It began a year and a half ago. A phone call from my sister Donna wondering whether I knew anybody who could help a new immigrant with English. I don’t know whether that was a subtle way of trying to draw me into her sponsorship work with new immigrants fleeing terror at home, or a request for help to find someone to teach English to adults. I said I could help out.

I’d spent my professional life teaching teachers about literacy – helping them understand their own strategies, as well as encouraging them to explore ways of engaging their students so they in turn could discover the skills and pleasures of reading and writing proficiently. While I had no training in English as a second language, I understand first language learning and how learners (of all ages) become adept speakers / listeners / readers / writers.

I met Basira the week she and her family (her husband and three young sons) arrived here in Halifax. Ahmad spoke understandable English but Basira understood almost none. The danger for her, and many immigrant women, is that she’d not learn English well enough to live in the community successfully and independently. As a young woman with children she needed to become an English speaker as quickly as possible.

I agreed to spend time with her each week, expecting she’d soon be enrolled in English classes through ISANS (Immigrant Services Association of Nova Scotia). Turns out that proved difficult. There had been a recent influx of immigrants from countries like Syria, Iran, Afghanistan, Ukraine, and there was a severe shortage of tutors. Basira went on the waiting list and she and I carried on.

I arrived at her apartment one morning each week and we’d spend time engaged in conversation. That was a challenge for both of us. Armed with translators on our phones, I’d translate English into Persian, Basira did the reverse. What helped was she knew the English alphabet. The family had lived in Turkey for three years before being accepted in Canada. The Turkish alphabet is close to English so she’d become accustomed to the phonetic correspondences. It turned out she also understood a bit of English. In addition, she’d become reasonably independent in Turkish during the time she spent there; she wasn’t afraid to tackle another new language.

Along with conversation, I brough along library books intended for very young children – few words but lots of supportive illustration. I had two aims: to offer vocabulary and English sentence structure without formally teaching either. To select appropriate books took quite a bit of time at my local library every couple of weeks – I’d read 10 books for every one I selected. It wasn’t long before Basira was needing books with longer stories, broader vocabulary and more complex sentence structure. (During this time, she gave birth to her fourth son – a new Canadian.)

I had never married; I had no children. I have a close relationship with my sister Barb’s daughter and son and their children. Now, as I grew to know her, Basira was beginning to feel like part of my family – like a granddaughter.

I’d been working with Basira for eight months when Shukria, her husband and infant son arrived in Halifax. They too needed support. Jawad spoke some English; Shukria spoke none. Same deal – I visited once a week to spend time with each of them, engaging in conversation and reading children’s books. Back to the library – simple children’s books this time for Shukria, more informative ones for Jawad.

We enjoyed our weekly time together. Occasionally they’d invite me to join them for an evening meal. I helped out in whatever other ways I could. Slowly but surely they, too, began to feel like family – Shukria like a granddaughter.

Both Basira and Shukria began formal English lessons at ISANS six months ago; I continue to spend time every week with each of them. Time I enjoy and which still seems to be useful for them.

A couple of weeks ago, I added another “granddaughter.” My local sewing shop got in touch to find out whether I might be interested in helping a young woman from India make an A-line dress. Sure, I could make time. That’s how Neha has come into my life.

She’s from northern India, speaks fluent English. Our relationship is built around sewing. She’s sharp, dexterous, funny, asks terrific questions. Last week we almost finished the first of what will definitely become a series of dresses.

It turns out it’s not an A-line dress she wants to make, but what she calls a “suit” – the tunic-like top worn over pants that women from northern India wear. She wants it with a full skirt that will flare when she’s dancing!

This coming week we’ll put the finishing touches to this first dress and begin working on the second “muslin” that she’s already cut out. When that one is done, we’ll make another in better fabric, using what we’ve learned from the two muslin’s we’ve constructed.

So, now I seem to have three “granddaughters”. Wonderful, much younger women who enrich my life in ways I’d never have imagined a year and a half ago! I’m getting to watch them figure out how to live in Canada; I’m watching their children, week-by-week grow and develop. The babies have both become toddlers – walking, running. Their babbling is in Persian so I can’t tell whether we’re getting meaningful speech or not, although I suspect a good deal of Arvin’s chatter contains some actual words. I get to pass on the sewing information gleaned from a lifetime of quilting and garment-making to someone eager to learn how to sew.

These “granddaughters” enrich my life, keeping me in close contact with young people so I, in turn, get to learn how women their age view this complicated world in which we are now living. Their friendship is a wonderful gift that is keeping me young.