Twin Ambitions - My Autobiography Read Online Free PDF

three or four days, we moved to a rented flat in Shepherd’s Bush directly overlooking the Green. We stayed there for a week or two. I remember my dad coming to visit us after work. He’d take me, Wahib and Ahmed down to the playground on the Green, where there were swings and roundabouts and slides.
    I’d never used a swing before. I’d never seen anything remotely like it. Growing up in modest surroundings in Somaliland and Djibouti, there were no such things as playgrounds with swings and roundabouts and slides. Playing on that swing in Shepherd’s Bush was a big deal for me. Dad showed me how to use it: how to thrust out my legs on the rise, then quickly bend them on the way back to build up some decent momentum. It took me a few tries to properly get the hang of it. Then I was flying! Like a lot of things in my first weeks in the UK, it was an alien experience, but also an amazing one.
    Those first few days in Shepherd’s Bush were a real eye-opener for me. It was like nothing I’d ever seen in Djibouti. The buildings were bigger. The cars were bigger. Everything just seemed huge. People talked in strange accents. I didn’t understand a word of English and had no idea what they were saying. I tasted chocolate for the first time. A Snickers bar. I remember taking a bite and thinking that it was the most amazing taste in the world. And the toys … wow! Back home, I owned one toy: a push-wheel thing with a stick attached to the front and lights fitted to the wheel spokes so that whenever you pushed it, the wheel would light up and flash all kinds of bright colours. Here there were computers and gadgets and action toys and all kinds of stuff. People dressed differently from back home, too. It was rare to see women wearing short skirts and high heels in Djibouti. I’d known that things would be different in Britain. I just hadn’t known how different.
    I counted down the days until we’d leave for Holland to see Grandma Amina. A week or so after we had moved to the flat in Shepherd’s Bush, my dad came round one evening. Instead of taking us out to play on the Green like he usually did, he sat the family down and explained to me that I’d be starting school in a few days.
    ‘In Almelo?’ I asked.
    My father cleared his throat and glanced at my mum. ‘
Walad
– my son – you’re going to go to school here. In Hounslow. You can begin there immediately.’
    I was confused. ‘
Maan fahmin
– I don’t understand. What about Grandma?’
    ‘You can’t go there now, to Almelo,’ Dad said. ‘It’s not possible. You will stay here, with me, and go to school in London. You always wanted to go to a proper school, didn’t you?’
    Then it hit me: I wouldn’t be living with Grandma. My parents explained that the Netherlands was this whole other country on the other side of the North Sea, and to visit there I’d need a passport, but the visas that me, Mum, Wahib and Ahmed had entered the country with didn’t permit overseas travel. It sounds crazy, but this was all news to me. I have this tendency to see things in simple terms. I try not to focus on the small print. For whatever reason, I’d automatically assumed that moving to Europe meant being reunited with Grandma Amina. I would live with her, and Hassan would join us and everything would be great. Now I was starting to see that things were a little more complicated. Once I got over the disappointment that I wouldn’t be seeing
Ayeeyo
for a while at least, Dad explained that there was a school not far from Aunt Kinsi’s house – Chatsworth Primary School on Heath Road. He’d already made enquiries and I could begin there immediately.
    To be honest, I had mixed feelings about staying in London. On the one hand, I really wanted to go to school, mixing with all the other kids. Up to that point, I’d only studied at the madrash in Djibouti, and for me, schools were all about making new friends. Going to a British school, that would be fun. On the other