Author's Note: The main character of this story is racist and xenophobic. There are also some other slightly problematic things that don't have to do with the protagonist, but lacunas in my research about Burkina Faso. I tried to fix some of it, but more changes would mean significant changes to the story.

***

The fence between Marie's garden and the one next to hers is low enough to see how, in the shadow of the wall that smooths out their features and hides them from possible peering gazes inside, two people kiss. Two girls.

Marie freezes. The clothespin in her hand doesn't close around the T-shirt in her other hand, that only keeps hanging on the clothesline because of her fingers and waves in the spring breeze. One of them is clearly from here. White. Blonde, ponytail, earrings. The other is a Negro, with thick afro curls that reach her shoulders. A newcomer. Immigrant - illegal probably. Dirty freeloader. It's been seven months already that she has to see her every day, always laughing or singing, though her frown never disappears completely, more often than not surrounded by rowdy, reckless, insolent children, just like her not from here.

***

A year and a half before the first residents moved in, Marie received a letter that number 17 would become social housing. Georgette - who only shuffled onto her terrace to feed the birds and was picked up on Sundays by one of her children for the 11 o'clock Mass - was already old when Marie and Chloé came to live at number 19 after her divorce, and by now had lived in a retirement home for several months, convinced by her children. Those had no interest in the house, neither did her grandchildren, so it was sold. Some minor repairs and alterations were carried out and eventually, when Marie had almost forgotten the letter, the first residents arrived.

It was a windy afternoon in September and the clouds hurried through the sky as sheep fleeing for a wolf in the shape of a dark grey rain cloud that impended above the horizon. First, loud voices pierced through the single-glazed windows, then the neighbour's door was blown shut with a loud bang. Marie assumed it was another home improvement, even though she didn't see a van.

Two days later, however, when she returned from her job, a girl in worn-out jeans and a T-shirt, a Negro, stood in front of her door with a box in her hands.

"Hello, I'm Noémie. I've just moved in next door and I wanted to introduce myself." Her French was fluent, though her accent betrayed that she was not Walloon.

"You're one of those next door? From the social housing?"

"Yes. Like I said -"

"What do you want?" Marie didn't like that box. To raise money, no doubt.

"I baked cookies with the children of my housemates as ... a housewarming gift for the neighbourhood. Would you like some?"

"And then ask for my hard-earned money, right?" Marie gave Noémie a wide berth and inserted her key in the front door. "You can go and palm off cookies to your own people!" She slammed the front door shut. The guts of some people!

***

While that was not the last time she saw Noémie or the other residents of number 17, Marie tried to ignore that all those illegals were her neighbours, that they were there at all. It was a coincidence if she checked that her door was locked one more time. The screaming children playing on the street were harder to ignore, but she contented herself with complaints to Isabelle about the noise and their recklessness. She only answered: "They're just children. Brings some life to the neighbourhood" - but that was only because she didn't know they were Negroes, Marie assured herself. She preferred to forget as soon as possible that she'd had to throw a stray ball back over the fence several times, but rather that than a permanent reminder of their existence in her garden or that they'd ring the bell to ask it back, God help her. Or maybe they wouldn't even ask.

All too often, Noémie headed out with a bag full of books at the exact moment Marie left the house as well and Noémie never failed to smile. Marie itched from it.

Even during the weekend, she couldn't escape because on a Saturday morning in early November, Noémie suddenly stood behind the counter of the bakery, radiant. In the evening, she complained to Sophie, who paid her an impromptu but welcome visit.

"Can you believe that Cristophe from the bakery hired a Negro, an immigrant, you know" - she whispered this, as if the shame was too big to be heard - "to work for him?"

"Seriously? Since when?" Sophie was a rewarding audience. She leaned in, eyes widening and adding the right dose of disbelief to her words.

"Don't know, but I saw her this morning. It's that girl from next door. Noémie." She spat out the name, as if she couldn't bear to keep it in her mouth a millisecond longer.

"It's a real shame, isn't it? There's already enough unemployment here and then they give our jobs to illegals that don't have any business here and only take advantage of our social security."

"Yeah, I really don't get it, that they're also assigned social housing."

"How are you actually doing, with your ... neighbours? Have they bothered you much? You always lock your door, right?"

"Of course." Marie realised she maybe should work on finally replacing her windows with double-glazing. Wasn't that safer? "I've actually only seen the children. The adults never seem to be home or they never come outside. But the kids are doing all sorts of crazy things and they play on the street without any supervision and they're always shouting and I'm afraid one of these days, a ball is going to break my window."

"Have you already thought about complaining to the municipality or the police?"

"Yeah, but they're probably gonna say again that they can't do anything as long as everything they do is legal."

