117 Thames Boulevard

Her delicate hands are clasped tightly in her lap as she sits in the passenger seat of the moving van en route to make her dream come true. Her two teenage children sway side to side in the back where the little furniture they own has been wrapped and harnessed. She’s glad her children are out of sight because she wasn’t expecting to cry—not in front of them at least.

Ever since she was told to flee with her eldest brother and find safety, Muniba wandered the globe looking for a place to rest and call home. Four countries and twenty years later, she has afforded a pair of keys and an address that she can call her own. A mortgage that will indeed take time to see the end of but with it comes an abode that she can mould to her life. No landlord to tell her the rent has increased or that developers have bought the building. No-one to tell her she has a week to vacate. No more apprehensive discussions about who must repair the window broken by a stray rock thrown from afar and the distrust that comes with any event that happens after. No more shouting at her beloved children for sticking a poster to a wall that is now damaged by tape or whatever adhesive they could find. All she’s ever wanted is a place to make her own, a place her children can return to wherever they are, whenever they need to, and today it will become a reality. 117 Thames Boulevard, she tells the driver.

The truck comes to a halt and Muniba raises her head. If the butterflies in her stomach once made her squirm, those inside her now had evolved to paralyse her. She waits for the driver to get out of the van before she tries to move her failing legs. She laughs at her lack of composure. It’s not a big deal, she tells herself, utterly aware that the lie has no effect. Mohammed and Maysoon, her entire world, her moon and stars, both jump out from the back of the van and run to the front door, looking back for their mother then back again at the beautiful house. The morning’s rain illuminates the orange-brown brick façade of the house, and the sun shines on the path between the two large pillars leading to the sleek front door made of smooth horizontal wood panels, an invitation of sorts, to an entrance they will soon become familiar with.

Her children await her at the door, their anticipation turning the experience from a heartwarming event to a historic moment. Muniba reaches the door, her ageing hands raising the key to the door, trembling as she tries to insert it into the keyhole. Maysoon puts her hand on her mother’s, and they turn the key together, the door opening to reveal a fresh canvas. The moment feels unimaginably surreal to her. In fact, the moment informs Muniba that she has never felt as happy before as she does right now.