Izzy is wearing his best shirt and long pants. Grandma pressed them hot this morning and the shirt is stiff, the collar tight around his neck. But he does not mind. He is happy he looks smart. He is happy his mother will see him all dressed up.
A big boy now. Just as smart as Ona, his brother.
Only his shoes let him down. His worn blue plastic sandals are covered with dust. Ona has proper shoes. Black leather shoes with laces and as he stands, he shines his shoes on the backs of his trousers one foot at a time. He is looking ahead. He is waiting for the plane to come, just like Izzy.
It is dead and stuffy in the open-door airport, and it is crowded. Just one big room with two ceiling fans that barely move the air. All the seats are taken. All the tourists are waiting for their flights away from here to other places in his country. But Izzy only knows this place. And Izzy does not want a seat. He is happy to stand. He will see his mother and he will run. He will beat Ona. He will be the first to fall into her softness, the first to kiss her, the first to greet her.
He is always the first.
Now Baby is crying. It is the heat, or maybe she is hungry, but Izzy does not look at her. He keeps his eyes fixed on the glass doors that lead out to the runway. The doors he will see his mother come though. The doors he has watched her come through every four months for as long as he can remember.
Grandma is stretching her back. She puts Baby down. Now Izzy wishes that there was a seat, one for her. For his grandma. He wishes that the tourists would leave and give her a seat. Can’t they see that she is old and that her back is hurting her? They seem dumb, these people. Melted by the heat – pink necks and pink faces.
Izzy doesn’t like to look at them.
Baby walks to him. She falls over but she does not cry. He tries to help her but she gets up on her own, pushes past him with her chubby arms. She walks to Ona. He looks down at her. He takes her hand and she stands quietly with him.
Baby will do anything Ona commands of her. She will listen more to Ona than to anyone. She looks at him like he is the leader, the man of the family. But he is not the leader of Izzy. He is not the boss. Izzy is old enough to have a pair of shoes of his own. His mother is going to buy him some good shoes with the money she has saved and they will go into town. They will go into Maun and get some shoes fitted. Black shoes better than Ona’s. Because he will need them for school. He will have good shoes for school when he starts in three months. And then no matter how Ona beats him he will not be bossed. He will stand tall and think, Don’t you even try to boss me with your mean eyes. Don’t you try and boss me anymore!
Grandma walks over. She picks up Baby.
The plane is here.
People are laughing as they come through the doors. And there is shouting and calling. They are happy. They are home. It has been a long time.
Izzy keeps his place at the front, but his mother is not there.
People are hugging, gathering luggage, moving out of the airport and onto the street outside. Many are wearing the same uniforms as his mother. Light khaki pants and shirt, with a little emblem of a steenbok on the pocket, its two tiny horns pointing up to the sky.
Still his mother is not there.
Ona moves forward, as far as he can without crowding the tourists, and he looks around. A man comes over. He is tall and he shakes Ona’s hand. He speaks to Grandma.
‘I am sorry,’ he says. ‘Mma Nancy is delayed. The replacement cook took ill and it may be a week or two before another can be found.’
Grandma nods at him. ‘Thank you, Rra,’ she says.
The man looks down at Izzy. He pats him on the head.
‘Do not worry, little man,’ he says. ‘You will see your mummy in a week or two. She will still have her twenty days. You will not be cheated.’
And the man laughs like it is funny. Izzy turns his face away.
The doors to the runway are closed now. There is no one left to come through. Grandma rests one hand on his shoulder. She is standing behind him, the weight of her there for him to lean on.
‘OK. OK,’ she says. ‘Let’s go. We have a long bus ride. Let’s go.’
Izzy makes himself walk.
*
The bus stop is crowded. Many people from his mother’s work are there. They are chatting with friends, hanging onto family, holding their babies. The man who laughed at him is not there and Izzy is glad.
They wait.
There is no shade and the sun is beating them hard. Grandma drapes a cloth loosely over Baby’s head and face. She is asleep again. A concession man walks over, a blue and white cooler box strapped around his neck, and people start buying drinks. Izzy can hear bottles and cans being plucked from the ice cubes. It makes him feel cooler that sound, the sound of the ice clinking on the glass and against the cans.
He listens.
A lady is speaking to Ona. She tells him she knows their mother.
‘We are good friends,’ she says. ‘She is a great cook. We all love her. We all love chef Nancy.’
Ona nods and he thanks the lady. She buys two cans of Coke Cola and she gives one to Ona.
‘Share it with your brother,’ she says. ‘It is too hot for water.’
Ona looks up at Grandma and she nods her head. It’s OK.
He opens the can with a crack and takes a gulp. He takes another and holds the can out for Izzy. Izzy can hear the fizzy drink inside but he shakes his head.
‘Take it,’ Ona says quietly, his eyes wide. ‘Don’t be rude!’
Izzy can see the beads of condensation running down the can. He wants the feeling of coolness inside him, but he can’t make himself do it.
His chest hurts too much and something is wrong.
He stands with his arms by his side and tries hard to breathe. He looks down at the dirty concrete, his dusty sandals. His mother is not coming. She is not coming and he will not see her. She will not hug him and kiss him. She will not be there to make him his favourite cakes. She will not be there to sing him to sleep.
They are going home without her.
*
The bus is already crowded and full when they get on. Grandma and Baby take the last seat. Izzy stands in the aisle and holds onto the seat railing. Through the open window he sees a small plane take to the air – a tourist plane full of those people with shiny sunglasses and matching clothes. And maybe they are going to his mother’s camp. Maybe they are going deep into the Okavango, a place he has never been and is not likely to go. And they will eat his mother’s cooking, the lunches and the dinners, and she will make them cakes and biscuits, the ones that he should be eating.
Someone taps him on his shoulder. He turns and Ona shoves the can at him.
Izzy takes it in his hand. The outside of the can is already warm but there is at least half left inside. And it is still good. Izzy lets his jaw fall loose with the sweet liquid – the Coke Cola.
He nods his head to Ona, his brother.