Storytelling Sunday

                                                        

                
This is not my story, but it deserves to be told, especially at this time of year.

You may know that I teach English to Speakers of Other Languages, many of whom are Muslims. More and more, in recent years,  the British Government has been misguidedly trying to avoid giving offence to non-Christians by denying the religious significance of Christmas. However, I have never had a Muslim student who is offended by my Christianity. In fact, I have received more Christmas cards (and gifts, including bottles of wine) from my Pakistani students than any other ethnic group I teach.

My story concerns a 24-year old Saudi woman, whose name I am sorry to say I have forgotten. I'll call her Saha.

Several years ago, I was teaching in a private language school and running the children's summer school programme. The school was exclusive and expensive and the management rubbed their hands in glee when an eminent Saudi family signed up their 5 children for 3 weeks.

They arrived with their father and mother, who wore a black veil from head to toe. With her eyes cast down, she did not speak a word and left her husband to make all the arrangements. Then he returned home. However, she was staying with the children as the youngest was below our minimum age.

As soon as he left, Saha came to me and asked if she could join the English classes as well. I had no idea she spoke even a word of English, but of course I agreed.  Asking the usual questions to assess her level of English I found out that aged 24, she was a second wife (his first wife lived with them) and already had 5 children. She was worried that her husband was considering taking a 3rd and that would make her life more difficult.

I placed Saha in an adult intermediate class and over the next 3 weeks, she joined in all the summer school activities. Still wearing her full length black veil, she ice-skated, played football, watched cartoons and visited museums. She had the time of her life and was so friendly and open with me that I know she couldn't wait to return  the following year.

Fast forward a year to the beginning of July. I was looking foward to meeting Saha again. However neither she nor any of their chidlren came back to Summer School. I don't know, of course, but my gut feeling is that she enjoyed herself too much and that her husband disapproved. I hope I'm wrong.

For more Sunday-told Stories, go and see Sian at High in the Sky