Braids and spices

Dear granny,
today someone who were not you combed my hair.I know, you are the only one allowed to do it, but here..Well, here is different.My locks have been pulled and twisted so roughly that even if I din't want to disappoint the lady I couldn't avoid a moan to escape from my lips.My thirsty, dry lips.I couldn't accept the water the family offered me,my delicate european stomach would feel sick.
One of the little girls came to me with an old mirror with a few knurls, and the young woman who meet my eyes there had a new elaborated hairstyle. Oh granny, you would have loved it!Thaira, my friend and translator,reported me that the lady said that I looked like a real Pakistani girl, also because of the colored kurta I was wearing,and the veil leaning on my shoulders.
"Thank you, thank you!",I hugged the lady, and after the routine greetings and a last look to the poor house,with its shabby furnishing, I left.The goat looks at me with its golden eyes, standing in a corner of the room that is supposed to be a sort of sitting room,which is also a bedroom and a kitchen. I am wondering what it is chewing.You would have died,grannyiin front of the disarming poverty they live in.They own nothing, but they give you everything.
"You know, everyone here in the village know who you are.That you arrived here to help us in the school,to help their kids, and because of that they respect you. A lot." Thaira explained me with enthusiasm,and her eyes sparkle in the pitiless summer heat.She is so beautiful, granny.We walked through the narrow little streets of Dalwal, being careful not to put our feet in the gutter drainage or in the trash that constellate the soil.We flattened against a wall to let a shepherd with its cows passing,and I covered my head under the veil,intimidated by the umpteenth glance of the man which oozes deep curiosity.Everybody look at me here, everywhere.With no tact, with no shame,with the pure astonishment of a child.
"Her skin is white in compare to ours!She walks in a different way, without that feminine and slight gait that our women learn since they are young. How strange!", their eyes say.We walked through the bazar,full of colors and different smell of spices, and I have to hold back myself from touching the bright fabrics which look ready to make princess dresses. After a while, we arrive to the open dump,just beside the wall of our school. People just don't care, granny.
I really wish you could see this crazy beautiful place.
Love