Clearly I have chosen the wrong shoes for this adventure, my boots were soaked and I hadn’t even been outside the house for two minutes. It is musty and wet, the rain still dripping, harmoniously if I might add, off tin rooftops onto the already saturated sidewalk. Both Asma and Zakariyya have blatantly refused to let me hold their hand and I feel like a lost mute that has no sense of direction and don’t have a clue where to head next. To top it off, their mom, Auntie Raaliyo, can only speak a handful of English words, the other handful is reserved for my poor Somali vocabulary, incase you were wondering where that went.
So we’re on our way to Lewisham hospital to visit Deeqo, my husbands sister who just had her baby girl, Safiyah. Chugging along with the kids taking turns slipping we made our way to a convenience store, or a corner shop (as Amina chimed in while watching me type this entry) where we picked up some juice and other small things, unfortunately he was out of daily bus passes. We went to the bus stop and caught one headed toward Lewisham. We passed a few stops one of them being PC World, big place, I’ll stop by there some day.
Then we made our way off the bus at the hospital that wasn’t really the building we think it to be but more like a compound with small connecting roads. In we went, I was naturally walking ahead because I am a fast walker, then reading the signs and confirming with Auntie Raaliyo’s nods, I began heading towards the Green Zone: Maternity Ward. There were pencil drawn portraits of ugly, and probably dead judging by their fashion sense, white people on the walls. That’s not the interesting part, its that they were screwed to the walls, 4 screws each. The idea that someone would want to steal such a hideous piece was mind-boggling.
Five stories higher we made it to Deeqo’s room where she lies in bed looking small and helpless. The baby on her lap, looking quite relaxed. Across from her was a teenage girl balled up in her blanket fast asleep. The other beds empty, a nurse came in and woke the girl asking her if she was done eating, “ I haven’t eaten yet, I will.” Then the nurse exclaimed rudely, “I’m cleaning up in half an hour, if you want it eat it.” She turned over and went back to sleep. Deeqo asked me if I was well and how I liked London. I answered politely and briefly.
Minutes later the balled up blonde had two visitors come in, joined by two more blonds in school uniforms. One of them a lady in her 40s clearly a drinker and a smoker the other a young man I assume to be the baby’s father. The girl didn’t want them there, “Leave me alone!” she moaned the mother responded in an inaudible voice urging another, “Just leave me alone.” Then she sprung out of bed and realized she was attached to an IV and screamed, “just cut it”.
After a few more minutes of awkward silence and two trips to the bathroom with Zakariyya and Asmaa, Auntie Raaliyo suggested that we get back to the house. Deeqo said her goodbyes and we headed out. On our way out of the room we passed the blonde’s bed, now empty, and walked through the double doors. We got on the elevator only to get out on the ground floor back out into the musty rain. It felt like about 40 degrees outside, and Sara Barelleis’s “Bottle It Up” began playing in my head as we began walking along. I saw the blonde’s visitors ahead of us, and in a corner to the right I saw the blonde herself. She was standing with her presumed “baby daddy” holding her IV in his hands, with her still attached to it. She was taking a smoke and looking troubled and relieved all at the same time, we headed on for the main road.
We stop, yet again, in a corner shop to pick up some more odds and ends – aka bits and bobs – paper towels, salt, bleach and fish sticks to be exact. When we got up to the register two gentlemen came into the shop one of them singing loudly “ They way I love you… Darlin’..” The other not as drunk but both reeking heavily of alcohol, told him to calm down, “were just here for the alcohol and were leaving”. “The way I… Love you… Darlin’…” He sang, his voice swelling to screaming this time, then he shoved his buddy and stumbled back a few steps from the impact. The man chuckled in response, “There’s no need to get violent mate, we don’t want any trouble, why don’t you sing me another song?” “You…Darling…” the other words trailed off as we made our way out of the shop.
We caught our bus and were home in a few minutes, then we walked into the neighborhood Asma grabbed the mail flap and knocked the door a few times, their neighbor on the left remarked to her “I like your shoes, their all shiny and stuff”, she stomped her foot again, queuing then to light up, as if to affirm that they were worthy of admiration. Then Zakariyya stuck out his foot and said “shoes” the man said, “Yes yours are nice as well.”
