We had expected big smiles and hugs. A joyous reunion after two years, which was how long it had been since my husband Steve Hyde and I had seen my cousin Kamran Mumumtaz on a visit to his village in the Pakistan region of Azad Kashmir.
Kamran’s arrival for a six-month holiday in Britain had been eagerly anticipated. After fighting for a year to get his visa, we were excited about showing him our way of life.
I suppose I was being naive not to have realised that to Kamran and his immediate family, a British visa is like winning the lottery. It is a golden ticket to the West.
Steve and I went to pick him up at Heathrow, along with our one-year-old son Zac, on March 21. We watched as passengers flowed through the arrivals door at Terminal 3. Then we saw him.
Nothing we did – not the sightseeing forays, the shopping trips to buy him clothes and including him in celebrations with Steve’s large family – could lift the glumness.
I even enrolled him in a language school so that he could learn English while he was here. I thought it would be a skill that he could use to get a job back home.
The eight-week course cost me £250. Kamran offered to help out by taking Zac to and from his childminder.
We included him in everything we did, but we couldn’t understand his sullenness because he had been so outgoing and friendly in Pakistan. I kept waiting for him to open up, but he remained quiet and distant.
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