I grabbed a light lunch at a bistro. It was good. When paying the bill, and leaving a tip, I spoke to the waitress, a young woman. I couldn’t place her accent, so I asked her where she came from. She was a bit tense at the question, but told me Afghanistan. It was only when I started walking away that her answer clicked, so I went back and gave her an extra tip, saying things must be difficult for her. I then walked off again.
A few minutes later I realised the poor woman had broken down when I had given her that extra tip. Had I had my wits about me at the time, I might well have offered her a hug: she really did break down. Obviously, she would probably have refused, but the offer itself should have helped her recover.
If you don’t understand why I said things must be difficult for her, you have to remember that Afghanistan has no men. No man would ever treat a woman the way the Afghan government treats women: locking them up, denying them an education, preventing them achieving their human potential, denying them their humanity: thus there are no men in Afghanistan. It is a country controlled by the immature, controlled shamefully by boys. That waitress was one of so many people who suffer from their failure to grow up.
Mind you, whether that’s the reason my small kindness had her break down, I don’t know. As I said, I idiotically failed to speak with her again. She could have suffered from the bigotry of many Brits, their fear of Islam, their failure to control their own fear so that it controls them, their cowardice. Immaturity isn’t limited to Afghan boys. Perhaps that had her on edge, so my moment of kindness was a shock.