A Girl Called Redemption

CHAPTER 1

The British Protectorate of Zanzibar, October 1963

Aunt Beauty had maintained that girls of marriageable age should remain safely at home until she heard that the wife of a British official needed help in the kitchen. “Awful people, but it would be foolish for you not to accept a salaried position in these inauspicious times,” she told her niece, deciding that a letter of recommendation from her Asian doctor was required. They took a donkey cart down to the surgery, taking what she considered an appropriate gift. “Such a nice young man. He’ll like this watermelon. We pay for favours here, on Zanzibar.”

Dr Ari was expecting them. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” he said, greeting both ladies in Kiswahili. “This sounds like a great opportunity."

"Will the wages be good?"

"Far higher than at a hotel. The Chief Justice will want to know if you can wait at table,” he said, taking a seat at his desk.

“Redemption can wait anywhere,” Aunt Beauty declared.

“Redemption? Is that your Christian name?” he asked.

“It is.” The doctor appeared younger than she remembered, almost too young to practice, but a framed certificate from the University of Edinburgh hung above his examination couch. Redemption gazed at the smooth white walls and dark furniture of the consulting rooms wondering if she could ever work for such a learned man. Everything about him was clean, neat and well ordered. His clothes were immaculate.

“I gather you wish to acquire The Queen’s English.”

“I’m hoping to perfect my grammar while earning money for college.” Conscious of her cracked leather shoes and old school blouse, she clutched the watermelon, concerned that he might consider her immature. “I enjoy cooking, but need to gain fluency in international languages. My dream is to teach science.”

“To girls?”

“At secondary school level or higher.”

“But you’re so beautiful. Wouldn’t you prefer to stay at home and have children?”

“Why would you ask that?” The scent of peppermint hung in the air.

Dr Ari flicked back his hair, looking a little flustered. “Sorry, that sounds patriarchal. I’m sure you’re capable of excelling in any field that interests you.” Opening a fountain pen, he extracted an envelope and piece of headed paper from a drawer in his desk. “I’ll need your family name, address and date of birth.”

Aunt Beauty passed him a folder that she had prepared. “I understand the food will be good.” She had always been known as “Beauty” but while her fuller figure could be deemed appealing, she often projected an attitude that was not. “It would be easier to find Redemption a husband if she wasn’t so skinny,” she said, adjusting various undergarments. “Learning how to make European dishes should increase her prospects.”

“The job you are going for includes accommodation and should be fun,” the doctor said, writing furiously, one dark hand obscuring spidery letters. “A bit like working at a hotel but with a family atmosphere. Is that alright with you?”

Redemption nodded, wanting to ask if his family came from India but she was concerned she had been too abrupt. “I’m a bit nervous.”

“Don’t be,” he said, sliding the note and her contact details into a blue envelope. “You look neat and tidy. Present Lady Knox this reference and tell her you can cope in a crisis.”

“This is so kind,” Redemption mumbled, offering him the watermelon.

“Why not take it with you? It’s not far.” He gave her directions, explaining what to do when she reached the house. “I must dash, but I look forward to sampling the fruit of your labour tomorrow. They’re hosting a cocktail party.” With that, he grabbed a hat and hustled the two ladies out through his waiting room. “Don’t dally – we’re in for a deluge.”

“Smartly dressed but I’d pity his wife, if he was married,” Aunt Beauty said as she watched him swing into a shiny motorcar. “Tall, dark and handsome, but never at home. He won’t want a teacher as a wife, that’s for sure.”

Dr Ari acknowledged them with a cheerful wave and roared off down Residency Road, veering around an approaching truck. Although he’d apologised, Redemption was concerned about his attitude and didn’t consider him physically attractive. The first thing she’d noticed was his nose. It almost preceded him.

“Make sure you find out who’ll be at the party,” her aunt murmured. “I’m longing to know.” She picked up her basket and left for market, shrieking at a rickshaw driver who cut in front of her as she swayed down the crowded street.

The sea wind whipped Redemption’s headscarf across her face but she tucked the letter into her shoulder bag, hoisted the watermelon onto her head and set off into the coming storm. A towering cloud mass had turned the sky grey, causing the tropical humidity to become oppressive. Window shutters rattled as she approached the law courts where a great clock hung above the main door. A man in a pinstriped suit with tribal scarring across his features walked down the steps scrunching up a piece of paper, which he discarded right in front of her. It spiralled off like a tormented spirit as heavy rain began to fall, great drops soaking the man’s jacket before he could shake open his umbrella. He looked familiar, but a white cat shot out in front of Redemption making any greeting inappropriate. As gutters began to run with water, she gathered her skirts and crossed into a sandy alley leading down to the ocean where the Chief Justice’s residence soon loomed above her. Framed by palm trees, the house looked more like a fortress than a family home. The ancient coral-stone walls were greying but it possessed an upper veranda that faced the Zanzibar channel where white-capped waves danced towards the coast of East Africa.

