I'm feeling very proud of myself now driving to work in my new car. It's snowed overnight and the streets are full of slush, but I'm not worried about driving because my boss reassured me that the car's all-weather tyres are more than adequate. Even so I'm driving slowly and cautiously. Then all of a sudden on a right-hand bend I lose control of the vehicle and it slithers straight ahead on the slushy snow only coming to a halt when it thuds into a parked car. I'm in shock. I've never had an accident in my life until now. And that's with driving over some of the most insane roads in Kenya that almost nobody else dared drive on. I can't understand what happened. I thought I was steering properly into the bend. My beautiful brand-new car is badly damaged on the right-hand wing and the parked car I've crashed into is no better. Doors and windows up and down the street are opening now and within seconds there's a distraught woman staring at her new, now near demolished, car.
I'm absolutely mortified and can't help thinking my boss is going to chew my head off. When the husband of the woman whose car it is appears, he turns out — irony of ironies — to be a car bodywork repairer, and he immediately notices that I haven't got winter tyres. I can't believe what he's telling me and end up nearly hysterical. He then starts trying to calm both of us down and says, ‘It's not all as bad as it looks.’ Even my boss doesn't seem too worked up when I ring to tell him the news and says he'll send for a tow-truck. And that's the end of my first week with a brand-new car. But I get a replacement vehicle until mine can be repaired and my boss tells me the insurance will pick up the tab for the rest. That's how easy things are here.
Organizing my sales meetings and going along to show off my goods gets me into contact with more and more people, and ever more frequently some man or other asks me out for dinner or a drink. Up until now I've always made my excuses, but for the first time I've met someone I like and I accept. We make a dinner date and so I find myself going out with a man for the first time since my return from Kenya. Napirai is spending the night with my mother.
Already over dinner, when we're getting to know one another, I realise my previous life has its drawbacks. ‘Oh, you already have a child?’ is his first comment, and his tone of voice says it all, and before long the evening's already over.
Another time I went out with someone, my story was greeted with, ‘I see, you prefer black men?’ Even when I tell him that I've only gone out with one black man, my ex-husband, the comment still leaves a funny taste in the air. One man even asked me: ‘Have you had an Aids test yet?’ Each time something like that happens I'm brought straight down to earth with a bump with the result that all these ‘affairs’ end before they've even begun.
Before long I can't be bothered to send my daughter off to spend the night elsewhere just to go out for a meal and some disagreeable conversation. It's more fun cooking for some of my girlfriends and having a bit of a party at home. Or every now and then I meet up with some of my old colleagues from Rapperswil if there's live music in a restaurant there. Then I can take Napirai along too and she really enjoys that. She loves being in a big group of people and when there's a band playing she goes and stands at the front right next to them and dances along, which amuses everybody. Sometimes she just goes around from table to table looking at people. When she gets back to our table, she's usually got some sort of little present. I have to laugh although sometimes I wonder if it's her natural curiosity and good mood that wins over people or the color of her skin.
One night when we're sitting peacefully in a local spot at around eleven o'clock in the evening, I hear someone say, ‘A child ought to be in bed at this time.’ Oh yes, I think to myself, and you mean her mother ought to be back home along with her. The fact is that my daughter enjoys being out with me, listening to the music and enjoying each other's company, and in any case it's a weekend and we can sleep in. In warm climates people are used to taking their children out with them and it's a well-known fact that everyone's jollier. I pay no attention to them and the two of us stay on until I notice that she really is tired. Then we drive back home happily.
I mention this experience at one of our next group meetings and immediately everyone starts talking about their experiences. A lot of single mothers lack self-confidence and don't go out to public places; they stay indoors until they go mad. Well I'm not going to be one of them; I'm going to bring my daughter up my own way.
Once again Christmas is on its way and there's deep snow everywhere. Some of the others in our little housing estate ask me if I want to bring Napirai out to one of the forest huts for a St Nicholas's day party. They're going to have someone dressed as St Nicholas there with his donkey and all that goes with it. Everyone's contributing something. I say yes please, and can't wait to see how Napirai will react to it all.
Ten of us adults turn up with our children at the hut which is all done up with Christmas decorations. There are nuts, mandarin oranges, candles and wine. We've been there about an hour when there's the tinkle of bells outside and a hammering on the door. All the children jump excitedly and run to their parents. Napirai just stands there staring at me in surprise and then back at the door, which opens to reveal two little children dressed as St Nicholas, all in red, along with their traditional helpers, Farmhand Ruprecht all in black, and old brown Schmutzli with his stick. For a second or two it all goes silent and then we grown-ups ask the pair of St Nicholases in and the children start laughing, although a few still hide behind their parents. Napirai is still puzzled and asks me: ‘Mama, who is it?’ I explain all the legend and tradition to her in a jokey way and then we listen as the St Nicholases make their little speeches for each child before they go over to collect their little sacks of goodies. But Napirai only wants to go over to the man in black. She's not remotely interested in the children dressed in the red costumes. Instead she goes up to Farmhand Ruprecht and starts pulling at his black beard. It looks so funny that everybody breaks out in laughter. Most of the children avoid this sinister figure but Napirai is fascinated by him. We're in tears of laughter. I realise it must have something to do with Africa, a memory of her African origins and an instinctive trust in dark people.
It reminds me of a funny thing that happened about six months earlier when we were out shopping. We were going up an escalator when we came across a black man going down the one opposite. Napirai, who was sitting in the shopping trolley, pointed a finger at him and called out ‘Papa!’ He smiled over at us but my face was bright red. And now here she is hanging on to Farmhand Ruprecht. I'm certain she'll want to visit her father when she grows up.
Eventually our little Christmas party comes to an end and we clear everything up. On the way home Napirai is very proud to be carrying her little sack filled with nuts, chocolate and gingerbread.
A few days later I get a letter from James telling me things are more or less OK, except that they haven't had any rain for nearly a year and both people and animals are going hungry. In fact the drought is so bad some have already died. The cows are dying because the grass isn't growing any more which means there's no more milk and that's one of the main subsistence foods for the people. Thanks to the financial help my brother Marc and I are providing, his family are doing better than most. He thanks us effusively once again and sends the very best wishes from the whole family. But he doesn't refer to the questions I asked for my social security application and so I have no idea whether our letters crossed or mine has even got lost altogether. He still hasn't heard from Lketinga but doesn't want to go back down to Mombasa. He'll let me know if he hears anything. He's going to be home for two months over Christmas and there's going to be another big ceremony for which he has to buy a cow, but he has no money and asks me to help him out.