I was relieved when at last

I woke one morning to see the teeming port of Alexandria, the fishing boats already at work. As we drew nearer, I could feel the entire ship becoming fraught with excitement, the heat of the African sun warming our faces and sending those not yet familiar with its ferocity scurrying into the shade of their cabins. The more experienced passengers knew to keep out of its glare but stay in open spaces to take advantage of any breezes.

By the time we had docked and were ready to disembark, I was almost dizzy with anticipation. Alexandria was huge and noisy, the water-sellers, melon sellers, and other pedlars thronging around the ramps, while nearby the carriage ranks were full with Europeans come to meet their relations and business partners. As we made our way down the gangplank, I spotted Papa and rushed to him, throwing my arms around his neck and crying with relief, not caring if he was angry with me for running away so many times. I need not have worried. As he squeezed me in his bear-like embrace, he whispered in my ear that sending me away was the worst mistake he’d ever made in his life, and he would never do it again. I embraced him, forgetting all about the miseries of the past winter. I was home.