Sophie nodded sympathetically. Marie stood up to brew coffee. When they both had a cup, Sophie asked: "And how is Chloé doing? She's graduating this year, isn't she?"

***

Noémie and the blonde laugh and walk farther into the garden. Marie's thoughts tumble as a rad in which the same image surfaces each time. She just saw Noémie kiss a girl. A Belgian girl. Weren't Africans all homophobic Muslims? Or was that only the Middle East?

She can't get her head around it. And which Belgian girl, for heaven's sake, would get it in her head to start a relationship with an illegal? That's asking for trouble!

She hangs up the laundry and goes inside. It's not her problem.

***

Chloé graduates cum laude. It's the first year she doesn't have any resits and to celebrate that, Marie eats out with her and Denis in a chic restaurant in Liège.

"When were you planning to come to mine?" Marie asks. Denis has kept living in Liège after their divorce and since Chloé started university, they've always let her choose where she'd spend her summers.

"Well, if that's alright, I'd come live with you again." She glances at Denis. "I talked with papa about it and he doesn't mind since I've mainly lived with him the past few years. And there are plenty of job opportunities for me near Gembloux. Everyone needs people who can use computers."

"Of course that's alright! Are you driving back with me or do you want to stay a few more days in Liège?"

"I intended to stay here until Sunday because we've made plans with some people to do a few more things to celebrate the end of the exams."

"Ooh. With whom? Do you have a girlfriend that I don't know about?" Denis teases.

"Papa! Stop always talking about that! It'll happen. The number of lesbians is just smaller than the number of straight men."

The talk about lesbians reminds Marie of that one kiss she witnessed between Noémie and that other girl. She's seen them together a few more times in April and May, but never again in the middle of a kiss and since the start of the exams, she hasn't seen that other girl at all. Would they have broken up? Maybe that poor child eventually realised that a relationship with a Negro, an illegal, is not a good thing.

***

"Mama?" Chloé's voice reverberates in the kitchen and drifts through the open window.

"Outside!" Marie doesn't look up from the weeds she's pulling out. It's the first weekend of October and much too hot for the time of the year, even though the soil is humid as if it too is sweating. It did rain last night then.

The back door opens and closes. "Mama? I'd like to introduce you to someone."

"Oh? You have a girlfriend?" Marie stands up and brushes the dirt off her pants and gardening gloves before turning around.

A small pause. "Yes. This is Noémie. We've been together for a month." Marie stares at - yes, she's seeing it right - that same Noémie from the social housing. The kiss she saw in April emerges and disappears again in the storm of thoughts and feelings that swish around like torn branches. The first person Chloé takes home is someone like that? Does she really not think? Or is it a case of 'love is blind'?

"Hello, ma'am." Her accent is somewhat different than a year ago. Softer. She has a nice voice. Marie can't put the finger on what makes her voice, her accent so special and that feels like a push when her balance is already shaky.

"Hello." A knot forms in her chest, her throat, but this is not the time to get angry and create a scene. She doesn't want to humiliate or hurt Chloé. Politeness still is quintessential, though she realises she's not been very polite to Noémie by ignoring every greeting and smile, every friendly gesture. Nevertheless, she smiles at Marie even now, though Marie sees how she squeezes Chloé's hand and her face is tense, like a latex mask that's just a little too small.

"Well, I wasn't prepared for this, as you can see, but I'm sure Chloé can offer you something to drink and to eat, while I finish up my work here." The words sound pinched, like a nail on a chalkboard.

"Okay." Chloé pulls Noémie inside and before they disappear from view, Marie sees how they share a smile like only a couple in love can. As if one another's face is enough to forget all the rest.

A while later, all three of them sit at the kitchen table.

"How did you meet each other?" Marie asks. That's polite, isn't it? And she actually wants to know that.

"Noémie lives next door, mama."

"Yes, I know." All too well.

Chloé glances at Noémie and the corners of her mouth curl up. "But we didn't really start talking until I had that job interview with the university here in August."

"How so?" Why, how would she have encountered Noémie there?

"Noémie studies bio-engineering and she was studying for a resit." Chloé smirks.

"Bio-engineer?" Marie's eyes widen. "Impressive." She means it too. Even the smartest people don't always have it easy with all that math and science and Noémie can never have had a good education?

"I'm here on a scholarship."

"She wants to help people in Burkina Faso develop new farming techniques when she graduates. Isn't that admirable?"

"You're from Burkina Faso?"

"Yes. I was lucky that I was able to go to a good school and I had the best grades in the country, so they granted me a scholarship to come to Belgium and study here, so I can better help my family."

"So ... you're here alone ... until you graduate?"

"Yes." Noémie lowers her eyes.

