Chapter Four

In which I make breakfast and experience public transport for the first time

The following morning, I was the first to wake. I sat up and stretched and looked down at my sleeping family. Baby looks so adorable when he’s asleep. So does Mjomba even though he keeps his mask on, and as for my husband - well! I can honestly say I’ve never seen a more handsome slab of man-flesh.

Movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. I was just in time to see my neighbours’ upstairs curtains close very quickly. Someone had been looking out and hadn’t liked what they had seen. My best guess is it was Mrs Lyons. I suspect she couldn’t wait to get back from her night in a hotel in order to keep an eye on what her crazy new neighbours were up to.

Because what else had changed in the view from her upstairs window in the last twenty-four hours? Only the addition - some might say, embellishment - of my family. Anyone might think she had never seen people sleeping on the roof of a shed.

Perhaps there are some things about other people and the way they live their lives that I will never understand either.

I listened to the distant rumble of traffic: motorcars and what-have-you on the main road. The constant noise and the unnatural smell made the air heavy and unpalatable even in the haven of our own garden. I realised I missed the cries of colourful birds and the chirrups of insects and the rustle of leaves as predators slink after their prey through the undergrowth. I missed the canopy of green that framed the sky. I missed the glory of the sunrise - Here, the sky seemed to swap the dark blue of night for a range of shades of grey before settling on one that would do for the rest of the morning.

I tried to imagine what it must be like for Man who has known nothing but his jungle home his entire life. Baby too was in a similar position although he had the benefit of my experience of the outside world as he went through those important early years. And Mjomba - well, who can tell what’s going on behind that wooden face? It is perhaps wisest not to try to fathom the workings of Uncle Mjomba’s mind.

The sounds of the traffic grew louder as the sky did its best to turn brighter. Man and Baby stirred. They rubbed their eyes. Man sat up and kissed my cheek, which he does first thing every morning without fail.

“Good morning, darlings!” I hugged them both. “Good morning, Mjomba.”

The mask twitched. Uncle Mjomba extended one of his long arms in what may have been a greeting or indeed a plea for five more minutes of kip. He must have forgotten where we were because the gesture caused him to lose his balance and he tumbled off the edge of the shed.

We all laughed - after we had peered down to see he was uninjured, of course. Mjomba scampered into the house, chattering merrily.

“Watering hole,” said Man.

“I expect so,” I agreed.

Man’s brow dipped in the slightest of frowns. “Lady try watering hole?”

“Well, I...” I could tell a lot was riding on my answer, “- I haven’t exactly tried everything but if you need help, darling...” Of course, I had been brought up with bathrooms - every other room in our house had been a bathroom but one gets used to other habits. I remember an awkward time when Man and I first met and I needed to answer Nature’s call, and Man was so sweet; he showed me, with splendid discretion, where and how to dispose of my waste. A wide circle of holes in the ground around the tree house worked better than any fence to keep the big cats away.

Man looked away. He was accustomed to being the one who helped me out of sticky situations.

“You can show me, Dad,” Baby rescued us both. “It will be an adventure.”

While the men in my life sprang from the shed and went into the house to avail themselves of the facilities, I began to fret about breakfast.

I looked down at the garden. There was not much to it. Some rough grass and some dowdy plants but I didn’t recognise but were probably weeds. (That’s a curious concept when one thinks about it: weeds. Plants one doesn’t want so one rips them out and kills them. The only plant I don’t want is the carnivorous type that stinks like carrion. Man has had to rescue me from those things on more than one occasion. But I won’t go into all of that now.)

Breakfast...

Last night’s fire was all but dead so cooking something was off the menu. I remembered the supplies in the kitchen and the brightly coloured box that boasted its own worth as the ideal meal with which to begin one’s day. Surely, the problem was solved!

I climbed down from the shed and went in search of this miraculous foodstuff.

