Chapter 13 – Impalila

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Sayowa was at the window. She was not sleeping. Her black skin vanished in the night. The starry sky, the only steady landmark wherever she had been, witnessed her insomnia. She was waiting for morning in the company of the far away swirls of the ocean.
Slowly, the horizon became clearer. The starts vanished one by one, the sun appeared, the world awoken. A gang of seagulls squabbled in the air, only their silhouettes visible against the light.
An alarm rang. Stefano, the day before, had set it for half past five in the morning.
She put she sheets back on her bed (which she had barely used), left the room, settled on a chair in the small living room, still in half-light, and waited some more.
After a few minutes, Stefano emerged, the little hair he had left on his head dishevelled, his eyelids barley opened.
As she opened her mouth, he shut her down with a hand motion.
– Coffee first.
From a drawer we took out a metal box, from a cupboard a small coffee maker. With well rehearsed gestures, he transferred the content of the container in the in the reservoir of the utensil, which he then placed on the gas cooker. A small flame tickled the bottom until the cracklings of ebullition.
Sayowa observed.
He pulled a small cup from another closet and poured the fruit of his manipulations in it. The aroma of coffee was very strong. He drank slowly, putting his cup down between every sip. Finally, his face lightened. He looked at Sayowa.
– Want some?
– No thanks.
What she wanted was to go.
– We’re leaving soon, he said, as if he had read her mind. Are you ready?
– Yes, yes.
– Good. Let me dress up, grab my bag and off we are.
He briefly went away and reappeared in the same clothes as the day before, carrying a big light green backpack by the handle. He put it on the floor, producing a heavy ring.
– I can’t believe you did all that way with just that, he said showing Sayowa’s chitenge.
She stood up.
– And now the way back!

Stefano’s car was a small rustic van with high axletrees. It was hard to say if it was beige, or white and dirty.
– Don’t worry, it doesn’t look like much, but it’s powerful enough, he assured.
He threw his bag at the back, opened the door for Sayowa, went around the vehicle, checked the headlights, kicked the tyres with the tip of his foot.
He finally sat behind the steering wheel, entered the key in the ignition, and froze.
– Wait, I need to get something.
He went out, headed towards the garden. Sayowa hesitated for a few seconds before she trailed him. She went around the villa and found him in front of a tree from which he had plucked a few yellow fruits. When she joined him, he threw her one which she caught in mid-air.
– These are Citrons de Menton! You won’t taste this kind of lemon everyday Sayowa! Inyambo will be happy no?
– Yes, I think so. But we should go soon because…
– Yeah yeah, let’s go.
He had ten lemons piled up in his arms. He did a few steps in the direction of the car and stopped.
– You know what, I’m going to get a crate, that way I can take more.
Before Sayowa could say anything, he had disappeared behind the corner of the house. He came back with a large and deep case made of black plastic.
The ten following minutes were spent striping the branches from their fruits and meticulously arranging them in the crate.
Once the tree was bare, the Italian man was satisfied. He grabbed the crate with both hands, lifted it, producing a muffled groan as he discovered the weight of the load. He carried it, his arms bent, stumbling, until the trunk of the van and slid it inside. He stretched his back lengthily, moaning.
Back behind the wheel, a few drops of sweat wrinkling down his forehead, he put his hand on the contact.
– Wait...
Sayowa rolled her eyes as he ran back to the garden. He came back in hurry, with two branches he handed to the little girl. One of them, tore from a tree, had large sticky leaves with three lobs, the other, from an aromatic plant, had smaller round leaves.
– There, we’ll see what we can do with this.
– Okay. Are we going now?
Sayowa had no idea what he intended on “doing with this”, nor what “this” was, but she preferred not to distract him with those questions.
– Andiamo!
He turned the key. The engine spluttered, they left.
Very soon, the shaking of the car accomplished what the bed had failed to do during the night. Sayowa relaxed, she dozed off... she was going home.

