An uncharacteristic library (London)

The library I frequent gets used by a large group of mainly-old men from eastern Mediterranean countries.  This area has a large population of people from Greece, Turkey, and Cyprus, and is full of restaurants serving the cuisine of those countries, as well as a handful of 24-hour greengrocers, which makes it a vibrant and lively neighbourhood.

These men, often numbering ten or even 14, will converge on two or three of the big round tables, and chat loudly, as if they are in a café.  I personally don’t disapprove, because it is good that they have somewhere to go and meet friends and socialise, rather than sit at home feeling lonely and depressed.  (I wonder where the women go to?  Maybe they just stay at home and do the housework…)

The library also offers a social welfare advisory service at one end during the week, so it’s very noisy anyway, especially since a lot of people who use the service have children — often wailing loudly or throwing a wobbly.  

There is a quiet area at the back, upstairs.  It’s meant to be a quiet area, but being at the same end as the advisory service counters, I’m not sure how quiet it actually is.  

One of the advisors often comes over to my area to conduct his sessions there (in Greek or Turkish).  There’s an old lady who sits at one of the tables doing crossword puzzles, openly eating her sausages.  Homeless men (mostly eastern European) come in for a sit-down, even a nap (snoring loudly).  Other people have even come in with their takeaway food (grilled ribs, sausages) to eat there.  A lady (in her 60s?) gives Arabic lessons to a young lady, openly (at normal volume) taking her through the pronunciation drills.  Other tutors conduct their tuition there as well: Maths and English are two of the common subjects I’ve seen being taught, often on a one-to-one basis.

Occasionally, I have to go and sit at one of the old men’s tables when my regular table nearer the door is full.  A few of them now greet me like an old friend:  one in his 70s, who makes a point of raising his hand to acknowledge my presence and saying a hearty “hello!”; another one in his 50s who’s started to take it upon himself to look after my interests.

I'd arrived one day to find him and another man (in his 70s) sitting at the wall-socket end of the table, so I went for the farther end of the table.  The protective man in his 50s told the older one, in Turkish, to move to another spot so that I could sit near the wall socket.  So sweet!  If his own phone was already plugged in when I got there, he’d immediately unplug it so that I could use that socket (although there are two), even vacating his chair for my rucksack.  I’m so moved.

(London, 2018 and 2019)