Simi tries to relax, to steady her breathing. She closes her eyes again, and focuses inwards, counting her breath back to a pace she can manage. Slowly, slowly it begins to work, allowing her to search for the words that always secure her. At last she finds them, and fastens them into her dark, like pitons in a cliff face.

‘Somebody’s shadow …’

‘Somebody’s shadow …’

‘Somebody’s shadow got in your way …’

Phrase by phrase she climbs back towards the light.

 ‘But nobody …’

‘But nobody …’

‘But nobody steals your sun.’

She repeats the last line again and again, until her hands stop their fretting, and her pacing stills.  She sits down by the mirror, and looks at herself, studying her anger, her misery. Then, she counts ten deep, slow breaths, heaving them into her lungs, one by one, and begins to sing:

“I don’t belong here,

I don’t belong there,

I’ve even stopped believing in prayer.”

She stands abruptly, and leans over the table, her face now close to the mirror.

“Come on Simidele! You’ve got this!”

Her eyes glare back at her, defiant.

“Good. Let’s go out there and face them.”

She straightens, and crosses to the full length mirror, to turn slowly, side to side, one hand checking her headscarf, and the other her earrings. Then she picks up the room keys, and avoiding the patio, opens the door on to the covered walkway. Its polished surface gleams in dark green-blacks beneath the lights. She locks the door, ducking the mini wave of insects crashing into the light beside it, and sets off towards the hum of voices.

“Stay calm Simidele! Stay calm,” she whispers to herself, smoothing her stride. “London’s got you trained for this.”

The scent of roasting meat, of herbs, and wood smoke, fill the air. Through it all run threads of laughter that get louder, as she reaches the stairs. She hitches her kaftan high, her sandals flashing their gold as she takes the stairs one step at a time.

She is by the pool terrace when a waiter comes out from the shadows, and walks towards her.

“Good evening. Can I help you?”

She stops, confused by his tone.

 “I’ve been invited to the hog roast? I’m a guest here.”

She sees the waiter’s eyes flick over her shoulder, as though expecting someone else to be with her. Annoyed, she tells him that Tonderai checked her in.

 “Ask him,” she ends.

“Oh …” the waiter says slowly, his face unhappy. “One moment please.”

He turns, and is about to leave when Rudd appears.

“Good evening. It’s okay. I know this lady. She is our guest from London.”

The young black waiter turns back towards her, his worry changing through surpise, to a wide smile.

“Welcome!” he says, dipping his head. “If you need anything I will be happy to help.”

“Thank you,” says Simi, stepping past him.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

The sky is a deep dark, blazed with stars. Simi stares up at them, her chest tight, her eyes burying into the night sky. It surrounds her and reduces her, thick with scent and sounds she cannot place. As her eyes adjust, they lift her away from the lodge, and out into the trees.

She is lost in their branches when a sudden square of light falls over the grass beside her. As she turns towards it, the doors on the other side of the wall are pulled wide.

“Aneke, I’m going up to the bar. You coming?”

“Ja. Wait please.”

There is the sharp rap of heels on stone.

“Come out here, we’ll walk round this way.”

“Okay.”

Simi hears the sound of the glass doors being closed.

“Do you think we need to lock up?”

“No. We’ll be fine here. Listen can you hear the bush?”

“Ja,” says the woman, “that’s the noise it makes when it’s not making a noise. I miss this so much.”

A burst of laughter bounces down from the terraces above.

“Guess they’ve started. We’d better hurry, hey?”

“Ja. Can’t wait for this party.”

Two figures step out into the wedge of yellow light. They pause, their comfortable rectangles shadowed by the night.

“Agh, I think I’m going to take off my shoes.”

Simi watches as one rectangle bends in half, and then straightens out again, shoes dangling to one side.

“Right, let’s go.”

Then the owner of the shoes turns to look towards Simi’s room. Simi, knowing she has been seen, begins to wave a greeting, and then stops, shocked by the voice that hisses into the dark.

 “Ruan! Ruan! Who’s that?”

“Where?”

The two shapes blend into one.

“There man. In the light there next to our room.”

Simi stands frozen, the urgent whispers hitting her like bullets.

“I have no idea. Probably somebody’s maid.”

 “Do you think I should go and lock the room?”

“No, she knows we saw her. It’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Ja man. C’mon Aneke. She’s not worth even worrying about.”

“You better be right, hey Ruan.”

As the pair move away into the dark, Simi stares after them, rage exploding through her. It hammers and tears at her heart, her body rigid with shaking fury. She flings her head back, and takes five deep, panting breaths, fingers clenching and unclenching, eyes closed. When she opens them she knows she has to get inside before she screams.

She yanks the doors shut behind her with such force that they bounce back on their rubber, and she has to slide them tight again. She locks them together, hands methodical and angry, and then pulls the curtains closed.

Only then does her mind begin to topple. To calm it, to distract it, she paces backwards and forwards, her hands unwrapping and then rewrapping the scarlet cloth around her head.

She knows she is in the danger zone, too close to the edges of the pit that has swallowed her before and will leave barely a trace if she does not resist. She understands, even through her fury, that she cannot let that happen. Not when she is alone, alone in Africa.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Simi hears the voices but can’t catch them. They chatter into her sleep like birdcall on a breeze.  

“… lekker … hey?”

The words float, soft then lost. A female voice … now another …

“They’ve done it up. Love the bathroom.”

 “Rudd said there’s some lady from London taken over his rooms for now. Just back there.”

“Oh…”

There was a whisper, then a giggle.

“Did you see Katania?”

The gossip, and the flip flop of sandals, drift away. Simi opens her eyes and sees the mosquito net floating above her. She lies still, letting her mind catch up with reality. Suddenly it focuses. She props herself up on one elbow, and checks the clock on the bedside table. 5pm.

Oh no … don’t want to be late. Tonderai said 5.30 I think. Family expecting me …

She kicks off the sheets, disentangles herself from the net, and crosses the room to the small, open window that looks out on to the walkway. She tries to catch a glimpse of whoever has just passed, but there is no sign of them.

The only people she sees are a young couple on the verandah above the pool, where a waiter in khaki uniform is bringing them a drink. The woman’s long hair dances in the wind. As Simi watches she reaches a hand around to sweep it over one shoulder, raising the other hand to wave at the suntanned group coming out of the bar. There are shouts and laughter. Must be old friends, Simi thinks. She studies them for a few more seconds then turns to her kaftans in the cupboard, flicking through until she reaches one in deep oranges and reds . She picks it out, holds it against herself, then slips it over her head.

More voices lift down from above, drawing Simi back to the window for a last look. Through the near dark she notices for the first time that everyone gathering above is white.

Hmm. Well, that’s strange. Not what I expected. Guess they’ll notice me. Better make it worth their while.

Fifteen minutes later, eyelashes in place, brows brushed and beautiful, she picks out a pair of shoes, loosens the straps and twists her feet into them. Then she pirouettes on their high heels in front of the full length mirror on the cupboard door. At the mid-point of the second spin she holds her pose, and looks back over her shoulder.

That’s good. Tall and shiny as the Shard. Now for some Nefertiti.

She rummages in the drawer and pulls out a net cap, and two strips of fabric. With the cap tight over her hair she scrunches the softer fabric into a bundle and balances it on the top of her head, wrapping the second rectangle of red cloth up over them both. Once its tucked in tightly, she adds her long hoop earrings and stands back a little further to fit herself into the mirror.

I like it.

She blows herself a kiss, and, deciding to go up the patio way to join the others, pulls back the curtains, and steps out through the wide glass doors.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023