– Sayowa. Sayowa, wake up.
She opened her eyes. She did not know for how long she had been sleeping.
– We’re getting to the border, Stefano calmly said.
– Oh yes, that again. How are we going to do?
– Don’t worry. You’re getting back to your country so it should be okay. Just hide when we go through the gate. If someone talks to you, don’t say anything.
He shook his head.
– That’s something else Inyambo will have to explain. No passport, no ID, come on...

All went according to plan. They were now in Namibia, running through immense stretches in which it was possible to drive for several hours and not see any sign of life.
– I still don’t understand what happens at those borders, Sayowa said.
– When you cross a border you change country, so you have to show your passport.
– But why?
– Ouh là, that’s geopolitics, I’m not sure I’m the most competent to explain that.
– No one can explain it.
– You know, sometimes you shouldn’t look too deep into things. Things are how they are, and you just need to follow the rules, whether you think they make sense or not. You sometimes need to choose your battles.
– Those borders, I don’t get what they are doing there.
– I could swear I’m hearing your grandfather. At school, what do they say about this?
– At school? Nothing, school is useless.
– Don’t say that! School is important!
– That’s what everybody says. But we don’t learn anything and it’s full of idiots. All they want is for you to know things by heart. I don’t know, the teacher never teaches anything interesting.
– Nothing?
– I mean yes, but most of the things are useless or too easy.
– I see.
He had an amused smile.
– What? Sayowa asked.
– Oh, nothing.
Sayowa recognised the arid region surrounding them. She had been through it with the bus, two days earlier.
– What about that blond lady? She was also useless?
– Oh no, it was nice when she came. She was smart!
– What did she teach you? Beside a recipe?
– Well...
Sayowa found herself unable to recall a single word pronounced by the lady.
– I think it was about mosquito nets.
– Well you see, when you are taught something you don’t remember it!
– Yeah but it was the way she talked. She talked too fast, we didn’t understand too well. Oh yes! And condoms!
– What about condoms?
– Well...
– Okay, I see the type. What was she? Peace Corps?
– Peace what?
He had another mocking smile.
– You know, it’s not easy for people like her to really have the impact they want to have. They come to your schools, they tell you probably very interesting stuff, you kids are in awe, you’re happy but you don’t listen to anything.
– Yes but...
– But on your side, don’t forget that these are human beings, like your own teacher, like your grandfather, like me. The fact that they come from far doesn’t mean they’re better. You get that right?
– Yes, I think so.
– They just have a different kind of knowledge. Let’s say complementary. And that’s why you need to meet different people, to get different perspectives. But you should keep in mind that you also have some knowledge that they don’t have. Maybe you can see this as an exchange in two directions. You take what they can bring you and you give in exchange.
– What do I give?
– Don’t worry, you give without knowing it.
Sayowa did not insist. Now he was giving lessons as vague as Inyambo’s. She understood a little better why those two got along.
– In the end, I couldn’t get all the ingredients, she said to change the subject.
– Didn’t you?
– No, I’m missing the cheese and the other stuff.
– We’ll see what we can do, Stefano said in a deliberately mysterious tone.

They arrived in Windhoek. It was already night. There, they were almost half way.
Stefano brought her to a Backpackers to spend the night. Everyone called him by his name: “Ciao signore Stefano!” He was visibly a regular. He booked a room with two single beds. When it was time to collect the keys, the employee of the reception said:
– I’m not showing you around, you know where to go.
They spent some time on the terrace, next to a nice swimming pool, enjoying the fresh air after a full day on the road. Sayowa was fascinated by the travellers from all around the world coming and going. She would have liked to know all of their stories. But the two companions struggled to keep their eyes opened. They did not insist and quickly got to their beds. The next day they had to leave before sunrise if they did not want to arrive too late.

