Welcome to my stop on the March Book Frenzy by Mary Smith

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I hope you will enjoy your time with me as I take you through:

A Day In the Life Of Usma

Usma is a friend of Miriam who is the main character in my novel No More Mulberries. She lives in a small village in a remote part of central Afghanistan. When Miriam, a midwife from Scotland first came to work in Afghanistan with her Afghan husband, Usma very soon became her closest friend. The two women have not seen each other for many years but are about to be re-united.

It was still dark when Usma stumbled, yawning, into the kitchen. She set to work lighting the fire, putting water on to boil for tea. She went through her routine tasks – stirring the tandoor into life, making the nan – but today she approached her work with excitement for today was the day Ismail would arrive with her good friend Miriam. How many years had passed since they said goodbye, never dreaming of the tragic events which would lead to them being separated for so long?

Usma called her children for breakfast. Little Habib toddled in, closely followed by the older boys, Sultan and Hassan with Shahnaz trailing in behind. By the time breakfast was over the sky was lightening and the boys were soon letting out the sheep and goats from the rooms below. She sent Shahnaz off to the well for water. ‘And don’t be there all day. There’s plenty to do and I’ll need your help.’ Her daughter looked as though she was going to argue, thought better of it and headed down towards the village well, where a group of women and girls were already gathered.

Usma let out the chickens who were distracted from the grain she threw them by the grasshoppers leaping around them. As always, their antics made her smile. Today that smile was tinged with nostalgia as she remembered Miriam’s laughter the first time she saw the chickens try to catch grasshoppers. She had missed her so much, but would the spark of friendship still be as strong after so many years?

Throwing a last handful of food to the chickens, Usma continued her routine tasks, this time milking the cow before leading her down to the patch of pasture where she tethered her. When Shahnaz arrived back with the water, Usma left her daughter to wash up the breakfast dishes while she cleaned and prepared the room for Miriam and her daughter, whom Usma had never seen. Would her son, Farid be with her? He wouldn’t remember anything of his life in Zardgul. He’d only been a baby when they left for Scotland to see Miriam’s father before he died.

Usma folded bedding at the foot of the mattress and gave the room a last check. It was neat and clean – two mattresses on the floor, bedding, a brightly embroidered curtain, which Shahnaz had finished only last week, over the alcove. This was the room in which Miriam and Jawad had begun their life here in Zardgul. Was it a mistake to put her friend in this room with all its memories? With a heavy sigh, she left the room. She had to wash some clothes, prepare the dough for the ash for the meal. Miriam had always loved the strips of dough – said they were like spaghetti. Miriam rolled the word doubtfully in her mouth not sure she was saying it correctly. Later, she would meet her neighbours on the flat roof where the women sat most afternoons enjoying a gossip.

Shahnaz was trying to do some studying while entertaining Habib and Usma took the child from her telling her she was free for an hour. She noted the speed with which her daughter leapt to her feet and wondered. Before she could issue any warnings, her daughter had vanished down the mountainside.

Usma brought some warm nan to the rooftop picnic and her next door neighbour Jemila brought tea in a large thermos. Usma relished this time of day when most of her work was done and she could relax in the sun for an hour with her friends. From their vantage point they could see the rest of the village and the surrounding fields. She was telling them of the preparations for Miriam’s arrival when she spotted the deep blue of Shahnaz’s chaddar in amongst Malim Ashraf’s rows of peas – and next to her, the slim figure of Abbas whose father owned the land next to them. From this distance she couldn’t be sure what he was doing but it looked like he was opening peapods and tipping the peas into her daughter’s hand. Jemila giggled beside her. ‘At least he’s not popping them in her mouth.’

‘Mmh,’ Usma gave a non-committal grunt. Shahnaz was a strikingly pretty girl with dark dancing eyes and she was growing up. She hoped she’d be sensible. Abbas was a nice enough boy but Usma hoped for better for her only daughter.

Jemila and the other women were leaving when Shahnaz returned. She lowered her eyes demurely to greet the older women but not before Usma had seen the sparkle in them. Before she could say anything to her daughter, Jemila spoke to Shahnaz. ‘I believe Malim Ashraf grows the finest peas in Zardgul: so sweet and juicy. Is that not so, Shahnaz?’

Usma turned away to hide her smile as she saw her daughter flush a deep rosy red.

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