ruth?’
‘No,’ she said, staring into the grapes.
He asked another question in an attempt to strike up a conversation. ‘Do you like biscuits?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘In Africa we have very strong thick coffee, do you have that here?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ruth replied.
‘What I have noticed in England is that so many people drink tea; everywhere you go, people ask if you want a cup of tea. We have tea back home but here people drink it every five minutes, and teahere is so full of milk.’
‘So what?’ Ruth answered abruptly. She stood up and stormed out of the dining room.
Mrs Fitzgerald shouted, ‘Ruth, you come back here now!’
Ruth walked slowly back into the room. ‘What’s wrong now?’
‘You know what’s wrong,’ Mrs Fitzgerald said. ‘Why are you speaking to Alem like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like that, all rude and abrupt. Have some manners!’
‘I’m not rude and abrupt – anyway I’m not feeling well, I have to go to the bathroom,’ she said as she started to walk out.
Mrs
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