I examined the box thoroughly and with diligence. A good deal of scientific engineering had gone into this packet of Rice-O-Pops, if all the weights and measures were to be believed. I found the table of contents reassuring: Niacin, riboflavin, folic acid, sugar... Surely these things could only be beneficial to our health. Why else would the makers include them?

“Just add milk and sugar to taste,” it said in a balloon shape emanating from the happy monkey’s face. I took this to be the recipe. There was also a helpful depiction of a bowl brimming with these wonderful flakes, bathing in milk like so many waterfowl on a lake.

Nothing could be simpler.

I found milk in a carton in the cold light box and bowls in a cupboard. But there was no sugar. How then were we to taste our breakfast?

I was momentarily at a loss and stood confounded, patting my lips with my fingertips.

I could ask Mr Lyons. After all, his help had proved invaluable to us so far. And there had been a twitch of the upstairs curtains next door; his family appeared to have returned early from their hotel sojourn.

I went to the foot of our stairs and called up to my happy, splashing family that I was going to see the Lyonses. Whether they heard me or not, I cannot say.

I opened our front door, which was chained to the frame as if someone might steal it, I suppose. I hopped over the little dividing wall between the two front gardens.

The Lyonses’ front door was adorned with, unsurprisingly, the head of a lion made of brass or some such. The beast was holding a hoop in its jaws. I admired this totemic emblem for a while before I rapped on the door with my knuckles.

The windows were open - no doubt to air out the smell of last night’s smoke - and through them came the voices of the occupants.

“Nutcases!” I heard Mrs Lyons say. Perhaps she too was preparing breakfast of some kind. “Do you know they’ve been there all night? They must be out of their flipping minds. Are you listening to me, Brian?”

There followed a grunt, which must have come from Mr Lyons - I do not think the family keep a pet warthog.

“I mean,” Mrs Lyons continued, “it can’t be comfortable never mind decent.”

Mr Lyons hummed like a bee suddenly swatted.

“I don’t know why they bothered buying the house at all if all they want is the flipping shed.”

“Haw,” said Mr Lyons, for which utterance Mrs Lyons castigated him. They were discussing my family, it was patently clear. We were a more pressing subject to Mrs Lyons than the restoration of her home after the fire damage. I, of course, was fascinated and so continued to eavesdrop. It was something Man had taught me; one needs to observe and listen when tracking an animal so that one might better understand and predict its behaviour.

“What’s next?” Mrs Lyons was getting worked up, I could tell. “That’s what I’m dreading. Swinging through the trees, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“What trees?” I recognised the voice of the younger daughter. Her question went unanswered.

“Where’s your sister?” her mother rounded on her.

“I haven’t got her,” said young Rebecca, which seemed to me an obvious response.

“Don’t be so clever, you,” Mrs Lyons snarled. Strange, I thought; we have always encouraged Baby to be as clever as possible. Anyway, they had drifted off the subject of us so I resumed my bid to get their attention.

Presently, after more knocking considerably louder than my first attempt, the door was opened and the lady of the house looked me up and down in what I have to say felt a rather cold appraisal.

“Good morning, Mrs Lyons,” I said, nevertheless, awarding her my most thawing smile. I have faced down deadlier beasts.

She made no gesture to welcome me over the threshold. Quite the contrary, in fact. She stepped forward and formed a kind of human wedge between the door and its frame. I could have told her, if she was worried I had come to steal the door she should get one of those little chains.

“Who is it, love?” said Mr Lyons, wresting the door open. He beamed when he saw me.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hair lair,” he replied in what may have been mockery of my accent. “Morning, neighbour.”

His wife quailed visibly at the word. Mr Lyons beckoned me in.

“I’m terribly sorry,” I wrung my hands as I stepped into their hall - like ours but in mirror-image. “I know this is probably some awful imposition but, as you know, we only arrived yesterday and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, we’re sort of a little short in the supplies department.”

“Pardon?” said Mrs Lyons, evidently unused to hearing long sentences.

