Just a Song at Twilight

In which The Author meets another 'exotic' young friend

I have a reputation for finding myself in the company of young ladies of distinctly non-European heritage, purely through random acts of kindess. I met Shanara, the Dippy Bint, because she hadn't made a move to get off the train when we arrived at Aberdare one very hot summer evening about twelve years or so ago. I gave her a little nudge to wake her up when I passed her seat, just to save her the panic of realising she was on the way back to Cardiff. She swore she was just checking her eyelids for holes, but I knew better. We started chatting on the way from the station, and we've been friends ever since. She introduced me to Naj and Tas as well, and more than once I've been spotting walking through Aberdare with one or other of the Bangladeshi Weird Sisters.

I met Jamila in similar circumstances, when we were first-year students at Glamorgan. We were in a forensic science practical session, and the tiny Nigerian girl working behind me had no chance of putting her specimens in the wall-mounted fume cupboard. I offered to help her, she thanked me very shyly, and we went back to what we were doing. A couple of days later I spotted her bringing a tray from the cafeteria, looking for somewhere to sit in the very crowded student union. I waved over to her and invited her to share the small table I was sitting at. From then on, we had lunch together whenever we could, we worked on projects together into the evenings, and she once outraged a fair proportion of Aberdare by travelling here by train on a Saturday morning to meet me. Nearly ten years later, we're still in touch via social media.

The latest random act of kindness happened about two months ago, in Aberdare Library. A very pretty young Asian girl had started popping in now and again to (presumably) do some college work. She was casually dressed, with blonde highlights in her hair, and extremely Westernised. We'd said hello once or twice when she was setting up her laptop on the other side of the table, but that was as far as anything had gone.

Anyway, on this particular afternoon I strolled in and found the mysterious girl sitting on the floor with her phone in one hand, typing one-handed on the laptop perched on her lap.

'Are you comfy down there?' I asked.

She laughed and explained that her mobile charger was faulty, so she was forced to hold the damn thing in while she was working. She was expecting an important call about her university course, so she needed to make sure she had enough juice. I asked her what phone it was, and luckily it was a Samsung, like mine. I had a rummage in my laptop case and found a spare charger.

'Try that one,' I suggested, 'and if it works you can come back up.'

Well, it worked, so she returned to the desk and we carried on working. I had a Wilbur Smith proof – which suggests that this part of the story coincides with the unfortunate Hannah episode – and my student companion had a paper on the composition of blood. (I had a sneaky glance at it when I was fetching another book from the stacks.)

That was intriguing. Was she a medical student? It's not your everyday reading material, after all.

Anyway, at the end of the day I started packing up my stuff and she asked me if I wanted the charger back. I told her I had at least another four at home, as well as a second one in my laptop case, so she was welcome to hang on to it.

See: random acts of kindness.

She thanked me, asked me when I'd be calling in next, and said she'd see me next time. Good start.

On her next visit, my new friend and I started chatting in a bit more detail. It turned out that she's from Manchester, and (by a strange coincidence) she's studying forensic science at Liverpool. Hence the blood composition paper. She showed me the project she's been working on, and I think she was quite pleased that I understood some of the basic principles. I did ask her why she'd just suddenly turned up in Aberdare, and teased her that she was a Dexter-style criminal mastermind on the run.

Anyway, I didn't see her for a while after that, because I guessed she had exams. She did call in very briefly about a fortnight ago and we had a brief chat. I didn't have a book to work on that day, so I was working on the plans for this year's sponsored walk in aid of Anthony Nolan. I showed her some of the photos I'd taken around Waterfall Country, outlined the route briefly, and gave her one of the flyers I'd had printed a couple of days earlier.

'We're really desperate for BAME people to sign up for the Tissue Register,' I told her, and she looked puzzled. 'Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic', I added. 'Have you not come across that before?'

Apparently she either hadn't encountered the abbreviation, or I'd pronounced it entirely wrongly.

'I wasn't implying that you're a bit crazy,' I reassured her, and she laughed.

'I am a bit,' she said.