When Stefano’s alarm rang, it was showing three o’clock in the morning. He went to wash up while Sayowa remained motionless, enjoying the cosy bed as long as she could.
In the car, she did not stay awake for long.
During brief moments of consciousness, she could see the Italian man serenely handling the steering-wheel, sometimes with one hand, sometimes with both, and then she collapsed again.
When she definitely woke up, she sun was still young in the sky. Actually, it was really old, older than Earth itself. It had risen recently. And then again it was possible to nitpick, it was more correct to say that the face of the planet in which they were had just gone out of its own shadow. She brought her cosmic reflections to a close when she noticed that the van was stopped and that Stefano was away. As she looked through the window, she discovered a familiar scene: Otliwarongo’s service station.
She got out. Maybe he was there, George’s brother.
She walked around. Between the petrol pumps, a few parked cars, their drivers already irritated. She did not find him. She would have asked someone but she did not know his name. She doubted that “George’s brother” was a sufficient description to identify him.
– Sayowa! Pronto, pronto!
Stefano was calling her to the car, a paper cup in his hand, filled with coffee. She hurried back to her seat so that the Italian could manoeuvre, exit the station, cross the town and engage into the straight road.
– I like service station coffee, Stefano said taking a sip. It’s not good, but it means I’m on a road trip! How do you feel?
– Still a bit sleepy.
– I mean, how does it feel going home?
– I’m happy. But I’m a bit scared of people’s reactions.
– I can believe that. Me, I don’t know, I’m nervous. I don’t know if you noticed yesterday morning, I wouldn’t take off.
He had the naivety of a child when he said that. Of course she had noticed.
– You can sleep more if you want. I’ll wake you up if something interesting happens.
Sayowa folded her legs on her seat, put her head against the window and closed her eyes. She was not really sleeping, but she was also not awake. Anyway, she did not feel like talking. She would have liked to teleport to arrive home right away. She also wanted that her trip never ended. She wanted to see her family, she was curious of witnessing the reunion of the two friends, but she apprehended the loss of that feeling of freedom, of control over her life that she had acquired since she had left. Once her adventure would be over, would she be able to enjoy being back to her simple life, to the routine of the days, to school? Or would she find it boring, now that she had had a taste of the vast world that existed beyond the two rivers enclosing her island?

They entered into Rundu a bit before noon. A small break, some stretching, a quick lunch, two coffees for Stefano, they left. They were doing a good average, soon they would reach the national park.
Sayowa remained awake. They drove in silence. That region was more populated that the ones they had crossed until then. Trees grew as well, multiplied. The Okavango River was not far, its influence was visible.
– Ouh là! I’m falling asleep! Stefano suddenly said, startling Sayowa. I’m gonna put some music, is that okay?
– Suit yourself, as long as you don’t fall asleep at the wheel.
– Give me the CD in the glove compartment, there.
Sayowa opened the small hatch and took a square casing on which was written “Le più belle canzoni italiane”.
– These are songs from the homeland, Stefano said inserting the disk into an old radio.
A few notes rang and brought him much joy. He sang to the top of his lungs, pushing his voice into a wilfully comical tremolo, maybe even ironic: “Lasciatemi cantare!”
Sayowa observed him with round eyes, not knowing whether she was supposed to laugh or cry. Tiredness could induce pretty strange behaviours.
He blithely continued, mumbling most of the words, but never giving up. With side glances, he checked the effects his performance had on his audience. The more Sayowa looked stunned, the harder he sang.
Music escorted Stefano for over an hour. When the disk buckled back on the first track, they had arrived in sight of the park.
– Okay, let’s say that’s enough. Did you enjoy?
– Yes, yes.
– Whichever way, I’m awake. Is there still a checkpoint around here?
– Are they going to check our Ids again?
– Not when a white man is driving, Stefano said with an impish smile.
They arrived at the hand operated barrier, which opened immediately, with a wave from the officer in military outfit signifying them to circulate.
– And this is how we do it.
– We need to be careful in the park, there are animals, Sayowa said.
– You’re right, let’s pay attention. But in the early afternoon, I don’t think we’ll be in too much trouble.
Sayowa was scanning the edges of the thick forest, secretly wanting to prove her companion wrong. She surveyed the road far ahead, as she remembered the lion they had seen the previous week was walking straight on the tarmac.
Stefano did not seem preoccupied, he was still whistling his Italian tunes, one hand on the wheel, the other hanging from the opened window.
They passed in front of a few antelopes, some zebras grazing on the side of the road. The most noteworthy event was a family of warthogs, a mom and six babies, which crossed the track rather far ahead of them.
They exited the park after another wave of hand by a military uniform.

