By Deborah Rodriguez
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Additional resources for A Cup of Friendship
Keep your windows up. Promise me you will not drive with the top down, for goodness’ sake! Avoid the roadblocks. Don’t stop unless you have to. ” Sunny smiled. “You should not be driving and you should not be alone. ” She reflexively clasped the cellphone that hung from her neck on a woven red cord. She’d lost too many setting them down on the counter. Today Sunny had a mission to bring flowers to the newly elected head of the Women’s Ministry. Though they’d met before at the café, a formal visit would secure an important relationship, necessary for a woman in Kabul running a business.
She flipped her hair out of her face, put her hands on her hips, and said, “You’re going to love this, Ahmet. ” She was referring to his favorite team—the Brazilians, who were in the finals against South Africa. For years they’d watched the games on that big color TV, which sat on a small wobbly table in the back corner of the café. Ahmet was sure that one day its legs would go, falling to the floor under the weight of the huge TV. But it was better than what they had before—a small black-and-white one, with rabbit ears, as Sunny called them, laughing, making fun, when she first arrived.
Yazmina stood there, nervously, obviously not understanding. Sunny shook her head in frustration. Communication between them was still slow as they tried to find the Dari words they had in common. Jack looked up from his nearby table and spoke Waigili, the language of the Nuristani people, so fluently that he might have been from Nuristan himself. “Don’t mind her. She’s trying. ” Yazmina smiled, and answered in her language, “Very well, thank you, tashakur,” then nodded and walked to the counter.
A Cup of Friendship by Deborah Rodriguez