Drenched by the sudden downpour, Redemption rang the bell-pull and walked through an open gate into a gloomy majalis or lobby that enabled her to wait out of what was now a howling gale. She felt disheveled and peered around with caution, wondering if anyone was at home. Iron bars covered every window and two brass cannons stood on either side of a high wooden door, which creaked open.

“We are not accepting sellers!” A tiny man, wearing a red fez and an aggrieved expression, was glaring at the watermelon in disgust.

“You are mistaken, bwana,” Redemption pleaded, aware that she was dripping wet.

“Not today,” he said, as if she was nothing more than a street-hawker.

“I have come to work here.”

The wooden door slammed shut. Disappointment flowed through her. The thought of returning to Aunt Beauty and her brood of spoilt children was loathsome but she had nowhere else to stay and no way of finding enough money for a passage home. As she turned to leave, a young man wearing nothing but a towel around his waist swung under an arc of bougainvillaea growing over a side-door. “Jambo, jambo. What brings a pretty girl like you here?”

“Have you been watching me?”

“Too right! You look great in wet clothes.”

Redemption flinched, first at his words, then at the sight of two live shellfish hanging from a cord in his left hand. “Lobsters?” she asked.

“I dive for a living.”

“Do they bite?”

He laughed, flicking water from his tightly cropped hair. “Crayfish lack pincers. These are for tomorrow night.”

“I’ve come to help.”

“With the party?”

She grasped for words. “I’m expecting to prepare modern food.”

“It’ll be modern alright. Memsahib!” he shouted, pushing open the heavy door with one shoulder. “Your prayers have been answered.”

“I am no longer presentable,” Redemption stammered, delving in her bag for the letter of reference.

“Nice shirt though,” the young man said, reaching out to stroke the fabric.

“It’s faded from too much washing.”

“I have an angel here,” he persisted, rubbing Redemption’s arm as he called upstairs. “One who likes washing. She has big brown eyes and a watermelon.”

Contact with boys was the last thing she was looking for but he stepped back at the sound of shoes descending stone steps and a European lady in a wide-skirted evening dress stood above them, like the Queen of England. “Asante sana, thank you, Juba,” she said, dismissing the young man. “I hope he hasn’t been teasing you.”

“How do you do?” Redemption curtsied, handing over the blue envelope from the doctor. It was a bit damp.

“Come in, come in. You’re soaking!” Rings glittered as the envelope was opened. “Our cook has returned to the mainland. Can you chop vegetables?”

“I strive for excellence, ma’am.”

“Do you have experience handing around food at parties?”

“Only at church gatherings.”

“A good start.” The lady’s eyes widened as she read the letter of introduction, a smile crossing her face. “The doctor says you’re still single.”

“All my friends were married by the time they were seventeen, but I’ve been taking exams.”

“Don’t worry. I had to wait until I was twenty-two before I staggered down the aisle. Come this way. We must find you a dry uniform.”

“I possess certificates of baptism and matriculation,” Redemption said in a rush, mounting the flight of stone steps. She wasn’t brave enough to add that she’d passed with distinction.

Click-click went the queenly stilettos as they entered a first-floor reception room flooded with light and the heady smell of lilies. A huge mirror reflected Redemption’s miserable appearance as she hurried to keep up.

“I hope you’ll be happy. The kitchen is down this covered walk-way. It’s a bit old-fashioned but we have fitted cupboards and lots of room.”

Redemption’s eyes widened, taking in the huge room full of shiny modern appliances. The hit single “Candy Girl” sang out from a transistor radio while heat emanated from a range in one corner. “My aunt provided this.” She placed her watermelon on a table, hoping it would be deemed acceptable.

“How very kind.” The lady drifted past, patting her hairdo. “You need to get dry. We are out for dinner, but Abdul will show you to your room.”

“My room?”

“And what is what,” added the diminutive man in a fez who had popped up behind them.

“We’ll begin your training tomorrow,” the lady of the house concluded and swished off in her pointy heels leaving the heady scent of jasmine in her wake.

Redemption swallowed hard, amazed to have been taken on so promptly.

“We’ll see how well you do over the next week,” Abdul said. “Follow me.” He looked as peeved as he had at the front door, but led her down a flight of steps to a paved courtyard filled with the calming smell of fig trees growing out of a castellated wall. “It separates us from the British Residency,” he said, sounding proprietorial. “We share a gardener. I must get him to cut back this creeper.” Orange flowers hung over a door that opened onto an arched passageway leading back into the ground floor of the house. There were doors at regular intervals on either side. Abdul opened one to the “what is what” that contained a shower, water-closet and basin with polished taps. Opposite this was a barrel-ceilinged chamber painted bright blue and furnished with a bed draped in quantities of mosquito netting as if it belonged to a princess. A violet counterpane was tucked under smooth white sheets drawing her eye to the unexpected luxury of a pillow.

“Electric light,” Abdul said, flicking a switch. “And useful shelving. We have hot water today. Conduct your ablutions and come up to the kitchen for a meal before sundown.”