That was the first time we learned each other's names. Hers is Arabic for 'twilight'. But she uses a different name – Karin – online, so I'll use that name here (even though I call her by her real name). I still hadn't solved the mystery of why she was in Aberdare, and I hadn't been able to identify her accent, so she was an International Woman of Mystery.

Anyway, Karin called in on Monday afternoon to check her emails and we started chatting as usual. I was sorting through old photos I've taken in Waterfall Country over the years, trying to find a nice one to make into a picture postcard. Karin asked me again about the sponsored walk, as she loves fresh air and exercise, but she hasn't done much exploring around here. I borrowed the OS maps from the librarian and showed her the proposed route, from Penderyn to Pontneddfechan. When I told her it was about twelve kilometres, she asked me how many miles were in a kilometre. I said she was far too young to know about Imperial measurements, and she told me that they're still in use in Iraq.

Well, that solved the mystery of her nationality, at least. I kicked myself for not recognising her accent, because I worked with an Iraqi guy named Maz when I worked in Blackwells. Then again, I expect there are as many regional accents in that huge country as there are in the whole of the UK.

We sat in the library for a while, chatting and trying to connect to the Wi-Fi, before I suggested getting some fresh air. I suggested a walk around the Dare Valley Country Park and Karin jumped at the chance. So we packed up our stuff and set off to the Gadlys Pit entrance.

It was shady and cool on the path into the Country Park, and it was nice to be away from traffic noise and the usual library hubbub. On the way I showed Karin some of the old industrial remnants, told her how the Country Park came into existence, and chatted about the Cynon Valley in general. In return, more of her life story came to light. She didn't tell me about her early life in Iraq – probably a traumatic time to say the least – and I didn't ask her about it. But her subsequent adventures were quite revealing.

As I'd guessed, she hadn't just come to Aberdare by chance. (Who does?) While she was in Liverpool she'd met a boyfriend whom her parents didn't approve of. (I'd sort-of seen this coming, to be honest. I told her about the number of times Shanara and I had had to take detours through the back streets to avoid being seen by any of her many cousins.) Anyway, Karin had no choice but to disappear. An organisation which helps vulnerable women to relocate found her a place in Aberdare, which is where she's living now. While she likes it here, she hasn't had chance to make many friends yet. She goes to the gym and the library (obviously), but socially she's been feeling a bit isolated. And I could tell that she was pleased to have someone to talk to about these difficult issues.

It doesn't take long to walk to the Cascade. She took a selfie of us with the waterfall in the background before I showed her the bottom lake. Then we cut up through the woods to the top lake for a sit down and a quick drink of water. While we were there my old school friend John came along and I introduced him to Karin. In fairness, John knows me well enough not to bat an eyelid at a Muslim girl thirty years my junior. We continued around the lake, then followed the river Dare back to the road through the country park. Unfortunately we were too late to catch the Visitors' Centre, as I wanted to show Karin the model of the old Cwm Viaduct. But we have pencilled in another visit when she's back after her graduation ceremony.

We walked back along the Dare–Aman line, and when we got to Aberdare I told Karin that she could continue to Aberaman along the same route. So that was what we did. She wanted to drop her shopping off before heading for her yoga class, so I called into the Rock for a quick glass of Coke before meeting her on the corner. We walked along Cardiff Road, and I showed her the short cut to the Ynys from Violet Street. When we got to the entrance of the sports centre, she thanked me for a fun afternoon and gave me a little hug (which she initiated). That rounded the day off perfectly.

I'm not so naive as to think Karin and I will ever get anywhere further than that little hug. She's already estranged from her family because of her boyfriend; it's more important that she concentrates on trying to build bridges with them, than going even further off their radar. She's going to find her graduation day rather empty without her family to support her. And I've had enough Muslim non-girlfriends to know the reality of the situation myself. I suspect that I'm playing safe (again) by meeting a totally unattainable girl, because then there's no pressure on either of us to be anything more than just good friends. But if I can introduce Karin to some good people, show her some interesting aspects of Valleys life, and help her enjoy her time here, that's the biggest act of kindness I can possibly offer her.