“She wants to borrow a cup of sugar,” Mr Lyons translated. “Come in, come in, love. We don’t stand on ceremony here.” He led me through to their kitchen - again, like ours but in reverse, but every surface was awash with clutter and detritus. The ceiling and walls were black and in some places still wet. One would think this reminder of my husband’s rescue of her daughters would have softened Mrs Lyons towards us but there are some snakes that cannot be charmed. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

“Yes,” I felt some kind of response was expected. “It’s very...” I caught the younger daughter’s eye, “Good morning, dear!”

“Hiya,” said Rebecca, pleasantly.

There followed an awkward silence. Mrs Lyons broke it, a woman unable to hold her tongue for any length of time.

“So, you’re after some sugar.”

“Well...” I disliked asking her for anything and I am usually an advocate for leaving one’s neighbours in peace. Back home, our nearest neighbours had been a tribe whose obsession with spiders was of cultish proportions. My husband was on the point of routing them, having rescued Baby and I from their clutches, until I pointed out they were only doing what they thought best to make their way in the world just like the rest of us. Spider-Men crazy, was Man’s final word on the subject. “If it’s not too much trouble,” I completed my sentence, keeping it brief this time for her benefit.

“I’m sure we can sort you something out,” said Mr Lyons but he looked around the kitchen as if he didn’t know where the sugar might be.

“Here,” said Mrs Lyons, producing a white packet which she slapped onto a counter like a brick.

“Thank you,” I picked it up, feeling the weight of it. “And what do I do with it, exactly?” I had been accustomed to sugar in tiny dice-sized cubes, in a silver bowl with silver tongs - in my early life, you understand.

“She doesn’t know what to do with sugar,” said Mrs Lyons as though captioning the scene.

“It’s a - a sweetener,” offered Rebecca. “You sweeten things with it.”

“Oh!” I looked at the bag anew. “... Why?”

“It makes things nicer,” Rebecca shrugged. Clearly she hadn’t really thought about it before.

“Oh,” I said. “And you use a lot of this, Mrs Lyons?”

“We get through a fair bit,” Mrs Lyons conceded. I handed her the packet.

“I’m not sure it’s working,” I said.

Mr Lyons laughed until his wife gave him her version of the evil eye. The atmosphere had grown very tense, very quickly. It was young Rebecca who made an attempt to change the mood.

“Tell you what,” she said, “I’ll take you shopping, if you want. Show you the ropes.”

“Ropes?” I was intrigued. “Do you mean transport?”

“What did I tell you?” said Mrs Lyons with an air of vindication.

“You could do with someone to show you around,” Rebecca went on. “I’d be happy to.”

I was grateful to the child and told her so. Her mother stepped between us.

“Aren’t you busy today, Rebecca?”

“No.”

“Fine. Great. Wonderful!” I clapped my hands together, pleased to have another ally in this camp.

“Shall we say after breakfast?” Rebecca stepped around her mother as one might avoid a scorpion in one’s path.

“After breakfast,” I complied, and was then reminded of the purpose of my errand. I took the bag of sugar from Mrs Lyons, thanked her for it but her lips were too tightly pursed to permit a reply. I thanked everyone all over again as they walked me to the front door.

“If there’s anything el - ouch!” Mr Lyons’s parting words were curtailed by a quick kick to his shin from his wife. I waved a hand without turning back, deeming it politic to use the front gate with Mrs Lyons’s eyes boring into me. If looks were blowpipes...

I found my family in the back garden, squatting around the embers, their hair damp, their skin aglow and their mood cheerful. I fetched the cereal from the kitchen, along with four bowls and the milk, and joined them on the ground. They watched me with intent expressions as I tried to convey an air of confidence I was not feeling. I poured the milk into the cereal box and gave it a shake then I scooped some out with a bowl and passed it to Baby. I repeated this procedure for Mjomba and for Man and I and we sat, in companionable silence, drinking the drenched rice grains from the dishes.

