Now, however, we're going to have to find a childminder to look after Napirai for the other two days of the week. I'd really prefer someone who already has children as Napirai misses playing with children her own age. Wetzikon has a family advice bureau and I go down there the next day to ask them how to find a suitable family. The elderly lady there is very nice and helpful and promises me she'll ask around and let me know as soon as possible. Relieved and grateful to her, I take a stroll around the village, amazed at how easy life has become. I can talk to anybody here and everyone understands me. I can ask whatever I want to know and there are people ready to tell me the answer or even to help. Strangely, as time goes by I'm gradually realizing more and more just how hard my life in Kenya was. It was only because I was blinded by my great love for Lketinga that I didn't notice it then.
Now I've made a start on finding work, a flat and childcare and all I have to do is wait for others to make decisions. I get the feeling things are going to change radically from now on and I can't wait to see how.
That evening Madeleine rings up to tell me that unfortunately there are no flats free at present and there's a waiting list for all of them. Nonetheless she gives me the address of the housing association, and says it might be better if I get in touch with them myself. I thank her and wish her happy holidays again as she's off the next day. But I'm disappointed with having to come to terms with her news and decide to leave it for a day or two before I do anything more.
I also haven't heard any more from my prospective employer yet. I really want to fight to get this job, particularly as I haven't had any other offers, so I ring him up to ask if he's made a decision yet. The lively old man tries to avoid giving a straight answer, so I come out and ask him what the problem is: Well, he says, he's not sure I'm the right person for the job. He might be ready to give me a chance but not on the salary we discussed as after all I don't have any experience. I really would have to drop my wage demand.
I reply indignantly that I'm worth every penny. ‘Anyone who can run a business successfully in Africa is going to be successful here.’ After a bit of toing and froing he agrees to let me start on May 1. Two days later I've got the contract in my hands. I've got the very first job I went for. How lucky can I get!
Back On My Own Two Feet
I've got two weeks to prepare myself and buy a car. Although I'm looking forward to the challenge, sometimes I have to ask myself if I really am up to making my way in the world of business again. The next few days are hectic. I find an old Ford which I can just afford but the expense of insuring it uses up my last penny. It really is time to start earning some money.
Three days before I'm due to start work the nice woman from the family advisory service rings up. We're in luck: they've found a nice couple in Wetzikon with a boy the same age as Napirai and have already spoken to them about acting as childminders. It's up to me now to go and meet them along with Napirai. It's important that we like each other and have the same ideas about bringing up children. I ring them up and arrange a time to go and see them.
They turn out to be gentle, well-balanced people and during the course of our meeting I find myself liking them more and more. The two children seem to get on well together too. Before long the two of them are sitting on the floor playing peacefully with the boy's toys. After we've sized each other up we agree that I'll bring Napirai round on Thursdays and Fridays. Her grandmother will look after her the rest of the week. Now that we've got that sorted I can finally start my job.
My first day at work flies by. We've agreed that I should spend the first week working in the shop, getting familiar with the products and learning the different patterns and their names. It's all very new and exciting and it's only in the car on the way back that I realise how tired I am all of a sudden. I could nod off on the spot. Struggling with my exhaustion I suddenly recall what the doctor at the hospital in Wamba said. He told me that because of my serious attack of hepatitis I wouldn't be able to work for a long time and even afterwards I would probably have only half the energy I used to have for years to come. My physical reserves were exhausted and it would take a long time before my defensive systems were back to normal. I try to tell myself now it's just the change in my lifestyle and try to suppress the memory of just how sick I had been back then.
Back home Napirai is waiting for me as impatiently as ever and as usual is ripping my blouse open as soon as I come through the door. I still have a lot of milk and my breasts are rather swollen which was making me uncomfortable all day at work. With a heavy heart I make up my mind that over the next few days I'm going to have to stop breastfeeding. My mother reassures me that everything's been fine. Napirai just had a little cry after her midday nap because she couldn't have her breast milk. She's never been used to a bottle or a dummy and it seems madness to me to start her with either now. My conscience starts to nag me for a bit now because I'm not used to Napirai crying unless anyone has actually physically hurt her. In Kenya you hardly ever hear children crying or throwing tantrums the way I've started noticing here.
I really enjoy my first week getting to know the job. I'm dealing with all sorts of different people and my self-confidence is growing daily as if I was the only one who had ever found it lacking. For the first time since I've come back from Africa I've noticed people actually reacting to me as a woman. For so long now I've considered myself only to be a mother. But now when I go out for lunch in the nearby restaurant I find I'm getting the occasional appreciative glance. Once I found myself actually thinking about when I last had sex and I realised that I didn't even know. Sexuality was never top of the list for my husband and me. I got a real erotic charge from him but from early on I had to realise that the Samburus neither kissed nor caressed one another. As far as they are concerned sex isn't a game, just a means of propagation and male gratification. They have no concept of a female orgasm, not least because they indulge in the gruesome practice of clitoral amputation, the so-called female circumcision. This horrid mutilation of the female genitalia is something I will never understand. Even Lketinga found it hard to explain why they do it to their women. I loved my husband and was for a long time just so happy to be living with him that the brief duration of the sexual act didn't bother me.
Looking back at the men in the restaurant I can't bring myself to imagine having a relationship again or even just sex. After more than five years just the thought of going out with a white man again frightens me. It's something that stretches even my dormant fantasies. Or is it just that I'm not in love and have more important things to think about? Nonetheless I realise that the unaccustomed attention is good for my morale and I can enjoy it from a safe distance over lunchtime, as long as it doesn't become a nuisance.
It almost breaks my heart the first time I have to leave Napirai with her childminder for the day. The corner of her mouth turns down and her dark eyes fill up with tears as she holds out her arms towards me and calls ‘Mamaaaaa!’ The childminder takes Napirai in her arms and tries to calm her down, stroking her hair. She's going to be fine here I tell myself but it's still with a heavy heart that I head off to work. It's not until I get to the shop that a new task takes my mind off her. Today I've got to start arranging meetings with potential customers. It's not easy getting through to the right people and getting them interested but by evening I've managed to fix up a few dates. Immediately I finish work I drive to the childminder's and charge up the three floors of stairs in my high heels. Napirai and the childminder open the door together and I can see by the smears on her face that she's already had her supper. She doesn't even make a grab to pull up my jumper but instead takes my hand and, chattering away, drags me into the room where the two children have been playing together. I feel a huge weight lifted from my shoulders when I see how happy and at ease she is. When we get back to my mother's she throws her arms around her too, as it's the first time she's not seen her for so long.