Simi thinks back to the day before, to her rush to catch the tube out to the airport.

Seems like a different planet. That rain. All those umbrellas. At least it was Heathrow, and not miles away but I could have picked to go somewhere with a direct flight. Should have checked. Impulse. Every time. Looking for the special deal. And that travel agent was so persuasive. Zimbabwean. Told me I’d love this place. Not touristy. Proper Africa.

She looks around, memories melting under the heat.

Plus she said it would be cooler up here.

Simi tips her glass up, finishes the liquid, and crunches through the vanishing ice. Then she slips her feet out of her sandals, and into the thick scratch of the grass. It rubs across her soles like an old sponge, smoothing in sunshine. She stretches then curls her toes. First, up towards the sky, and then down again, blades of grass catching between them. She feels the bruising in her feet begin to ease, and she leans back, letting the jetlag, like a slow tide, begin its to and fro. She has no energy left to worry about her hair. She closes her eyes.

In the background there are noises – a shout, the clang of a piece of cutlery as it drops to the floor, and the sudden flap of a bird in the trees behind. Each sound triggers a memory, metal grey at first, then raw, soil-red. Barefoot children run beside the truck, shouting for sweets, hands outstretched. Small thatched houses give way to trees, and fields of tea. The images fracture and blur, heavy now, and slow. Then there is a cough. It repeats, marking something, getting louder, more definite. More annoying.

Simi’s mind, half-asleep, begins to catch hold of itself. The cough comes again. For a few more tangled seconds she stays confused, then suddenly she sits up. She knows she’s heard the cough before. Tonderai.

She looks around, and sees Tonderai standing a pace or two behind her. He dips his head in apology.

“Your lunch is ready.”

“Oh, thank you,” says Simi, her toes scrabbling to find their sandals.

She slips her feet into them, and stands up. She straightens her kaftan, and picks up her bag.

“I must have fallen asleep.”

“It is warm today,” says Tonderai, as he leads her towards the shade of the verandah.

There Simi sees a white cloth over a small table, its creases falling bright and sharp down to the polished floor. Tonderai pulls out the chair that faces the view. Simi sits down and places her bag on the floor beside her.

“Thank you for the nuts,” she says, as she makes herself comfortable. “They were delicious.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Simi swirls the ice around her glass, enjoying the clink, and the cold of her fingertips. She places the glass down on the small table, then leans her head back against the rough canvas of the deck chair. Sounds come and go around her. Half-awake, she listens as a burst of laughter blurs lazily with the call of a distant bird.

The sounds soothe her, and she’s on the edge of sleep, eyes half-closed, when a shadow falls across her face, blocking the the sun. There is a polite cough from somewhere above her, and then an apology.

“Madam. Sorry. Excuse me.”

The words pull Simi upright, her body awkward in the dip of the canvas.

“Oh, hello Tonderai.”

“Would you like to try some of these with your drink?”

“What are they?”

“Macadamias. Our local nuts. I just wanted to check that you have no allergies.”

She wriggles herself a little straighter.

“I don’t have any allergies. Thank you. I’ll try them.”

Tonderai places a small bowl of the round, creamy nuts on the table beside her. He gives a brief nod, and then heads back to the verandah.

Simi picks up a nut between thumb and forefinger, and examines it, turning it like a pale moon between the sunset flash of her nails. Then she pops the nut into her mouth, and chews slowly.

“Hmm … buttery. Touch of vanilla. Salt…”

She picks up another, and eats it. Then she dusts the salt from her hands and lies back again, twisting her neck from side to side to release the tension from the top of her spine. She closes her eyes and allows her mind to jolt back over the journey.

She thinks of the slow motion airport, and of finding her host. She’d seen him holding the board with her name on it as she came out of arrivals. At first she’d assumed he was the driver, and was amazed when he introduced himself as the manager.

Not even half my age, Simi thinks, still struggling with the idea that she’s come all the way to Africa to be hosted by a white boy. And the brown uniforms don’t help. Maybe that’s the safari look. Should be selling popcorn in a cinema.

Frowning, she opens her eyes, and smooths her kaftan, remembering again the sweaty fright of the drive.

“So long. And those queues for petrol. Why did I have to choose Zimbabwe? Remote Zimbabwe? Can’t even remember what I was trying to prove. Feels like I’ve gone mad since he walked out,” she mutters to herself. “Maybe I’m just tired. Hope it won’t be too long until that lunch they promised.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023