July 2013
Lhasa, Tibet
Julian Barnes was sitting outside his hut carving a piece of wood. A little boy from the school was keeping him company. They had been sitting there for hours now, neither uttering a single word, when the little boy suddenly began to speak.
He spoke in a strange high-pitched voice, that soothingly and monotonous. Julian did not understand much of the sing-song, but he nodded from time to time. The boy kept talking, every now and then glancing at his older friend as if to make sure the man was listening.
When the boy had finished, Julian sighed, "I know how you feel. You talk to somebody who doesn't understand. But it feels good to talk sometimes. I used to have a friend who was a good listener. I'm not. I'm impatient and nervous. I tend to correct people because I think I know better. Which I usually do. So this is new to me. Because I don't understand. I'm a stranger here. But it's hard, trust me. Being alone."
The boy had watched him from curious eyes. He had listened to the soft, dark voice that sounded so sad and desperate, and he nodded, "You – friend. Here teach. One day. Go. England. You."
"Yes, "Julian said, "One day, I'll have to go back."
"Lucky," the boy smiled what Julian interpreted as encouraging.
"I don't know. I've been gone for a long time now, and things change, you know. I have changed. And I'm scared of going back because I don't know what I'll find. I just don't want to be alone anymore."
"You know only when go," the boy said and Julian gaped at him.
Christmas 2014
Goronyo, Nigeria
Dear Molly.
Today I saved a child. Isn't that a great thing to do on Christmas Day?
An àìsàn-kò-gbóògùn-woman was brought in yesterday, suffering from a vicious kind of brain fever. But she had already gone into labour, so we administered antibiotics and just went along. After an arduous night, Amara was born in the early hours of Christmas Day. Her mother, Lisha, died in labour. Àìsàn-kò is Nigerian for AIDS, so we knew what to do to protect the child. She has not been contracted with the disease, so we named her Amara which means "the blessed one". I found the name suitable.
It's still hard to see people die, but on the other hand we also get to see an amazing number of miracles. I might stay another year.
How's life treating you? Did you get round to asking that Terry bloke out?
I'll buy you a pint next time I'm in London. Won't be the same though. I guess life goes on…
Take care of yourself, have a happy Christmas and, seeing as letters take a while, a happy new year, too.
Love,
John