Run for Your Life - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Jane Mitchell lives in Dublin, Ireland and works with children with physical disabilities. Her Amnesty International-endorsed novel (Little Island), about a Syrian family fleeing the war, has sold more than 100,000 copies worldwide. Jane spent time volunteering at the refugee camp in Calais to research the book. Chalkline (Walker), about child soldiers in Kashmir, won the Children's Choice Award at the 2010 Children's Books Ireland Awards.

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‘My ghosts are whispering to me,’ Mother says.

She hears ghosts whispering in the air as clearly as I hear mysister’s soft voice and my little brothers’ laughter in the eveningair. I believe her. Ghosts and spirits have always whispered toMother or walked in her dreams. Women in our village athome used to visit her to find out if their sick cow would live,or whether they should start preparing for the funeral of anold mother-in-law.

She smiles at me now. There’s sadness in her smile as memoriesbubble to the surface. Her sadness swallows me up andI wish I could turn back time.

It seems my life has been split in two, as different as lemonsand mangoes. The first part was in our village back home, sofar away. My memories are mostly warm and bright: my sisterSharnaz, my brothers Kashif and Musa, our friends Iman andRuba. School and sunny days. Some of my memories are dark and frightening: my father and the village council, leavingschool. Having to run for our lives. Mother mourns life in ourvillage – her husband and children, her home, her friends. Shefrets she made bad decisions.

‘Things should have been different,’ she tells me.

The second part of my life is in Ireland, as different a placefrom my home as you could find. It’s all about new things, newplaces, new experiences. Some are exciting, most are difficult.My only constant is my mother, and I am hers. We cling toeach other like two people drowning. We cling to each otherbecause we have to.

Mother can’t get used to life in Ireland. She can’t get usedto being away from everything she has known. Her body ishere but her heart and soul were left in our village. It’s been sohard for her when all she knows are the hot and dusty streets.The mango trees and jasmine flowers. The washing stones bythe river. There are many things I miss from home, but mostlyit’s the people tearing at my heart. Now, I shiver at Mother’swords. Her ghosts always tell of something bad.

‘Your ghosts never tell you good news, Mother,’ I say. ‘Theynever announce happiness or joy. They only ever see darknessor danger.’

Mother shrugs. ‘They are ghosts. They see what they see, Azari.’