The rest of the trip went by with no surprises. They passed Kongola, an hour later, Katima Mulilo, they carried on to Ngoma, stepped over the Chobe river, were welcomed in Botswana by an elephant calmly posted on the side of the road. They only had to run a little more to get to a parking lot on the side of the river.
Stefano stopped his van in the middle of the brown gravel waste ground. Five other cars were parked there with no specific logic. The place was surrounded by trees and bushes, the shore, overrun with high reeds, was crossed over by a floating platform which burst through the water.
– This is where we get a boat right? Stefano asked.
– I don’t know. I left on the other side, on the Zambezi.
– Oh yeah, right. Well I think this is it. But I can’t see any boats.
They exited and observed their surroundings, deserted. A light breeze was twirling dust and transported songs of crickets to their ears.
Suddenly, a loud voice exclaimed:
– Sayowa?!
A young man had appeared from out of nowhere and walked towards them.
– Sayowa is that you? Well you are here! Everybody was looking all over for you!
He was tall, with a toothless face, asymmetrical. He wore a shirt crafted from chitenge fabric bearing the effigy of the chief of the tribe.
– Hi Sima, how are you? Sayowa said.
– I’m fine, how are you?
– I’m fine. I just came now. Are there more boats?
– Oho yes, wait here, we’ll find you that. Hello sir, how are you? the young man said turning towards Stefano.
– I am fine, how about you?
– I’m fine. Stay here, I’m coming now.
He disappeared as he had appeared, behind a tree.
– I remember more hustle around here, Stefano said.
– It’s late, it’s almost night, everybody is home already, Sayowa explained.
A mechanical roar rang out from behind the plants hiding the shore. A small metal grey skiff sliding on the surface of the water emerged, berthed the floating platform. The young man manoeuvring it motioned them to join him.
Sayowa unloaded Stefano’s bag from the trunk and put it on her own back, despite his protest. They decided to leave the crate full of lemon there for the moment. She then had to help him get on board, the legs and back of the old man lacking the required suppleness to step inside.
Both passengers being settled, they headed towards the middle of the river, carried along by a loud thrum.
The water was not agitated, but the current seemed strong, transporting branches in the same direction as theirs. They could see some nice lodges on the right shore, big stretches of water plants in the middle of the stream. It was hard to tell if those were isles or if all that vegetation had decided to grow at the same spot.
Sayowa savoured the one of a kind perfume of alga of those waters, which she knew so well. She inhaled slowly, she was home.
Stefano inquired about crocodiles and hippos and whether they would encounter some. The two youngsters answered: “It’s fine.”
The trip lasted for about fifteen minutes at the end of which they berthed on a small beach of sand compacted by the repeated arrival of boats and their passengers. It slopped gently upwards until a tall twisted tree. In its shade, big concrete blocks rested. A bit further, a dilapidated building and a track heading to the right.
They disembarked. Stefano wanted to pay the young man who firmly refused.
– I am happy to be the one who brought back Sayowa and her friend, he said.
They said good-bye, climbed the inclined plane and followed the large orange gravel road for a while, the one that crossed the island. After five hundred metres, they forked to a smaller path which ventured on the right and met a network of trails going in every direction.
Sayowa picked one. After they crossed what could be described as a field of rocks, they arrived in the shade of a grove running along a dry stream which a metallic bridge permitted to cross. They then sank into the bush.
– Are there snakes here? Stefano asked.
– Just don’t walk on them, Sayowa reassured him.
– I didn’t remember it was this far.
He was sweating heavily and breathing loudly.
– I mean, I was a tiny bit younger then.
They distinguished a few thatch roofs, in the distance, then the summit of the baobab, well above every other tree, from which birds squawks reverberated throughout the whole plain.
Sayowa’s heart sped up, agitated by a mix of elation and apprehension. She wanted, before she arrived to her grandfather, to remember everything she had learned during her journey, so that she could tell him well, but it seemed that she was coming back with more questions than she had when she had left.
Stefano, behind her, had a loud cough. It was time to reach destination.
The village looked deserted. Everyone must have been cooking in their homes. Sayowa headed straight for the round hut, the only one which had a solar panel.
The door was opened. She did not dare enter.
– Kuku?
– Sayowa?
Hasty noises. Inyambo appeared. Without ceremony, he threw his immense arms around his granddaughter, lifting her from the ground.
– Sayowa!
She encircled her grandfather’s neck, rested her elbows on his bonny shoulders, her forehead against his rough cheek.
Sayowa’s happiness was tainted by a little surprise, she did not think he was capable of holding her up for that long.
A few metres behind them, a low voice, Stefano’s, called out:
– Hey ol’bud.
Inyambo put her down. He starred at his friend. In a whisper he said:
– You found him...