The conversation falters. Marie's head is about to burst. So Noémie is not illegal, after all. She's smart enough to receive a scholarship and - so it seems - to also do well here. She comes from Burkina Faso. Where's that again? Isn't that south of the Sahara? Draughts, famines? What more? Isn't her family Muslim? Aren't they homophobic? That's hardly possible. Isn't homosexuality punishable by death in just about all African countries? She can't ask that, can she? It only guarantees Chloé will scold her afterwards. Chloé, who clearly is head over heels for Noémie. And Noémie gives her the same looks and smiles and touches, the kind lovers are barely aware of.

"I'm going to Mass tomorrow, by the way. Noémie asked me to join her."

Marie's gaze falls on Chloé again. Not a Muslim, then. Noémie doesn't wear a hijab either, so she's not all that surprised. "Okay." She can hardly forbid her 22-year-old daughter to go to church, right?

Someone knocks on the door. A boy of about six is looking through the glass. Noémie gets up immediately.

"What's the matter?"

"Karim fell and they said you were here."

"Okay, I'll be there in a moment. Go ahead." She gives him a soft push and turns back. "Thanks for having me. I hope we can get to know each other better another time." She pecks Chloé's cheek. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow." Chloé waves and they smile again as if they're in their own bubble.

When they're alone in the kitchen, Chloé remarks: "I'm surprised you stayed polite. Noémie told me what happened when she introduced herself and that you'd never been polite to her, although she is too polite to say so with those words."

Marie's pride rises up. She's always been a bad loser. "And why would I? I thought she was one of those illegal immigrants and those have no business here."

"And what? Do they all have to bite the dust in their own country?" Chloé stands up and leans over the table as if that helps to get her point across.

"That they help the people there and not bring all the problems here!" Maries stands up as well, to restore the balance.

"Which is exactly what Noémie wants to do!" Chloé's indignation bursts out of its seams.

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do when she goes back? You don't think there will be many jobs there for IT people, do you?"

"I wasn't planning to go there and Noémie knows just as well as me that my life is here. And it's not like we could be together openly there." She reluctantly admits the latter.

"Of course. Probably punishable by death too?" Marie pulls up her eyebrows.

"No! Relationships like ours are not punishable in Burkina Faso. There's just no protection against discrimination, and that does exist. And her family also wants her to marry and have children and that's only possible with a man."

"So, what? You started a relationship with a Negro, even though you have no future together?" If Noémie breaks Chloé's heart, Marie'll be the one to fix it again. Isn't it the duty of parents to prevent their children do stupid things?

"So what? That's my own choice! It's not because we know our relationship won't last, that it can't be valuable or beautiful! I love her and I would really prefer you don't speak about my girlfriend in such a derogatory manner. You and your stupid prejudices about everyone!"

Chloé sucks in a gulp of air. Marie bubbles, almost boiling over. "I'm so tired of always hearing you criticise everyone who's different from you. It's a miracle you didn't disown me when I came out. If you stay so selective in which forms of otherness you do and don't accept, I will leave the house myself! That'll save you the trouble!"

"And where would you go?! Eh?!" Marie already knows it's a lost cause and her anger is more stubborn than genuine.

"If necessary, I'll live with Noémie! They'll be happy with some extra income and someone to watch the kids."

"So you're willing to mess up your future for a few years with that girl, if it even lasts that long?" Marie shrinks, just like her voice.

"You call that messing up my future, I call that growing up and making my own choices. I'm old enough and at least, my values are more than empty shells and superficial things. And why should I find the person I want to spend the rest of my life with right now?" Chloé's cheeks look red.

Marie sits down. She sighs, following the wood lines on the tabletop with her eyes. "You're right. But letting go is hard, you know? Of your children, habits, ideas. But I already know Noémie is not who I thought she was."

"Good." Chloé sits down too. Her tone has a sharp edge, but less than before. "Come along to Mass tomorrow. So you can see for yourself that also applies to our other neighbours."

Marie keeps silent. The clock is ticking louder than usual and outside, children are shouting again. Marie smiles. "You know what? That's not a bad idea."

***

Author's Note: I debated long how I should title this, but decided I could use this one for the English translation because it's so perfect. I originally wrote this in Dutch for a local contest last year where the prompt was "new neighbours". I wanted to write a story to disprove some of the stereotypes about (African) immigrants and I hope I managed that! Like I said, there are a few problems, so if you have any tips or critique on the representation, I'd love that! Because this is a translation, I also welcome corrections of spelling/grammar/turns of phrase even more than on my other stories.

Also, fun fact: the girl Noémie kisses at the beginning is not Belgian, but another exchange student. And apparently I didn't mention it in the story, but Noémie is bisexual, so the fact that she has to marry a man isn't too horrible. (That would've had emotional complications I couldn't deal with in a short story.)