“Shop looks great by the way. Any problems?” asks Simi, her eyes still avoiding Lola’s.

“No. No problems. I didn’t sell much from the rails, but I took some orders. One woman wanted five in kente cloth. I got the measurements. Wants them by the end of the month.”

“Great! That will cost her a bit,” says Simi.

“Money isn’t her kind of problem. Not like me,” Lola laughs. “By the way what’s that good idea of yours? The one that made you so happy.”

“Aha!” says Simi. She looks at Lola, who has half a doughnut still to go, sugar all over the desk in front of her, and a head full of happy hopes. Simi sighs, knowing she’s about to open a box her young assistant probably won’t have looked in before. She starts gently. “I want to try to help some people in Zimbabwe. Some children.”

“White children?” Lola asks, as she pats her hands together to get rid of the sugar.

“No. Black children.”

Lola stops what she’s doing, and looks at Simi. “I thought you said you only met white people?”

“Staying at the lodge, yes, but most of the staff were black. Some of them lost so much in this storm.”

“Oh. What happened?” Lola asks her eyes widening.

“Lots of flooding, and one school got hit by a landslide. Ten children died and two teachers.”

“Aaaah …” Lola’s intake of breath, rushes through her lips, shaking her whole body. Eyes ready to spill, she whispers, “that’s terrible.”

“I know,” says Simi quietly.

“Who will help them?”

“I don’t know. They say the government doesn’t work properly.”

“Those poor children. How old were they?”

“Primary school I think. They’ve lost their friends, their teachers, their school. And they don’t have a lot of anything.”

“What? No money? Like people here?”

“No. It’s way worse than here.”

“Worse than here?” Lola looks sceptical. She picks up her coffee.

“Different. Money’s not about stuff there. It’s about staying alive. Food.”

“I know some people like that,” says Lola, staring out across the street to Old Joe. “You know I can’t imagine it – imagine Africa. All you hear about is fighting or starving. Then this kind of weather. Those poor kids.”

“I know,” says Simi. Then fearing Lola might be about to cry, she fills her voice with as much hope as she can, and repeats that she has had a good idea.

“Yes … but what is it?” Lola asks, her gaze coming back to Simi.

“I want to design a kaftan. Or,” Simi hesitates, then rushes on, “rather, I would love you to design a kaftan. One you would wear. Then we can make them and sell them, and use the profits for books. For the school?”

“Raise money for the school. Sounds good. But … a kaftan I would wear?”

“Yes,” says Simi.

“Me? Wear a kaftan?” Lola looks sideways at Simi, eyebrows raised.

Simi laughs. “Well, if you design it, you’d wear it, right?”

“Hmm.” Lola sits back and folds her arms. “Any design?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yes … I think so,” says Simi, now worried about her latest impulse idea.

“Great!” says Lola, jumping up. “Let’s do it.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023