British Protectorate of Zanzibar, 1963
CHAPTER 1
One Coconut Tree Hospital had an almost permanent queue of expectant mothers, each one oblivious of the coming storm. Most looked as if they should have been at school. Redemption followed her aunt past the girls, wondering how many had been forced into arranged marriages. It was 1963, and surely time for change, but the women of Zanzibar chattered on, ignoring the tropical humidly and smell of leaky drains.
The sea wind caught Redemption’s headscarf as she dodged past a donkey cart and crossed the coastal road, clutching a shoulder bag stuffed with possessions like awkward questions. As far as she was concerned, one decision had been made – she would never get married. Predictably, her Aunt Beauty ignored this, intent on introducing her to as many prospective husbands as possible. “Let’s start with our nice young doctor. I’ll ask if he can write you a letter of recommendation.”
“Are you sure? He’s only met me once.”
“He knows me.” Bangles heralded Beauty’s advance as she barged into the surgery, ignoring the fact it had closed for the day, and plonked her sizeable basket on a chair. “A little impulsive, but by far the most good-looking man on Zanzibar.”
Dr Ari looked up from his cluttered desk, smiling at her audacity. “It’s good to see you, Mrs Bago. How can I help this time?”
He seemed good natured and friendly, but Redemption wondered how a man with such a large nose could be considered attractive. It almost preceded him.
Aunt Beauty squinted, as if reading her thoughts. “We’ve heard the Chief Justice needs a personal cook,” she said gaily. “The job sounds perfect for my niece.” At this, she virtually pushed Redemption into the doctor’s lap.
“It would be a fantastic opportunity,” he said, calmly reaching for a fountain pen. “Can you make mulligatawny soup?”
“Redemption can make anything.” Aunt Beauty shifted her considerable weight.
“Redemption?”
“Yes. It’s my Christian name.” People usually asked if she was busy being saved from sin or having fun overcoming evil, but the doctor just smiled.
“Mine’s Ari, which seems to have no meaning at all.” He shook her hand, eyes shining. “I gather you’re from Kilimanjaro? I’d love to study the plants growing up there. What brings you to the Spice Islands?”
She wanted to find the man responsible for her mother’s death, but could hardly tell him that. Her aunt would freak.
“Tell me what you are hoping to do here.” His smile was so beguiling that Redemption nearly burst into tears. As a little girl who loved animals, she had been dreaming of getting married and raising long-eared goats when, on the cusp of womanhood, her chance of a normal life had gone up in flames.
“No man will want you,” her great-grandmother, Bibi, had yelled.
“Why not?”
“You’ll never bear children without getting this done.”
Redemption had tossed her head and created her own future by plunging into her studies, but further education demanded considerable finances. Aunt Beauty, living far off on Zanzibar, was the one female relative who had never heard of her shameful secret.
To avoid pouring out her heart to the doctor, Redemption delivered stilted phrases in line with her plain clothes and tightly clipped hair. “My aim is to earn money for college. I’m hoping to teach biology. To girls.”
“What do you think of the Indian Ocean?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Sorry, I just wondered. I mean, here on Zanzibar, the best thing is being able to swim.”
“I love the sea.” This was an outright lie. Deep water had always unnerved her. She wanted to say how much she loved travel and books, learning new things. ‘I need to acquire qualifications,’ she wanted to cry. ‘And help those girls waiting outside the hospital.’ Instead, she looked at her worn lace-up shoes, feeling helpless.
“Do you enjoy baking?”
The word “Yes” slipped out. It was another lie.
“I’m hoping,” Aunt Beauty interrupted, “that learning to make European food will increase her marriage prospects. Finding a husband for such a skinny girl isn’t easy.”
The doctor stiffened. “There’s nothing wrong with being slim. It’s seen as an attractive attribute in many cultures.” He found a piece of headed paper and extracted a form from a wire tray. The high-ceilinged consulting room smelled of peppermint, which helped Redemption gain equilibrium. Framed notifications from the University of Edinburgh hung above a leather examination couch. “Let’s register you as a patient while you’re in town. Can you trust me with your full name, address, and date of birth?”
“I’ve added our details to her certificate of baptism.” Aunt Beauty delved into her basket for a folder.
“Is it a live-in job?” Redemption asked, tilting up her chin.
The doctor looked full into her eyes and nodded, as if understanding her need for independence. “The hours maybe long, but it should be a bit like working at a guesthouse with a family atmosphere. Is that all right with you?”
“I’m not sure.” She swallowed, unsure how she would manage the cooking.
“No need to be nervous.” He slid the note into a blue envelope and handed it over with her certificates. “You look neat and tidy. Give this reference to Lady Knox and tell her how good you are with children. You were wonderful with that injured girl.”
“You remember?” Redemption mumbled. “This is so kind.”
“We’ve bought you a watermelon.” Aunt Beauty extracted a long one from her basket. “I like to pay for favours.”
“Why not take that with you? The Chief Justice loves fruit.” Dr Ari gave Redemption directions, explaining what to do when she reached the house, then bustled them out through his empty waiting room. “Don’t dally. We’re in for a deluge.”