Mjomba, who succeeded in spilling most of his down his mask’s pointed chin, made lip-smacking sounds and held out his bowl for a refill. Man and Baby were not as appreciative. I could see why. Even without the Lyonses’ sugar (which lay ignored in its bag on the ground) the rice was unbearably sweet and sickly. The milk was greasy, coating the inside of our mouths with a film.

“It’s... crunchy,” said Baby.

“Like beetles,” added Man.

“Oh dear,” I said. “I think we’ll stick to fruit, don’t you?”

“Rather!” said Baby. He ran indoors to rinse his mouth under the tap.

Man put his bowl regretfully on the ground. Mjomba snatched it up and devoured the contents. Man passed him Baby’s bowl. He glanced around the garden.

“Fruit,” he said wistfully.

“I know, darling,” I patted his knee. “Oh, I didn’t tell you! The Lyons girl is taking me shopping! We shall have fruit before the day is out, I am sure.”

I took the bowls back into the house - Mjomba was reluctant to surrender his but I left him with the cereal box and the milk and let him get on with it. I heard the gate open and then the Lyons girl talking to Man.

“Hello, er, Man,” she said, sounding a little wary to me.

“Hello,” said Man - I may have mentioned how adaptable he is.

“I was looking for your, um, wife... ”

“Find her?”

“No... ”

“Then not give up!” Man laughed. He is hilarious, you realise.

I went out to rescue the girl from her befuddlement.

“Darling, you remember Rebecca. She’s come to take me to get a few things.”

“Hm?”

“You know, shopping. Trading.”

“Lady make trade?”

“That’s it! Got it in one, darling.”

“What Lady trade? Lady have nothing.”

He had gone straight to the crux of the matter. He was right, of course. I stood chewing my lower lip until I remembered something and produced a small, flat rectangle from my bikini top.

“Remember this thing, darling? Mr Lyons procured it on our behalf.” I passed the object to him and he examined it from every angle. “It’s called a gold card.”

“Gold card...” Man repeated carefully. “Gold card small. Lady not get much. Not real gold.”

“I doubt it’s not real card either, but Mr Lyons said we can get everything we need. All with that little thing. Isn’t it marvellous?”

Man appeared unconvinced. Baby emerged from the house, bouncing around like a rabbit.

“May I go too? Please, Mother, may I?”

I shared a concerned glance with my husband. “Oh, I don’t know... Will it be safe, do you think?”

“Well, I manage,” piped up Rebecca.

“Well...” was all I could say in my ambivalence.

Baby appealed to his father. Man nodded decisively.

“Son go with Lady and Lion girl. Son protect.”

“Hurrah!” said Baby.

“All right, all right,” I ruffled Baby’s hair. “Son protect.”

“What about you, Mr - um?” Rebecca extended the invitation to include my husband.

“Pardon?” said Man.

“Oh, come on, Dad!” Baby entreated. “It’ll be such fun.”

But Man would not be swayed. “Man stay here,” he jutted that marvellous chin. “Man and Mjomba work land.”

Mjomba looked up from the cereal box as though this was news to him.

“Good idea, darling.” I went up on tiptoe to peck his cheek.

“Lady need help, Lady call.”

“I will, darling. I promise. Ta-ta!”

Rebecca, Baby and I made our way to the front of the house and the street. I overheard Rebecca whispering to Baby - the jungle has attuned my ears to the slightest sound - you never know when danger might strike.

“Your parents are so ace,” she said and I presumed it was a compliment. “My mom thinks you’re uncivilised but you’ve already got mobile phones sorted out.”

Both Baby and I stopped and stared at her.

“Mobile phones?” we said, in one puzzled voice.

Rebecca shook her head as though she had walked into a cobweb and led us along the street, past dozens of houses that looked just like our own, individualised by the colour of the front doors or the selection of plants in the front garden. As we passed, curtains twitched in our wake. We were no doubt the subject of no small amount of commentary but Baby and I have been scrutinised by much more dangerous eyes. Unlike leopards, I doubt our neighbours were sizing us up with a view to eating us raw.

