Simi smiles at Jacobus as he leans back and pats his stomach.

“Good braai hey?”

She lets the word roll around in her head, feeling it thick with wood smoke and red meat. Beside her Marybelle is quiet, her plate scraped clean. She catches Simi’s eye and raises her almost empty glass, then dips it towards her new friend.

“So nice to chat to you Simi,” she says.

“It’s been quite an evening,” Simi replies, her mood mellowed by food and wider company.

Around them the crowded tables begin to shed their guests. Young couples drift into the darkness, whilst a few singles cling like limpets to the bar. Jacobus scrapes back his stool.

“Time to head to our beds,” he announces. “Good night everyone.”

As he gets to his feet, Karen does the same, bending down to pick up a fork off the floor as she does so. Then she adds her own farewells, and Jambee drains his beer.

“I’m coming,” he says.

“Where’s your room?” Simi asks.

“Not a room – a tent. Just above the tennis court.” His eyes, suddenly shy, flick back to his mother.

“Right, come on. Time to go,” says Jacobus, already several strides away from the table.

“Wait. I’ll come with you,” calls Marybelle. She slips down from her  stool, and walks around to hook an arm through Jambee’s. “I want to see this tent of yours Jambee. I think you’re just outside my room. Sleep well Simi.”

Marybelle blows her a kiss, and Jambee nods, without looking at her.

“You lot, come on. Good night Simi.” Jacobus raises a hand in a half-wave as they head off into the dark.

“Good night,” Simi calls after them, sweeping one foot under the table in search of her missing sandal. Her bare toes find it, and hook it back. She picks it up, loosens it slightly, and slips it on, wondering which way she should take back to her room. It is nearly midnight, and she knows she has to be up early if she wants to join the morning birdwalk.

After a little hesitation she decides to take the route back past the bar, and on through the main body of the lodge. On her way she sees Rudd chatting to a group of men. She slips past unnoticed towards the quiet space of the verandah above the pool.

There is a warm wind, and clouds race across the dark. On the grass terrace below, the blue-lit pool is gusted with tree shadows. Simi hears the water lap softly against the sides, and stands still for a few seconds, enjoying the quiet and the moment. The breeze pulls at her kaftan, and her mind drifts away to other pools in other places.

A sudden shout of laughter lifts her back to reality. She peers along the dimly lit verandah, and at the far end sees a young group playing cards around a table. They are intent on the game and unaware of her gaze. It is as she draws her attention back that she notices an old man, half swallowed by the arms of the chair closest to her. He is hidden in its bulky frame, only his hands, and his smile caught by the light.

 Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Marybelle looks at Simi. “You asked about Rudd. His granny was killed by a landmine up here when his dad was a teenager. Dad married, stayed here. Too much for Rudd’s mum though. She started drinking. Then left. Then Rudd and his dad left too.”

“Horrible,” says Simi. “I remember my parents listening to news about your war.”

“I don’t like talking about it,” says Marybelle. “Let’s enjoy ourselves instead. You look amazing, by the way. I can’t get over your eyelashes.”

Simi half smiles, then turns her gaze to the wide night beyond. She does not want to be under the fashion microscope of this spangly lady.

“You okay Simi? Not sad are you?”

Simi shakes her head. She is not sad, but she is hungry and does not want to answer any more questions about God or her eyelashes.

Marybelle has another question. “Is England wet, and crowded?”

“Well, it gets rain, and it is crowded.”

“And cold?”

“In winter.”

“Must be so hard for you, I mean being from Africa, and all that.”

Simi puts her glass down, and turns her full focus on Marybelle. “I’m not from Africa.”

“But you look like you are.”

“I’m a Londoner. Born and raised. And, by the way, I’m used to the cold. In fact I like it.”

“No.” Marybelle’s eyes are as surprised as street lights in the dark. “Are you really a born-in-London, Londoner?”

Simi nods, eyelashes lowered.

“Went to school there and everything?”

Simi nods again, wondering about Marybelle’s sanity. She tenses, knowing more is coming.

