Les voisins chaleureux

You may recall the confusion some months ago when, in filling out my lease, my landlady wrote down the wrong address - 35 rather than 30. I gave the address to various important people and organizations, including the Office of International Migration and my bank, then had to go through a lot of hassle to fix it.

I am still getting mail at #35 and they are very nicely collecting it for me. Very.

I went to them, apologizing for the ridiculous situation that was producing itself, and they said that it was no problem. I got a call this weekend from Mme X (I don't know their name), saying that I had mail, so I stopped by yesterday afternoon. They invited me into the house, had me sit down and warm up, and offered me coffee. When I declined, they asked if I was fasting for Ramadan. "Oh well," they said, when I denied it, "We can't all be Muslim. But we're all Muslim in our own way." I hadn't really realized that they were, but that made them offering me coffee all the nicer - they were willing to offer it to me even if they couldn't have any.

They have a son in Florida and they, I believe, are immigrants themselves, so they told me that they know what it's like to be all alone in a strange country and that if I need anything - if I want to come over for dinner or need a place to stay - I should stop by and ring the bell and they will take good care of me as if I were family.

They are really too kind, and I don't know what to do to thank them. Here I am, dumb girl who's getting mail at their house, and they want to offer me all kinds of hospitality.

srah - Tuesday, 3 December 2002 - 2:41 AM
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