This is my greeting every morning at Aschiana. I struggle to shake all their hands and send off flying kisses to those behind. Today more children are out and this time all 4 teachers stand, solemnly watching instead of threatening them with a cane to go back to class. They look at me intensely and I force a weak smile, hoping to disguise the surge of sadness I feel within. But we all know. We all know today is my last day. The little children walks hand in hand to my class before running off to their respective ones. I gulp down the knot in my throat and exhale a deep breath before entering my class. I never envisaged the last day will be this difficult. I step in. Grieving silence fills the air. The children stares at me wide-eye. Usually I have a difficult time trying to calm them down as they push past each other to show me their latest homework or writing in English. Today is the complete opposite. They are quiet and for a minute we grieve together in complete silence.

Kausar breaks the silence as he pulls out a flower from his bag. He neatly arranges them so they flare out, then looks at me. I kneel down in front of him and he hands me the little pot. I hear more shuffling and one by one the children pull out various gifts- necklaces, earrings, rings notepads, and roses. I am overwhelmed- so much so I dare not even say ‘Thank You’ for those words alone are not enough to express how touched i feel, knowing that these childrn,being breadwinners of their families, had spent the money they needed so much to feed their families, just so that i can take back something with me to England to ‘remember them forever’ (as they put it).

Farzat, who is extremely spoilt with me asks me when I will come back. I say in a years time. He gets angry and says in one year he will die. I have to comfort him and tell him I love him and will always remember him. He asks me if I want to marry him. That is the cutest thing ever! There he is, this 7-years old boy, gazing at me with his innocent eyes, holding onto my arms, not wanting to let me go. I feel so helpless. ”I will marry you if you learn your English well!” I propose. He gives an agitated sigh and buries his face in his hands. ”But I don’t understand what you teach me!” He breaks down and starts crying. I hold him whilst he cry. This time, I let him cry.

I try, successfully to compose myself. By then other students start filtering into the class to share our last moments together. I decide to make the best out of it. The other teachers stop their class and join us and we sit around each other knee-to-knee and sing Persian, Arabic and Hindi songs. The children starts clapping enthusiastically , their eyes are brightening up, and once again I see their beautiful smiles. Smiles that form not through material gains, but through interaction, through companionship, through love, and through spiritual bonding. It reminds me of my purpose, my dreams, my ambitions and the reason why I have come back to Afghanistan and why I want to keep coming back to Afghanistan despite its dangers. It just takes one look, one shake of the hand or one ‘Hello!’ to brim their hearts with happiness. And for this, all the worries about bomb threats, kidnappings, suicide bombings, and uncomfortable living just fade away.

They sing an Islamic Persian song, ‘I have agreed to give you my love…You have agreed to give me your love,’ as they point towards me. I struggle with the Persian words but I want to reciprocate the same feelings. We laugh, we point at each other as we sing- my despair has left me. I feel I am reaching a state of epiphany as our different lives merge into one spiritual bonding- beyond mere words and communication.

The clock is tickting, the songs are over and I say my last words. I want so much to get across to them the importance of education and of learning English. I struggle with my Persian but they nod their heads eagerly. ‘You must believe in yourselves. You must set goals and strive all you can for them, if not for yourselves, for your country.’ Fawwad puts up his hand. ‘I want to be pee-load Karzai’ then salutes me. He means Hamid Karzai’s pilot. I don’t correct him. I salute him back and ask the class to give him a round of applause. They don’t clap. Instead they exclaim their goals. “I want to be a docter.”, “I want to be a teacher” in perfect English. I feel proud, I have taught them well!

15 more mins left. I pack my bag. My students watch me. As I pack I tell them I will be back next year. I tell them time will pass quickly. I tell them we will be friends for life. I pause for a moment as I adjust my headscarf. Then I start to break down. I feel i need to release my tears. They start to cry too as I take each of their hands and bow down in gratification.

Negina reaches and wipes my tears away. “No giriyon (cry). Happy! Happy!”, as she streches her lips to the side, just like how I taught her in class. She pulls me towards the eating area, sits me down and one by one the girls feed me off their plates. Most of them are crying, even the ones I don’t teach. They sit close to me, playing with my hemlines, stroking my face and hair. Some bury their faces into their scarfs, others stare blankly at the wall. I want so much to comfort them. I hold, hug and kiss them. But to no avail. At the gate, almost the whole of morning shift crowds around me. I wave and send off flying kisses.  Then I part with one last line,”See you tomorrow!”.