Back in Switzerland, I immediately begin looking for someone to take over the shop. A lot of people are interested, but only a few are suitable and they don’t have the money. Obviously I want to make as much as possible on the deal because I don’t know when I’m going to start earning again. You can live for two days in Kenya easily enough on ten francs. So I’ve become very stingy, putting aside every franc for my future in Africa.
A month passes quickly, and I hear nothing from Lketinga. I’ve already written three letters. Now, somewhat worried, I write to Priscilla. Two weeks later I get a letter from her that confuses me. Two weeks after I left Lketinga vanished and she hasn’t seen him since; he’s probably living back on the north bank again. Things aren’t going well with his passport and with good intentions she advises me that I’d be better off staying in Switzerland. I’m knocked sideways and write a letter straight away, addressing it to the P.O. Box on the north bank where my first letters reached Lketinga.
After two months back home a girlfriend decides to take over the shop at the end of October. I’m delighted that at least this big problem has been solved. Theoretically, therefore, I can take off in October but unfortunately I still haven’t heard a word from Lketinga. I reckon there’s no point in him coming to Switzerland now that I’ll be back in Mombasa soon and continue to believe in our great love. Another two confused letters arrive from Priscilla, but with my faith intact I go into the travel agent’s and book a flight to Mombasa for the fifth of October.
That leaves me with two weeks to get rid of the flat and my cars. The flat is no problem: I sell the lot, furnished, to a young student at a knockdown price. That way at least I can remain in the flat until the last minute.
My friends, business colleagues, everyone who knows me think I’m crazy. It’s particularly hard for my mother, although I have the impression that she understands me better than most. She hopes and prays that I will find what I am looking for and be happy.
I sell the soft-top on the very last day and have the purchaser drive me to the station. Buying a ‘single’ ticket to Zurich Airport excites me. With a tiny piece of hand luggage but a huge suitcase packed with T-shirts, underwear, simple cotton skirts and a few presents for Lketinga and Priscilla, I board the train and wait for departure.
When the train starts moving I could jump for joy. I lean back glowing like a lantern and laugh to myself. I’m overcome with a wonderful feeling of freedom. I could shout aloud and share my happiness and plans with everybody on the train. I’m free, free, free! I have no more obligations in Switzerland, no letterbox filled with bills, and I’m escaping the miserable grey winter weather. I don’t know what’s waiting for me in Kenya, whether Lketinga got my letters and, if he did, whether anyone translated them properly for him. I know nothing except that I’m enjoying an ecstatic feeling of weightlessness.
I’ll have three months to settle in before I need to apply for another visa. My God – three months! Time to work things out and get to know Lketinga better. I’ve worked on my English, and I’ve packed some good textbooks with lots of pictures. In fifteen hours’ time I will be in my new home. With that thought in my mind I board the plane, lie back and peer through the cabin window for a last look at Switzerland. Who knows when I’ll be back? To celebrate my departure and a new beginning, I order champagne and don’t know whether to laugh or cry.