I’m standing in front of one of the shelves where my nightmare is staring at me: making a decision. After a couple of weeks struggling with my hair-tips, I had finally decided to change my shampoo. Now standing in front of all those names and colours, not knowing which one I could trust. Since loosing a good proportion of my hair a couple of years ago I have become super sensitive about choosing shampoos and conditioners. People tell me about products they use and sometimes recommend them to me. I thank them but don’t tell them that my hair is a different story. My feet are falling asleep, how long have I been here? I feel lost.
I suddenly realise I’m not alone. A woman is standing next to me and she is talking to me. She has brown eyes, with three deep wrinkles. She smiles at me and repeats:
-Arabi?
Oh, she wants to know if I speak Arabic, well, I guess I do, right? I mean all those years in the school where they made us…
I search my brain’s language department. Where are those things I read all those years? How many hours? Why don’t I remember anything? Oh, wait! I’m remembering something. A word: Azhabo, which means, er, I go. “Very useful, thanks a lot!” I say sarcastically to myself.
-No, but I speak a little Swedish, I say finally. Do you need help with something?
She shakes her head, and smiles at me shyly. She must be new in Sweden, I think, probably still in the queue for the SFI classes. One usually has to wait a couple of months for a seat after the registration. She explains something in Arabic, and the only thing I understand is her modest smile and her confusion, which of course we have in common.
-Sorry, I don’t…
She nods, smiles at me one last time, turns around and leaves.
I’m still standing in front of all those names and colours, but I’m not really there anymore. I feel lost.
http://witzenbe.wixsite.com/refugeecrisis2/single-post/2015/10/05/Important-Decisions
Experience of this border
Location of border
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Malmö, Sweden