“Somehow I never imagine people like you in London. Sorry. That sounds all wrong. I love your kaftan. You’re like a goddess, but a proper African goddess. Except when you speak of course. Then you sound English, but I can’t believe you actually are?”

Simi closes her eyes, and clasps her hands together in front of her. She takes a deep long breath.

“You see. You do believe in God.”

Simi shakes her head.

“I am not praying. I am calming myself.”

“Oh,” says Marybelle.

Simi’s eyes fly open. “There may not be many of me in the books or tourist brochures, but there are plenty like me around, especially in London.”

“Oh. Funny how we get things wrong, hey? Anyway, I only know about England from how I imagine it. I’ve never been there.”

“Haven’t you got a television?”

“No. Too expensive.”

“Never had one?”

“When I was a child. Don’t have any electricity half the time anyway.”

Simi is silenced, but Marybelle is not.

“Are you surprised by us Simi?”

“Yes,” Simi replies emphatically. “Why are there so many of you white people here in Africa? In the middle of nowhere. Not even near a beach.”

 “A beach?”

“Well that’s where white people love to go, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never even seen a beach. Not in real life.”

“What? Never?” Simi frowns.

 “Never. Isn’t that funny?” Marybelle smiles, eyes bright.

Simi swirls her wine around her glass.

Neither of them notice Jacobus coming over with a tray loaded with plates of food.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

“Jambee told me you were here. Can’t have you sitting all alone.” Marybelle pauses and waves her wine glass around the empty table, “although this lot will be back. People of their word in this family.”

“Okay,” says Simi. “I hope so. Already met one couple who didn’t like me.”

“What?”

“They were rude.”

“Who?”

“Aneke and Ruan.”

“Oh them!”

Simi feels her hands begin to shake. She puts down her glass.

“It’s not right.”

Marybelle touches Simi’s arm.

“Ruan and Aneke used to be Jacobus’ neighbours, until their farm got taken. House surrounded for days. They got driven off and their dogs killed. That’s why they went to Australia. This is the first time they’ve been back here. Over twenty years now.”

“Do you like them?” Simi asks quietly.

“They haven’t moved on like we have. Inside, I mean. We’ve changed hey, Simi. When you lose everything, you see things differently. You figure out what matters. It’s this. This matters.”

Marybelle lifts her wine glass again, raising it to the crowd and the stars above. As she does so Simi studies her profile. The pale skin, blotched and lined by decades in the sun. The happy sadness. The lack of apology.

“I don’t like it when people are racist,” Simi insists, suddenly feeling irritated.

Marybelle sighs, and hitches her hair behind her ears.

“Simi, we can’t do much about them. Anyway, here we’ve got major problems, proper problems. All of us, together. Black, white, green, purple … we’re all in it together.”

Simi looks down at her hands. They are still shaking, but less. She wonders whether she should have chosen a darker nail varnish. She wonders about her impulse choice of destination.

“Simi?”

She looks up.

“Do you believe in God?”

“Believe in God?”

“Yes.”

Simi fiddles with the stem of her wine glass, avoiding Marybelle’s eyes.

“I don’t know …”

 “I used to be like that,” says Marybelle, “but I’m not now. I believe. It’s God who’s keeping this country going. That’s why we’re still here. God and the Crocodile. You heard of The Crocodile?”

Simi nods.

“He says he’s going to do amazing things for us. Ha ha. We’re still waiting, and while we do God takes care of us. He’ll help you too Simi, so don’t worry. Look at us. This is a great place. Things are going to get better. Let’s have another drink!”

Marybelle twists around in her seat towards the bar.

“Do you know where the waiter is? Can you see him?”

Simi scans the guests returning with plates of food, but she can see no sign of a waiter. She looks at Marybelle, eyes searching, her hand on her chest trying to keep down the hiccups.

“Marybelle, how do you fit in here?”

“Oh, I still work at the school Jacobus and his family all went to. Same with Katania’s – Jen’s mum,” says Marybelle, without turning round. “Oh … look there’s the waiter, talking to Rudd.”

She raises her arm above her head and waves, calling out a loud “wooo hooo” as she does so.

“And Rudd?” Simi asks. “What’s his story?”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023