In a big city where millions of people resided and spoke 300 different languages a very special girl lived - she spoke a language no one could speak or understand, except for her close family. She was very smart and had a beautiful smile that made her and other peopleâs faces light up. But she was always sad on the inside - wherever she went and to whomever she spoke, she was ignored and overlooked. People thought she was either disturbed, not worthy of attention or simply silly. The girlâs heart was filled with sadness and disappointment. She was slowly getting sick from how people treated her: her heart was constantly aching, her head was dizzy, and she sometimes had diffulty breathing. A girl next door was her only friend - they communicated through gestures, each speaking her own language.
At school, the girl just sat there, staring at all the words the teachers wrote on the boardâwords she could not understand, try as she might. Drawings and illustrations were much better and easier for her to comprehend - she was very good at drawing and could copy them beautifully into her notebook. Sometimes other children looked at them but what they said about them so she had no idea.
Each day she went for a walk in a nearby park and there in the playground she tried to make friends. She said "Hello! Can I join you?" in her own language to a group of children playing nearby only to watch them grow confused and run away from her. Each week she went to the library and asked for a book only to be met with a blank stare from the librarian. Each month she went to the cinema but could never explain to the ticket person which film she wanted to see and what show time.
Her frustration was huge, her sadness overwhelming. She decided to give up and never, absolutely never try to speak to anyone else.
Then one spring day where all the trees were in bloom and all flowers were slowly waking up, she went to the shop - she always went there when she wanted fruit or sweets but never said anything to the shop assistants because she knew there was no point. That day a new person was behind the till - someone the girl had never seen before: the woman was quite old and seemed friendly â like a grandmother with eight grandchildren she loved dearly. She gave the impression of someone who baked delicious cakes for her family, full of juicy apples, spiced with a lot of aromatic cinnamon and maybe some ginger, too, to make their tongues tingle a bit. The girl got her blueberries and oranges, because she thought their colours went well together on the plate and in her mouth. It was time to pay for them.
She kept on blinking, her lips unmoving, while the woman behind the till started chatting her up. Finally, the girl, encouraged by the older womanâs warm smile, whispered in her own tongue: âI donât speak your languageâŚ.,â and embarrassed quickly looked down on the tiled floor. To this the cashier replied, much to the girlâs surprise, in the language the girl knew so well: âOf course you do but you have not met people who knew it too or wanted to learn it for you! I know quite a few people for whom this is âtheirâ language and by that I mean my daughters and their partners, their children, and my husband. And we talk a lot! We came here from far away, from a place where everyone speaks this language.â She then looked at the girlâs face tenderly - it brightened up and seemed very different to the face she saw two minutes ago.
âYou should come and visit us. Please take your mummy and daddy with you. The address is 20 Green Street - the tiny red house with lots of windows and a big plum tree in front of it. I will make an apple pie. Shall we say 4:30 tomorrow afternoon?â She knew little girls could be rather impatient and the sooner the meeting took place, the better. The girl nodded, more by the force of habit than shyness about speaking her own language again in public. She was very surprised and pleased about meeting the cashier who made her feel much less lonely. She ran back to her house to share the news with her family. When she arrived it was supper time and her family got all together around the kitchen table: her mummy and daddy, her grandma, her little brother, and a turtle called Harris. The girl told them all about her encounter at the shop and the invitation. Everyone was astounded and happy - Harris even stopped eating her lettuce on seeing the family rejoice so much. The matter was settled: the girl would go tomorrow with her parents to visit the woman she had met at the shop and her family.
When the day came and it was almost time to go, the little girl hugged her mummy and daddy. She told them how much she struggled with not knowing anyone who spoke her language apart from them, and how sad and lonely it made her feel. They hugged her back and said they were sure she would one day meet someone who could speak her language, and that they were there for her whenever she felt sad about it, or about anything else. They shared her joy at finding more people like them. And then they departed.
On arriving at the old womanâs house, everything was set for the small party: delicious cakes, fruit juice, tea for the adults, and little presents for all the children. The girl was shy at first but very quickly became friends with the old womanâs grandchildren: two girls and three boys, all mischievous, all venturesome. They played house in the garden and pretended they ran a gardening centre and described plants to their customers in the most fantastical ways - there was a fire plant, a crocodile cucumber, and a crystal creeper. She was happy at last and spent a lovely afternoon while her parents talked to their heartâs content with the old woman and her daughter, sharing experiences and memories of the land they had left behind.
From that day onward, the little girl frequently visited the old womanâs house and played with the other children, her new friends - they talked, laughed, and invented all sorts of games. After meeting them, she never ever felt lonely again and very soon visited the town in which her language was spoken all of the time, and where she returned many a time.
Dedicated to all those who in their pilgrimages face frequent rejections, unfair treatment, loneliness, and sadness. âĄ