No way home

This is the story of M -, no I cannot say her name. Let's call her Agent M. Why 'Agent'? Because it adds a layer of intrigue to her story and scrapes off a wee bit of the sadness.

Now, I met Agent M many, many moons back, when I was a young mum of two, living abroad. Coming from a culture that typifies the "it takes a village to raise a child" sentiment, having no one to fall back on was tough to take. So, when a friend recommended the services of Agent M, I hesitatingly said yes.

On a blustery Friday, she arrived at my doorstep. A lady older than me by maybe a decade (maybe even less, life must have drawn deeper lines on her, surely?) or so, no more. We had no language in common, coming from different corners of the world. But she had a halting use of English and between that and a generous use of head shakes and nods and smiles, we were on our way.

She would arrive every Friday afternoon and inject some much needed calm and order into my house. With minimal inclination and zero energy to clean up after an energetic toddler and a colicky baby, it didn't take long for me to look forward to Fridays. "You sit, I clean! Cha?" she would ask, miming a cuppa, without waiting for my relieved nod to furnish me with piping hot ginger tea.

Even as I closed my eyes and tried to fold myself into the gingery embrace of my hot beverage (that I did not have to make!), Agent M would pin on her apron and get started. With the whirring of the old Dyson, she would zip from room to room, magically clearing the carpet of Lego blocks and stubborn chunks of Play Doh, all the while humming a haunting melody in her language. I didn't understand the words but music truly has no words, does it?

The song rang of longing, of a different place far removed from the cold grey skies of England in autumn.

Within the span of a few hours, she would clean my house end to end ("tub clean no?", she would beam, even as I squinted at my magically gleaming bath tub), fill my freezer with some dishes I could defrost during the week and make fresh and hot dinner for us to tuck into the minute she left our doorstep.

Our initial interactions were just this - a few words, many nods and smiles, a thumbs up or two from me, coupled with a maniacal grin. I was curious how she came to be in this country, my very own Mary Poppins, bringing cheer and hot, gingery goodness to this bleak corner far removed from her own. I didn't know enough of her language (or any!) to ask and I had been too long in Blighty by then to cheerfully mine her for gossip over hot cha and pakoras.

Thankfully for the two of us, proving why she managed to survive in an alien world far removed from her own, Agent M was far more adept with English. She went to no school, thanks to the patriarchal mindset that only educated the boys and bundling off the girls to be married off at a tender 15 years of age. With her amazing culinary skills, she thrived at her marital home, whipping up heavenly smelling curries for her parents-in-law, and deep-fried snacks for the kids of the family with equal flourish. If she, at 16, spent much of her day in the dark confines of the family kitchen along with her older sisters-in-law, she didn't mind much.

Even when her son was born the following year, her life didn't change very much. The baby was looked after by the large extended family, while she and her sisters continued to keep them all fed and happy. Life was pretty much on an even keel, till the day her husband and his older brother went to the village 50 odd kilometres away and did not return home.

"Accident? Dark, no doctor. No help!", she said sadly, rolling out wafer thin rotis for our dinner.

"Then?" I asked.

"No money. So I come here. Uncle help." she said, wrapping up her warm winter jacket around here. "Bye, bye. See you!"

Over the course of the next few Fridays, I pieced together Agent M's sorry tale. After her husband and brother-in-law died, the family struggled to make ends meet. At first, she moved to the nearest big city and tried to earn money by cooking for a small restaurant. Though her food was a hit, it left her with barely enough time to look after her baby. And the pay left after her rent, his baby needs was barely enough to send home.

That was when the "Uncle" arrived with a solution. He was a cook in a small restaurant abroad and said he could get her a job too. So, she did, leaving her son with her in-laws. Save up money, send home for son and make do, was her plan.

But, Uncle had forgotten to fill her in on the finer details of international travel. He had brought her on a temporary tourist visa. After the 6 months, when she tried to travel back home to see her son, Agent M learnt the full horror of her situation. If she left now, she would be deported, never to return to the land where she easily made 10 times more money as she used to. There was no way to bring her son to live with her, as she was one of the countless illegal immigrants now.

She could never go home!

"How old is your son now?", I asked, looking at my own little horrors, trying to imagine a fate where I couldn't see them grow.

"17! I save money for college! He come here!"

My heart ached for the poor mother cheerfully cleaning my house, filling my belly with hot food, just so she could save up money for her son's education. The son she last saw as a two year old!

Even ET managed to find his way home, I thought rather irreverently. I cannot get Agent M home, but maybe I can help get her son - her home - to her, I thought to myself, furiously Googling "sponsoring foreign student....."