What problems?

Here we are then blogspotters, back again after a short absence due to a number of problems. Back also is the man-child who, yet again, was transported home from the land of the sheep; although not without some difficulties on my part. You’d think I’d be used to that bridge by now. Not so: a major panic attack on the way over sent my body into melt-down resulting in a small Fiesta being driven at minus two miles an hour down the middle lane with hazard lights flashing. On landing in Wales, I had to park on the hard shoulder and drink a bottle of Rescue Remedy before attempting the rest of the trip.

Jack, of course, had forgotten I was coming, or forgotten not to go out the night before, or forgotten to set his alarm, or forgotten to get up when it went off or some or all of the above. Whilst waiting for him to have a shower, I sat on the edge of his bed and looked around for something to clean. It wasn’t difficult. Once secured in the car, I mentioned the dreadful experience on the bridge and asked him to talk me over it on the way back. He agreed willingly and promptly fell asleep. The bridge loomed so I awoke my companion and instructed him to start talking with a view to taking my mind off things. This he managed. The conversation went along the lines of I don’t know why you’re so scared, why don’t you look at the view and why don’t you hurry up and overtake that lorry. Then he went back to sleep.

A student came to see me with a small problem with some work and told me about a walk she’d taken with her family. The walk had taken some time. First of all, they walked from Rwanda to Burundi. They had quite a nice house in Burundi which was next door to a brand new church. Sometimes, they had visitors. These were rebels who came into the house and sat the children on their laps whilst they rested their guns on the table and talked unpleasantly with the parents. At night, the family lay in their beds and listened to the sounds of people being shot and their bodies dumped in the church next door. One night, one of those who had been shot didn’t die and because they could be heard calling for help, my student’s father went out with water. For this act of kindness, he was reported so the family had to take another trip.

This time, they walked to Zaire. The mother, who was heavily pregnant, had a particularly difficult time. Sometimes, the children had to literally push her just to keep her moving. Part of the journey was taken over mountains which were covered in forestation and always clothed in fog. It was difficult to see other people but they often heard the cries of small lost children who had been abandoned by their parents. Zaire did not welcome them. In fact, my student was poisoned and nearly died. Her mother noticed that all the birds were leaving the country. The mother believed that when birds leave it is because war is coming. So the family left Zaire and the war began two weeks later.

There were other elements to this story but they largely involve dead people. When my student arrived in England she was eleven years old and had never been to school. Now she speaks five languages and has almost completed her law degree.
What bridge?