When I get back from one such tour in November, Napirai runs into my arms and complains: ‘Mama, why do you keep having to go away? Everybody knows about it now. We've had our pictures taken so many times. I don't want you to have to keep going off because of that stupid book!’
Her voice is so sad and reproachful and it's not long before I'm ringing the publishers to say that despite the widespread interest in more readings during the coming year, I am temporarily, at least, giving them up. I want to enjoy this Christmas with Napirai and Markus together. He's also had to bear the side effects of all my charging around and it's already led to our first rows. It's really not been easy for him. Some days I get crazy fans ringing me up at all hours, even late at night, and they can be hard to get rid of politely. Or we're out eating in a restaurant and every half-hour someone or other comes up to talk about the book irrespective of whether we're in a deep personal conversation or have a forkful of food halfway to our mouths. It's just not easy for him, and I don't want to risk anything, not my good relationship with Napirai nor my affection that is fast becoming love for Markus.
On the other hand it is my ‘job’ and that side is also part of ensuring its success. Of course I know that most readers mean well but even so with the book's sales just about at their peak, I decide to retreat from the limelight. I need the time anyhow to get myself together and decide what comes next because I know perfectly well that my days as an author are numbered. I'm determined not to write a sequel, even though lots of readers would like one, because I'd like a bit more peace and quiet in my life. But then at the beginning of March 2000 the paperback edition comes out and the whole fuss starts up anew as once again it climbs to the top of the bestseller lists. That means I have to do at least a few TV shows and public appearances.
Most of the time, however, I'm at home every night cooking for my family. I'm also beginning to regain my love of nature and enjoy going for long walks just on my own. All that I need with me is a little camera so I can capture and enjoy the plants, landscapes and stone formations I come across. And because I suddenly get the urge, I go out and buy a high-powered motor scooter and pass my test. Markus gets the same inspiration and before long we're roaring over the Swiss mountain passes together. Sometimes I take Napirai along on the pillion, but she's now at the age when she prefers getting in a huddle to gossip with her girlfriends. There's no doubt about: I'm beginning to feel things are changing but I have no idea where they'll lead.
I now get regular letters from Kenya and we exchange photos often. James is married now. Even though his wife went to the same school as he did, she had to undergo so-called female circumcision before their wedding. Reading that, I realise that their traditions are stronger than any education. That October I read in another letter that she has given birth to a healthy little girl.
However Lketinga's wife has had her second miscarriage and has to go into hospital because of complications. Lketinga is sad that they keep losing children. Only their firstborn girl has survived.
In one long letter from James there are a few words dictated by my mother-in-law:
Napirai's Gogo[2] is very old now but she promises to pray for you and Napirai for the rest of her life. I will never forget what you have done for me, Corinne. You always looked after me, went and fetched wood for the fire, and water, made my meals, washed my clothes and many many more things. I will always hold you dear in my heart.
Even ten years after I last saw her, such kind words move me deeply and I feel the ties that still bind us. I remember our first meeting in Barsaloi and can still picture Mama crawling into her manyatta to take a good sober look at me with Lketinga. It seemed like an eternity before she reached out her hand with a laugh and said, ‘Jambo!’ Even if I didn't understand a word of the torrent that followed, I could feel that she had given us her blessing and felt myself immediately liking her.
To think that today millions of people have read that story; I am only glad if I have given them something out of it.
In May 2001 I spend a couple of days in Munich to discuss the script for a possible film about my life. Discussions and negotiations about such a film have been going on for ages now. On the one hand things are tough in the film industry at present and on the other they have problems settling on a director and who should play the main roles of Lketinga and me.
I have to admit I find it difficult, even shocking, to read scenes in the script that don't come from the book or any part of my life in Kenya. It seems the dramatic narrative of a film is different from that of a book and from now on there is a lot of work and discussion before everyone involved can agree. I can only hope that if one day this chapter of my life does end up on the big screen that Napirai and I will be proud of it. After all, we're the ones who're going to have to live with it. But I'm cautiously optimistic that it'll work out and they'll produce a fine, authentic film. We can't wait to see it. Undoubtedly, it's going to be an odd experience to watch other people play out scenes from my life.
Plans for the Future
In the meantime our little family has grown closer. We've all now been to Bali on holiday together, a trip the girls still rave about. Sometimes we go camping for the weekend. It's all good fun and we always look forward to Markus's daughters coming to stay.
As the number of paperback copies of the book sold in Germany nears the one million mark, I start to think about what I'm going to do next. I've recently taken up again with Anna from the single mothers’ group and often go out to visit her in her farmhouse. I love the way she lives. I always enjoy being out there with her and helping with the animals and can actually imagine myself living the same sort of hermit's existence.
Napirai and Markus, however, couldn't imagine living like that. The next thing that comes into my mind is that maybe I should open a hotel or restaurant. lust to keep all my options open, I've enrolled in all sorts of courses, learning about computers, book-keeping, how to make cheese or run a hotel or restaurant. Even so, I don't really know what sort of new project I want to take up, or when or even where. What inspires me most is the idea of running a small hotel, maybe in partnership with someone else. I already fantasies about calling it The White Masai and decorating it in an African style. I drive all round Switzerland looking for the right spot and when I find myself in the southern Italian speaking canton of Ticino, it occurs to me that I could well feel at home there.
A little bit later I spot a newspaper advertisement for an ‘Intensive Italian language course in Ticino, starts one week from today’. Napirai has school holidays at the time so I sign both of us up. All we have to do is find a holiday apartment to let, which is hardly a problem down there in February.
I'm quite laid back about the idea of mother and daughter sharing a desk in school. Napirai is not quite so enamored. We spend the afternoons sightseeing and going on little trips around the area. The climate in Ticino is incredibly mild for the time of year, almost spring-like. After a week I'm so enchanted by the little town of Lugano with its lake, the mountains close by and whole panorama that looks just a little bit like Rio de Janeiro that I can's shake off the idea that this could be where we make our future.
Napirai likes it too although she wouldn't like moving away from her schoolfriends. On the other hand she would enjoy living in a town which has more to offer an adolescent girl than life in a village. We talk over the pros and cons and I'm convinced that at thirteen, Napirai could make the break. Her easygoing, relaxed attitude makes it easier to make friends as we've noticed time and again on holiday. She's even making a good stab at the language already. But she is extremely sensitive and is very adversely affected by bad news or trouble. When we're strolling around town, she stops to drop a coin in the hat of every beggar or busker. She even feels sorry for restaurant owners with no customers and says things like: ‘Look, Mama, there's nobody there. Shouldn't we go in and have a coffee? I'm really thirsty.’ Even when she was a little girl she was quick to help other children if they fell over even if she didn't know them. She really can't bear to see animals suffering. Things like that leave scars that last years.