Fifteen

saw you yesterday at the talk,' Tamer says. I had been pushing Mai on the swing and he appeared with his rucksack as if it is natural for him on his way home to look in on us in Regent's Park.

`Yes it was a good talk,' I say. `A lot of people turned up so the organizers must have been pleased.'

`I'll push the swing.' He drops his hag and takes my place. The playground is quiet today. The sky is cloudy and I wait for the first drops of rain. Above the treetops I can see the dome of the mosque with the chandelier bright through the glass.

He says, `I liked the bit in the talk about the signs preceding the Day of Judgement and how people Centuries past used to feel that these signs were already coming true. They believed the end of the world was imminent and yet here we are.'

`Maybe imminent can mean many years away.' It had been a good lecture, worth going to. Both Shahinaz and I enjoyed it - it shook us in a way. I say to Tamer, Some of these signs were spooky.'

`Yes, the sun rising from the west and the animal that talks - that's pretty spooky.'

He said it could be allegorical.'

`I believe in it literally.' He catches hold of the swing, lifts it high up. Mai squeals when he lets it go.

`It could be, why not? The coming of Jesus is literal. Even the exact place where he will next appear is known.'

`I would love to he alive at that time,' he says.

I smile at his enthusiasm, his faith in himself. `What would you do?'

`I would rush to Damascus to see him.'

`Leave your university?' I am teasing him but he doesn't notice.

`Oh Yes, I wouldn't think twice. Wouldn't you?'

I smile and say nothing. It is not appropriate to mention money and the cost of airline tickets to Syria.

`I would he in the Mahdi's army,' he continues, `fighting the Antichrist.' He holds an imaginary sword in his hand, swings it.

I would like to be there when Jesus prays with the Mahdi. I would like to pray with them, but I wouldn't like the war. I am afraid of wars even when they are only on television.' Mai wants to get off the swing. He lifts her out. His fingers are long and thin with the nails bitten.

Mai runs to the slide. She is not afraid to climb the steps, abandon herself to the falling down. Only last week, she was wary of that large slide.

You know,' he says, sitting sideways on the swing, his legs on either side, `I read in a hook that a Sudanese sheikh in the sixteenth century said that a day will come when people will travel by movable houses and communicate through slender threads - isn't that amazing?'

`It is amazing.' He makes me smile. It's the way he talks or maybe it's just the fresh company. `The sheikh must have seen that in a dream.'

`That's right. I didn't think of that. He must have seen the future in a dream.'

`Have you been to Sudan?'

`Yes. We used to go every summer when we were in Oman. You're Sudanese, aren't you?'

I am usually wary of such questions, where they can lead, but from him the query sounds harmless.

`Yes, but I've been in London now nearly twenty years.' When I came with Mama and Omar, when Baba was executed, Tamer must have been a baby. I start to talk quickly. 'Do you think you might one day go hack and live in Sudan?'

'I might yes. I liked it there. There is so much to do - Khartoum is fun.'

Mai walks over to the sandpit. I help her take off her shoes and she starts playing with a little boy. His Sri Lankan nanny sits on the edge of the sandpit holding it Tupperware box of rice in one hand, a spoon in the other. She feeds him while he scoops sand with a spade. I sit next to her. Tamer moves away from the swing and sits on a nearby bench.

`I)o you go back to Sudan for holidays?' he asks me.

No, I don't have anyone there to visit.'

Your family are here?'

I nod. It is true. Omar is here. Omar is my family.

`Tell me,' I say, `what did you used to do in your holidays in Khartoum?' It's been a long time since I was nostalgic for Khartoum.

,Well, with my cousins, we went fishing and we played football. Everyone kept inviting us for lunch. The food is great there.'

I laugh. `I could cook you Sudanese food if you want.'

`Really?'

`Yes. Where else did you go in Khartoum?'

`We went swimming in the American Club.'

`You did! I used to go there all the time when I was young. We were members.' I remember the smell of hamburgers grilling, my friend Randa and I in the bathroom putting on lip gloss, disco lights. It seems such a long time ago. Yet the place still exists, it is not only in my head.

`Do you feel you're Sudanese?' I ask him.

He shrugs. `My mother is Egyptian. I've lived everywhere except Sudan: in Oman, Cairo, here. My education is Western and that makes me feel that I am Western. My English is stronger than my Arabic. So I guess, no, I don't feel very Sudanese though I would like to be. I guess being a Muslim is my identity. What about you?'

I talk slowly. `I feel that I am Sudanese but things changed for me when I left Khartoum. Then even while living here in London, I've changed. And now, like you, I just think of myself as a Muslim.'

He smiles. I ask him about Lamya. `Does she consider herself Sudanese?'

His expression changes, becomes more reserved as if he does not feel comfortable talking about his sister. `I think she considers herself Arab. Her husband is like us. He's Sudanese but he grew up in the Gulf and studied in the States.'

I have not seen Lamya's husband. He does not come to London as much as Doctora Zeinab had led me to believe.

The nanny and the little boy start to pack up. We wave to them as they leave the playground. I wonder if Lamya and Tamer had a Far Eastern nanny while they were growing up in the Gulf. It is very likely.

`Which Sudanese food do you like best?' I ask him.

`The peanut salad.'

`That's very easy to make with peanut butter. I'll make it for you. What else do you like?'

His answer is interrupted by a whine from Nlai. She is on the see-saw and frustrated that she can't get it to move. I go and sit on the other side and we start to play, with Tamer watching us. For a brief moment I am not sure who I am, the Najwa who danced at the American Club disco in Khartoum or Najwa, the maid Lamya hired by walking into the Central Mosque one afternoon. I move up and down, slowly so that Mai doesn't fall off and get a fright, but not so gently that she will get bored.

It starts to rain, a few drops that look dark on the red safety tiles under the see-saw. Tamer looks up at the sky. He seems more relaxed than the other day when we met in the street. He might not know it but it is safe for us in playgrounds, safe among children. There are other places in London that aren't safe, where our very presence irks people. Maybe his university is such a place and that is why he is lonely.

The rain is the kind that doesn't need an umbrella but I decide it is best to take Mai home. I put up the plastic hood on her pushchair and the three of us leave the park, walk in the direction of Lord's. Tamer Pushes Mal and I think, `We're like a couple, a couple with a baby.' Is this how we look to people? Or will people think I am his mother? Surely I don't look that old.