Sayowa was sitting on the orange sand, her back against the mud wall, outside of Inyambo’s house. The two men were talking inside. The sound of their voices transpired through the space between the wall and the roof. She could hear them as if she had been in the room.
– Old age doesn’t look good on you Inyambino.
– When was the last time you looked in a mirror grandpa?
There were two light laughs. Sayowa could only imagine their embarrassed faces.
– You came.
– I came. Are you aware of what your granddaughter went through?
– No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.
– For starters, she crossed at least five borders with no passport. Can you tell me why you sent her away like that, with nothing?
– What do you mean nothing? Her cousin in Livingstone keeps the papers for the whole family.
– Well, looks like she didn’t get the memo. And that cousin, let’s talk about it, he stood her up. She went to Swakop on her own, almost didn’t make it out of the desert alive.
Sayowa could hear blame in the Italian man’s intonation.
– And wait, that’s not it! Because I, I wasn’t there in Swakop, I left ten years ago pal! Do you know where she came to get me? In Cape Town! It’s a miracle she’s still in one piece!
– In Cape Town?
Her grandfather’s voice was low. He was discountenanced.
– Yep. She told me you told her that finding me was “very important” or something like that. What did you put into her head? What did you tell her for her to skip a week of school?
There was a long silence. Sayowa could not picture what was happening between the two friends, were they staring at each other, were they looking away, what was the expression on Inyambo’s face?
– Stefano, I have three kids, fifteen grandkids, all grownups. Sayowa is my last one, the only one who’s like me, the only one who doesn’t look at me like I’m a senile old fool, the only one who... who gets it.
Sayowa had never heard her grandfather speak that way. He who was always assured, firm, seemed troubled, almost sad.
– I wanted her to emancipate, to go and see what’s outside of this island. I know she’s young, but she’s quite mature, believe me. Look at me. I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t have much time left. I had to do something to help her before it was too late. When she came to speak to me about pizza, I thought of you. Maybe it was a mistake...
He kept on talking but Sayowa was not hearing it anymore. She stood up and walked slowly, not looking where she was going. She started running through the village. Her eyes were getting wet.
She arrived at the foot of the baobab. Instinctively, she climbed it, reached the highest branch, balanced herself and sat. She took her head in her hands, remained eyes closed, short-breathed.
As she became quieter, she heard the splashing of the water all around her. She opened her eyelids, dried her cheeks, looked at the river flowing peacefully in front of her. The sun was setting in her back.

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Excerpt from “Recette de pizza pour débutant” © (SACD) Thomas Botte