After a week with a mild flu I return to the park to see my friends. As you'll remember they're a small group of best friends aged between 15-24, all have fled the war in Afghanistan, their common language is Pashto and some but not all are surviving together on the streets of Paris. Arriving I could see that others in the park have the same mild flu that practically everyone else in Paris and London is experiencing. My particular group of friends in the park haven't caught it yet but Alfar, 18, was worried that nobody could go to a hospital, a doctor or buy medicine because they don't have the correct papers. But wait, I said and for him to translate his friends symptoms. It's a mild flu and you can go to any pharmacy to buy what I took, I said, Aspégic. No need for a hospital or doctor, just look for a shop with a big green cross and this word "P.H.A.R.M.A.C.I.E" They didn't look convinced that a pharmacy is essentially a shop where anybody can buy cold and flu treatment without being asked for papers. Maybe this has happened to them I can't say but I offered to take one of them with me to the pharmacy to buy a box of Aspégic. Adamant that they didn't want my money (even if it only costs five euros) they refused. If these guys catch the cold I'm sure the story will change cos I had it and it wasn't fun! I'll be sure to take one there as I buy it so that they can see for themselves and will know what to do in the future. My sole goal is that these little dudes begin making sense of the city and its language for themselves and so learn how to stand on their own feet. Otherwise, what's the point?
And so on with the lessons of the day. Je suis, tu est, il est, nous sommes, vous etes, ils sont. Repeat. We follow with 'avoir', 'faire' and some sentences that illustrate the verbs. By total accident I had picked an incredibly ironic triplet of sentences and Luckman had a great time play-acting their humour against the backdrop of their situation. "Oui c'est ca, j'ai un livre, je suis en Paris and je fait mon lit," he continued with a smile, "in English this means yes, here I am in Paris, I'm reading my book and then I'm making my bed." He motions to the sun and the trees under which he reads his imaginary book and pats the park bench when he says the word 'bed'. We all laugh and I apologise, very embarrassed, I'm sorry guys, I didn't think! They're incredibly keen that I learn the Pashto for everything I teach them to the point of comical mishap for example when I taught them the word metro. A silent pause dispersed with exchanged looks came. And then, "actually we don't have a metro system in Kabul so there's no word, just train." These guys have told me just some of their tales of bombings, capture, torture and escape. And of relatives being killed so there's a dark joke in lots of the phrases I'm teaching them but we all get it, conversely we all get that they need to learn the basics of French grammar to survive. Twenty-four year old Mohammed wants me to go over and over the conjugations of "etre" with him until he feels more comfortable. As we wrangle over the meaning of the words 'gentil' and 'tranquille' one ventures that tranquille could be used if someone is being aggressive towards them. Definitely I say. Luckman acts out a situation, holds out his hands and says "je suis tranquille, nous sommes tranquille". Yes, I say, you got it. We're all tranquille on our bench with our books before later going off to make our beds, no problem.
(As I write this a huge thunder, rain and lightening storm is passing over Paris. I hope those guys are ok. I know that they sleep together, look after eachother and are pretty street smart. I have nothing to offer them except my language skills. It is what it is. Or, as little Mohammad says, opening his hands up to the purple sky with a smile, Inshallah)
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