“Thank you, kindly,” Redemption said, dropping her bag onto a chair, relieved that she would have a place of her own. As the old man left she opened a window onto the courtyard, amazed at the richness of the house but burdened by her own guilt. She had lied to the good doctor. Apart from anything else, baking had never interested her. She loathed cooking in such a hot climate. The position might be deemed respectable, but she had not revised for her Matric examinations in order to serve meals. As a little girl who loved animals, she had dreamt of getting married and raising livestock in the African bush. Everyone else nurtured these ideals, instructing her on how best to undertake domestic tasks, but she had burnt her own chances. She couldn’t explain why at the surgery. Living far off on Zanzibar, her Aunt Beauty was the one female relative who had never heard of her shameful secret.

“You will never be able to get married or have children of your own,” her grandmother had said. “No man will want you.”

Redemption had never seen her again. She’d tossed her head and decided to create a better future for herself by plunging into her studies, but after leaving school, the future had looked daunting. Further education demanded considerable finances. After studying so hard, Redemption had arrived on the island in search of freedom and independence but this seemed elusive. Working as a servant had not been part of her plan. It only offered temporary respite, but she accepted the prospect as part of life’s adventure, drew back the mosquito netting and sank into the princess bed with relief. It would be good to take a shower and sleep alone, rather than with her annoying young cousins. One other thing troubled her. She remembered the man with the umbrella outside the law courts as being known to her grandmother.

CHAPTER 2

“It is unheard of for women,” Abdul said, coming into the kitchen the next morning, “to be employed as domestic workers here in Stone Town.”

Redemption put down the kettle with a clunk. “Am I not permitted to earn a living?”

“They have a female cook next door.” Juba, who had been taking a shower in the basement, appeared in an immaculate kanzu with a red cummerbund carrying a basket of seafood. “Things are changing,” he added, giving Redemption a broad smile, “or so they claim on the radio.”

Abdul was having none of this, even though Redemption was standing in front of him. “Women must care for their families,” he said, fussing over a pile of folded laundry.

“But I am not married,” Redemption assured him, adjusting her headscarf with dignity.

“Why not?” Both men stopped working, wanting to know more.

Her brother had insisted she needed to accept such enquiries as a compliment but finding an appropriate answer felt uncomfortable. “I hope to teach,” she said with spirit.

“Reading and writing?” Juba asked.

“Natural sciences, at secondary school level.”

It became easier to chat after Abdul left with an armful of linen.

“Don’t you want babies?” Juba asked filling a vast pot with water.

“My aim is to educate teenage girls.”

“That won’t be easy.”

“Why not?”

“I have five sisters. They’re only interested in their appearance.”

Ominous storm clouds had turned the sky an inky blue. Redemption moved towards the comforting presence of the stove, gazing out of a high window to see the gale gathering momentum. Even the seagulls appeared to be taking cover.

“Ghastly weather for entertaining,” the lady of the house said, rushing into the room with an item of clothing. She shook out the folds. “Slip this on, over the head.”

Juba smiled as Redemption smoothed the garment down over her skirt. “Wow! Very smart,” he declared, standing back.

She was mortified. It was a man’s kanzu, identical to the long white shirt he was wearing.

“Lovely!” the lady declared. “This up and down style is coming in.”

Redemption was not so sure.

“Very Jackie Kennedy.”

Juba raised his eyebrows but wearing male clothing felt strange, being tight in the wrong places.

“You have a gorgeous figure,” the lady went on. “We can add a sash later. You’re so lucky to be tall. Please rinse your hands in Milton’s, then we’ll begin.”

Flushed with indignation, Redemption found herself hitching up the kanzu as she walked over to the sink but imagined her great-grandmother saying, “Do as you are told, child!” and opened the bottle of sterilizing fluid.

“Now, I must introduce you to my best friend.”

Redemption spun around to be greeted by the open door of a white cupboard. It began to hum like a nest of bees. Misty air wafted from a metal box in the top right-hand corner above wire shelves laden with food. She had only ever encountered chest freezers in shops. This one was upright, labelled Frigidaire in squiggly silver letters.

“My husband is in charge of making ice,” the lady said, extracting an odd-shaped package. “Whatever you do, don’t touch the steel ice-tray. It’ll burn your fingers.”

Juba winked, indicating that he’d explain later.

“Now, we need porcupines. Can you cut these pineapples into cubes?” A pile sat waiting in a basket.

Redemption nodded, thinking the family must keep a pet that required feeding. Choosing a sharp knife, she removed the spiny skin and diced away, the tangy tropical scent reminding her of home.

“That was quick,” the lady said, placing a small packet of wooden spikes before Redemption. “Now, take one of these little cocktail sticks, add a square of cheese to each chunk of pineapple and poke it into half a melon, making it look like a porcupine. Leave enough space for its head at the pointy end and stick on currants for the eyes. Here’s a picture you can copy.” A magazine was placed on the table. “Could you make ten, please,” and she disappeared saying, “I must work on my list.”

Constructing porcupines struck Redemption as an unusual task but was better than gutting mackerel at the market, as Beauty’s husband had once suggested. The glossy magazine promised that these “delightful creations will add distinctive elegance to any hostess buffet.”

The first spineless creature glared at her in horror.

Juba winked again, a smile lighting his eyes.