Around a corner, where the road was wider and busier, we came to a standstill at a post in the ground. At the top of the post was a rudimentary representation of a motor vehicle. I had heard of such things but, having had Jakes the chauffeur to drive me around, had never had occasion to use a bus-stop before.

A couple of the local elders were already there: old women with desiccated faces and the acrid stench of urine. This is what happens when the elderly wear clothes. Their incontinence gets absorbed into the fabric and haunts them all day. Far better for them to be naked - but I suppose that would not be acceptable for some reason or other. Rebecca seemed not to notice the odour but to Baby and I it was like being punched in the nose.

“Here we are,” said Rebecca cheerfully.

“It’s lovely,” I said, because I felt she required approval.

“Is it the trading post, Mother?” Baby seemed disappointed.

“This is where we catch the bus,” said Rebecca, delighted by Baby’s innocence. The youngest of her family, she must have relished the chance to have someone to look after and, of course, my Baby is delightful company.

“Good morning, elders,” I met the stares of the old women head on. Seething, the old women turned away. How rude, I thought.

“Take no notice,” said Rebecca. And then, to change the subject, “I don’t half like your outfit.”

“Oh?” I was surprised. “Which half don’t you like?”

“No! I mean I really like your outfit.”

“Thank you, dear. It’s gazelle.”

“Ooh, I’d love a designer name like that,” the girl looked ready to melt. “What’s it made of?”

“Gazelle,” I repeated. Had she not heard me the first time?

“Ah...” she said.

“So where is the bus?” Baby glanced around in all directions, including upwards at the sky.

“Have patience, darling.” I put a hand on his shoulder but he knocked it away.

“Be along in a minute,” said Rebecca with confidence. Her face brightened. “That reminds me of a joke. There’s these two old codgers at a bus-stop, you see.”

“Yes, I see them.”

“Not them,” Rebecca laughed. “In the joke. There’s two old codgers at a bus-stop and one says to the other, Will the next bus be long? And the other old codger says, About thirty feet, I suppose.”

She threw back her head and laughed like a howler monkey. She stopped when she realised we weren’t joining in. We all turned our attention to staring along the road, on the lookout for the bus.

It was not long before Rebecca was fidgeting and sighing. She took out her ever-present device and thumbed it. “Looking up the timetables,” she said. Then she laughed and showed us a picture of a kitten wearing a top hat. What a marvel of modern technology! But Baby and I have seen more impressive cats up close and personal, felt their hot breath on our faces as we kept perfectly still. Therefore, waiting in a bus-stop held no challenge for us and a picture of a cat in a hat no allure.

Eventually, a red and white vehicle like a house on wheels hove into view. Rebecca extended her arm, which is something one must never do in the jungle, lest it be bitten off.

“Here we are,” she said.

“And here’s the bus,” said Baby, bouncing with excitement. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

The urine-steeped elders jostled their way ahead of us. The bus came to a juddering halt and its doors divided and folded in on themselves, as if operated by ghosts. The old women shuffled on board and waddled towards empty seats on the lower deck. Rebecca was the first of our party to follow. She held up a piece of plastic that was most definitely not a gold card. The man behind the steering wheel paid her no attention. He was focussed on Boy and me as we, hand in hand, stepped up onto the bus together. We giggled at the vibrations under our bare feet.

“Yes, love?” I felt the driver’s eyes move up and down my body. A dread realisation struck me.

“Oh, dear,” I chewed my lip. “I am afraid we do not have tickets.”

Rebecca, who had moved to the foot of the staircase, came back. “That’s ok,” she said, “The driver will give you tickets.”

“Splendid!” I beamed at the man and held out my hand.

“But you have to pay...” Rebecca added from the corner of her mouth.

“Ah,” I dropped my hand. I reached inside my top. “Gold card?”

“Haven’t you got any change?” Rebecca whispered. “Sonny?”

Sonny shrugged with his whole body and his face as well. He had no clue what she was talking about - I had little idea myself.

