My Name Is Not Jacob Ramsay Read Online Free PDF

gives you permission..."
    "Permish?"
    "Permission. It means you are allowed to do something."
    "Understand. Please. Continue."
    "When somebody says you are allowed to call them by their name, you should."
    "Because it is respectful in England?" questioned Abdul.
    "Yes. It is respectful everywhere." 
    "Not in Afghanistan. It is very different. I find it difficult, but I will try," said Abdul.  
    "Your English is excellent," replied Michael, impressed by the new student.   
    Abdul smiled, bashfully. "I speak seven languages, Teacher Michael," he said.
    Michael straightened. He patted Abdul on the shoulder. 
    Abdul's smile was wiped immediately to practically a wary and sudden scowl, which caused Michael to turn to where Abdul aimed his glare. 
    A tall, gangly Kurdish teenager stood awkwardly in the doorway. He wore light blue jeans and brilliant white Reebok trainers with a neatly-pressed dark blue shirt. His name was Shaheen and he, too, looked older than his given fourteen years.  
    Michael turned to Patricia, who had already spotted Shaheen and made her way to him. Michael met her halfway.
    "Who's this?" he asked quietly, stepping up to him with a smile.  
    Patricia gestured to Shaheen and then Michael.
    "This is Shaheen," she said.
    "Good morning, Shaheen. I'm Michael."
    Michael extended his hand towards him. 
    He looked at the friendly hand and gripped it.
    "Shaheen." He felt uncomfortable.
    "You're early, Shaheen. Three days early," Patricia chuckled.
    "Early? No, I start today." Shaheen scowled and looked around the room. He fixed on the Afghans several feet away.
    "Well, you can start today, Shaheen," Patricia said.
    "Tomorrow Home Office." His eyes were glassy and he looked concerned. He pointed a finger at the group of Afghans nearby. "Who they?" he asked. "Afghani?"
    "Yes, they're from Afghanistan," answered Patricia.
    "No problem. No problem," Shaheen said. He held his palms upwards and stepped back into the corridor.
    Michael turned to Patricia when Helen approached.
    "What's the matter?" Helen said.
    "It's uncertain yet, but he seems troubled by our Afghans," said Michael.
    "How was he in the interview, Pats?" asked Helen.
    "A bit unsettled. He wants to start school as soon as possible. Likes money and said he doesn't want to be near any Afghans."
    "Well, that's going to be difficult," Michael remarked as he closely monitored Shaheen pacing the corridor several feet away.
    "It can't be done. He has to accept everyone. We don't take demands here. Have we got all of his files, Patricia?" Helen asked, also watching Shaheen.
    "Well, as much of a file as it can be. Details of his foster carers and what I quickly jotted down through the interpreter in the interview."
    "I'll have a read later, but can you brief us now before he comes back in?" requested Helen.
    "Arrived at Dover in the back of a lorry. He travelled alone from Iran and escaped trouble. Says he's angry. Doesn't like the US and British governments; said his father was some kind of freedom fighter. I wrote it down. I've got it here. There are a few to choose from." Patricia flicked over a couple of pages on her red clipboard and read from it. "The Kongra-Gel. Kurdistan Freedom and Democracy Congress. KADEK. Kurdistan Workers' Party. The PKK. Partiya Karkeran. Kurdistan Workers' Party People's Defence Force." She turned the page back over and noticed Michael and Helen both looking like they had a thousand thoughts running through their minds.
    Michael raised his eyebrows and gritted his teeth.
    "Look at him. He looks older than my twenty-four-year-old son. What do you think, Mike?" asked Helen.
    He exhaled a deep breath, considering. He looked at Patricia and Helen. "Said he doesn't like the US and British governments. Maybe he got on the wrong lorry?"
    "Why is he angry?" added Helen.
    "I don't know," shrugged Patricia.
    "I don't want any upset. We're out of our depth," Helen sighed.
    "Why have we got so many at the moment?" Michael