“Always rushing off somewhere.” Aunt Beauty watched him swing into a shiny motorcar and roar off, narrowly avoiding a schoolboy on a bike. “He must earn a lot, but I’d pity his wife if he ever married. He’s the most terrible driver.” She patted Redemption on one cheek and left for market, shrieking at a rickshaw as she swayed down the crowded street.
A towering cloud mass had turned the sky grey. Redemption tucked the letter into her bag, hoisted the watermelon onto her head and set off down Residency Road as heavy rain began to fall. Window shutters rattled as she approached the law courts where a clock hung above the main door. A man in a pinstriped suit and goatskin sandals with distended earlobes walked out and spat in the gutter, discarding a sheet of typewritten paper. It caught the wind, hitting Redemption in the face, before spiralling off like a tormented spirit. Instead of apologising, the man shook out a black umbrella, raised it and turned, narrowly missing her watermelon.
“Woah!” The cyclist in school uniform skidded to a halt as she steadied herself. “That was close. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” She watched, astounded, as the man strode off into town.
“You’re going to get soaked.” The Asian boy looked her age. “Can I help?” He had a cut glass accent and hair cut like Cliff Richard’s with a buoyant quiff.
“No, no.” Redemption found herself staring at a kitten he was nursing in one hand. “How do you ride along holding a cat?”
“You can do anything you really want.” He had the biggest grin she’d ever seen. “I’m Freddie, Freddie Bulsara.”
Was he flirting? “I’m looking for the Chief Justice’s residence.”
“Just down there. On the left. Green gate.”
“Thank you.” Redemption gathered her skirts, and crossed into a sandy alley leading down to the sea, where the barred windows of an ancient house soon loomed above her. High walls gave it the appearance of a fortress, but an upper veranda faced the Zanzibar channel where waves danced towards the coast of East Africa.
Drenched by the downpour, she rang the bell-pull and walked through an archway into a lobby, amazed at the richness of the house but burdened by guilt. She had lied to the good doctor. Mulligatawny soup was not something she had ever encountered. She could almost hear her grandfather say, “Untruth breeds deceit.”
‘It almost certainly breeds stupidity,’ she nearly said out loud. ‘How can I make something I’ve never heard of?’
Two brass cannons stood on either side of a high wooden door. Redemption halted, unsure what to do next, when it creaked open.
“We do not accept sellers.” A tiny man wearing a red fez and an aggrieved expression glared at the watermelon.
“You are mistaken, bwana,” Redemption cried, thinking he must be the Chief Justice. “This is a gift.”
“Not today.” He flicked his wrist, dismissing her as a street hawker, and slammed the door shut.
Dripping skirts clung to her legs. The thought of returning to Aunt Beauty’s village filled Redemption with dread, but she had nowhere else to stay. and not enough money for her passage home. As she turned to leave, a young man swung under an arc of bougainvillea growing over a side door.
“Jambo, jambo.” He greeted her in Kiswahili, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He was lanky but undeniably well-muscled, with dark skin and green eyes. “What brings a pretty girl like you here?”
“Me?” Redemption had never regarded herself as attractive. Ignoring his question, she pointed at a couple of shellfish that hung from a cord in his left hand. “Are those alive?”
“Yep. I dive for a living. These are for tomorrow night.”
“Do they bite?”
He laughed, flicking water from his cropped hair. “I’m Juba. Young, free and at your service.”
Redemption hesitated, grasping for words. “I’ve come to prepare modern food.”
“It’ll be modern all right.” He pushed open the heavy door and called upstairs. “Memsahib, your prayers have been answered. I have an angel here.”
Producing the doctor’s letter was tricky. “I fear I am no longer presentable.”
“Nice shirt. Almost see-through.” The young man raised his eyebrows, but stepped back at the sound of shoes descending the stone steps. “The angel has lovely brown eyes.”
“Asante sana, thank you, Juba.” A European lady in evening dress stood above the brass cannons, looking exactly like the Queen of England. “Please put those creatures in water. I cannot bear cruelty.”
“How do you do?” Redemption curtsied, assuming the lady must be in charge, and handed over her reference. Juba flashed them a smile, ducked back under the bougainvillea, and disappeared in one easy movement.
“Charming, but one for the girls. I hope he hasn’t been teasing you.” Rings glittered as her fingers snapped open Redemption’s blue envelope. “Our cook has had to return to the mainland. Do you have experience handing around food at parties?”
“Only, at church gatherings, ma’am.”
“A good start.” The lady’s eyes widened. “The doctor implies 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. Goodness, you’re damp. Come this way. We’ll find you a dry uniform.”
The spiky heels clattered up the flight of stone steps, taking them to a first floor reception room flooded with light and the heady smell of lilies. Smoky blue chintz curtains and covered chairs drew the eye to landscape paintings that filled the walls with colour. “The kitchen is off this dining area. We’re from Tanganyika but have been here since nineteen fifty-nine. Four years now.”