“Never mind; I’ll pay.” She dropped some coins into a gaping maw. The driver jabbed a couple of buttons. There was a noise like a pelican trying to swallow a boulder and both Baby and I were startled when a snake uncoiled itself in our direction.

“Relax,” said Rebecca, fearlessly snatching the snake and tearing its head off.

We saw then that it was made of paper. She ripped it into two pieces and gave one to each of us.

Shaking his head, the bus driver pushed another button and turned his wheel. Behind us, making us jump again, the doors unfolded and closed. We almost fell over as the bus moved on and we snatched at the rails for support. Now, Baby and I have traversed many a rickety rope bridge suspended over yawning chasms, the vines snapping in our hands and the planks rotting beneath our feet. None of that experience prepared us for the rocking motion of the bus. Rebecca, like the champion mountain goat in a surefootedness competition urged us to climb the winding stairs to the upper floor.

Baby found his sea (or rather, bus) legs faster than I and he followed our neighbour up and out of my sight. Less than twenty-four hours previously, he had struggled with the stationary steps in our house but look at him now! He is as adaptable as his father - perhaps more so.

I followed, at a much slower pace, and became aware that our fellow passengers were eyeing us with great interest. There was a buzz of gossip going around the bus like a bee gorging itself in a garden. It did not bother me in the least; I have been under the scrutiny of some of the most hostile people in Africa, often at knife- or gunpoint. The murmurs of elderly busybodies were not going to faze me.

Rebecca and Baby were occupying seats at the front. Baby was marvelling at the world going past - it was all still very new to him and his eyes couldn’t drink it all in fast enough. I took a seat behind them, ignoring the catcalls and whistles of some of the other passengers.

“I bet you don’t get buses like this where you come from, do you?”

“You would win that bet,” I agreed.

“It’s like riding an elephant with a lid on,” said Baby. I reached forward to ruffle his hair. He squirmed under my touch. “Mother!” he complained.

I sat back and tried to enjoy the view through the window at my side but the glass was too dirty for me to make out anything. This is where elephants have an advantage: an elephant will at least clean itself.

“Have you really ridden an elephant?” Rebecca looked at Baby with marvelling eyes.

“Many times,” Baby shrugged. “Haven’t you?”

“No! What’s it like? Is it smelly?”

Baby pulled a face as he considered his answer. “A different kind of smelly,” he concluded.

We were jostled and jolted for about a mile or so - I found it impossible to tell, although I could run you a mile across open countryside almost to the exact yard. Passengers got on and got off at various stops along the route and, with each stop and start of the bus, Baby and I grew more accustomed to its movements, its shocks and its swerves.

Rebecca stood up. “This next one’s us,” she announced and headed for the stairs. Baby followed, using the handrails and banister as a gibbon would the limbs of trees. I brought up the rear, aware that some of the native males were enjoying my rear as they descended the stairs behind me. If Man had been there he would have warned them off with a steely-eyed glare, but he wasn’t so I let them gaze.

“Nice bum,” enthused one admirer.

I looked over his shoulder and smiled. “My husband thinks so too,” I said. His pock-marked face faltered. “Eat more fruit,” I advised. “Your complexion will clear right up, but as for your manners, I’m afraid that is something only you can address. I will tell you that most ladies do not enjoy being ogled and harangued. See if you can work out how you might adjust your conduct.”

I left him gaping as the bus came to a halt, the jolt almost knocking him from the stairs.

Baby and Rebecca were waiting for me on the pavement. Baby and I shared a glance of relief to have survived. Then, in perfect synchronisation, we both doubled over and threw up our rice-o-pops. Rebecca backed away until we were quite ourselves again. As they passed us, other people looked us up and down and muttered commentary to each other. My admirer looked abashed and despite his embarrassment and the teasing of his companions, muttered an apology.

“Soz, lady,” he grunted, his face livid with heat.

“That’s ‘sorry, your ladyship’,” Rebecca jeered after him.

“Oh, hush now, Rebecca,” I waved her to be quiet. “Let’s have none of that; I want us to be treated just like normal people.”