Redemption’s mouth fell open as she was shown into a room full of shiny appliances. The hit single ‘Candy Girl’ sang out from a transistor radio as she placed her watermelon on a table.
“Is that for us? How very kind.” The lady patted her hair-do. “We are out for dinner, but Abdul will show you to your quarters. You’ll need to unpack.”
“Quarters?”
“And what is what,” added the diminutive man in a fez as he came through the back door.
“We have-a-do tomorrow. I must make a list.”
“Have a-do?” Redemption swallowed hard.
“Must host a function.” Abdul grunted, as if clearing his throat. “We’ll see how well you get on. Follow me.” He looked as peeved as he had earlier, but led her down an outside flight of steps to a courtyard filled with the smell of figs. “The trees grow out of that wall.” It was high and castellated, but looked ready to collapse. “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 passageway leading back into the ground floor. Heavy doors stood at intervals on either side. Abdul opened one to the “what is what”, revealing a water closet and basin with polished taps. Opposite this, a barrel-vaulted ceiling arched over a bed draped with mosquito netting. It had a plush, violet counterpane and the unexpected luxury of a pillow, as if prepared for a princess.
“Electric light.” Abdul flicked a switch. The entire room was bright blue and smelled strongly of cloves. “We have hot water today. Take a wash and return to the kitchen for a meal before sundown.”
“Thank you.” Redemption dropped her bag onto a chair, relieved to find a row of novels on a high shelf. Jane Eyre had made it to Zanzibar. It would be good to lie in bed with classic literature rather than with her annoying younger cousins.
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?”
“The Bulsaras have a female nanny for their little girl.” Juba appeared in an immaculate kanzu, his green eyes shining. “Things are changing, or so they claim on the radio.”
“Women must care for their families,” Abdul said, fussing over a pile of folded napkins.
“But I am not married.” Redemption adjusted her headscarf with dignity.
“Why not?” Both men wanted to know.
Her brother had insisted she needed to accept such enquiries as a compliment, but finding an appropriate answer was awkward. “My aim is to educate teenage girls.”
“That won’t be easy,” Juba said. “My sisters are only interested in their appearance.”
As Abdul left with an armful of linen, ominous storm clouds turned the sky an inky blue. Redemption moved toward the stove’s comforting presence, gazing out of a window to see the gale had gathered momentum. The seagulls appeared to be taking cover.
“Ghastly weather for entertaining.” The lady of the house rushed in with an item of ironed clothing and shook out the folds. “Slip this over your head. Gosh, you’re lucky to be tall.”
Juba smiled as Redemption smoothed a long white shirt over her skirts.
“Wow! Smart.” He stood back to look her up and down. “Bang on trend.”
“Is it?” She was mortified. Wearing traditional male clothing felt strange.
“You look most attractive.” The lady plucked at the shoulders. “This up and down style is coming in. Very Jackie Kennedy.”
“Does she wear a man’s kanzu?” Redemption made the mistake of looking at Juba.
“You have a gorgeous figure,” the lady went on, ignoring his giggles. “We can add a sash later. Please rinse your hands in Milton’s, then we’ll begin.”
Redemption was about to object when thunder rumbled above them. Flushed with indignation, she imagined Bibi saying, “Do as you are told, child,” and hitched up the kanzu to walk to the sink. The bottle of sterilizing fluid boasted a fancy label.
“Sixteen percent sodium chloride,” she read. “Common salt?”
“Natural chemicals. Now, let me introduce you to my best friend.”
Redemption spun around to be greeted by the open door of a white cupboard that hummed like a nest of bees. Misty air wafted from a metal box in the right-hand corner above wire shelves laden with food. She peered in, having only ever encountered chest freezers in shops. Wiggly, silver letters identified it as a Frigidaire. “Will it cope with a lightning strike?”
“Heaven forbid. My husband is in charge of making ice. Whatever you do, don’t touch the steel tray. It’ll burn your fingers.” The lady’s voice reminded her of a song thrush calling out on a wet day. “Now, the porcupines. Can you cut these pineapples into neat cubes?”
A pile of fruit sat waiting in a basket. Redemption nodded, assuming the family must keep a pet that required feeding. Choosing a sharp knife, she removed the spiny skin and diced away, releasing a tangy tropical scent that reminded her of home.
“You’re quick.” The lady extracted a package from the fridge, despite the danger it posed to her silky dress. “Now, spear a square of this cheese with a cocktail stick, add a 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? I must consult my invitation list and make sure the American space technicians are coming.”
“Spacemen?”
She’d gone.
“From Project Mercury.” Juba did a twisty little dance. “They’re working at the satellite tracking station here on Zanzibar.”
Constructing porcupines struck Redemption as more mundane than launching rockets, but it was better than gutting mackerel at the market, as Beauty’s husband had suggested. She read the glossy feature article that promised, “These delightful creations will add distinctive elegance to any hostess buffet.”
The first spineless creature glared at Redemption, who shuddered at the odd combination of food. “Will people be aware that these offerings are edible?”
“Fancy food is all the rage.” Juba said, plunging a large crab into boiling water.
