Sankofa(34)

“Your father,” Robert said. “How do you feel about meeting him?”

“I won’t know until we’ve met.”

In the car park Robert backed into a space in one smooth turn. He was always the better driver. At the check-in desk my bag weighed 18 kilos.

“Well, this is it,” he said, when we stood by the security gates.

“This is it,” I replied.

“I hope it all goes well.”

“Thank you. Thanks for dropping me off.”

He reached for an embrace. I stood stiffly in his arms, inhaling the cedarwood cologne that overlaid his raw, unwashed scent. At the last moment, I clung to him. What was I thinking, traveling across the world without my husband?

“I can still come if you need me. I’ll buy a ticket tomorrow. Just say it.”

His mouth was by my ear. His voice was in my head.

“It’s not that simple,” I said. “You’d need a visa. And no. Thank you, but I need to do this on my own.”

I disentangled myself.

“So you’ll let me know when you land in Bamana?”

“I don’t think we should talk while I’m there. Just to clear our heads,” I said.

“My head is clear. I know what I want, Anna.”

“Please,” I said.

“All right, then.”

“Bye,” we said together.



At security, there was a family in front of me, a father and two sons, the same shade of walnut, a set of three. The father wore a suit, the boys wore jeans and hoodies.

I took off my belt and shoes, intimate gestures to make in the open. The floor was cold, finely sanded with grit.

“Laptops, iPads, liquids, keys.”

I put my handbag in a plastic tray.

“Laptop?” The official was rushed and unsmiling. There was no one behind me.

“No.”

“iPads? Liquids? Gels?”

“No.”

I passed through the metal detector and set it off.

“Step aside, please. Stretch out your arms.”

She was a head shorter than me, hair pulled back in a ponytail, faint blush on her cheeks. She ran her hands down my back, along the band of my trousers, down my thighs. She poked her fingers into my hair. Last, she waved a wand over me. I was free to go.

In duty-free, they thrust samples in our faces, vials of perfumes and pots of scented lotions. Robert would be halfway to wherever he lived now. For all I knew, there was a woman waiting for him in his pseudo-bachelor flat. I bought a silk scarf and a pair of sunglasses with leopard-print frames. They were dramatic, the opposite of sensible. It was time to stop thinking about Robert.

In the lounge, I saw the walnut family again. The father reclined with an issue of Time magazine. The sons wandered around with their Game Boys, grazing on the snacks. Where was the mother who had made this matching family? She would have the same skin, like an expensive walking stick, polished and loved.

“Would you like something to drink?” a waiter asked.

“Champagne, please.”

“Celebrating?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Business class was full, a United Nations of European, Chinese, Arab, and African men. In economy, the passengers sat with empty seats between them and almost everyone was black. I peered through the curtains that divided us. A family in a row, mother and father on either end, two children in the middle. They were formally dressed, the father in a jacket, the children in church clothes, and the mother wearing a smart grey dress.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

It was Ken, the man from the embassy. I drew back from the gap I was peeping through.

“Indeed. Are you following me?”

“I follow everyone with an interesting story.”

“What’s mine?”

“You’re going to see your father but you’re staying at a hotel.”

“You were eavesdropping at the embassy.”

“I overheard. I was at the window next to yours. There are no partitions.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Palace Hotel, until I find a service apartment. I’ll be in Segu for three months. You’re probably staying there as well.”

I was. It was very highly rated.

“It has the best ratings,” he continued. “Most people in this part of the plane are staying there too. There are rumors it’s partly owned by Adjei . . . through a front, of course. But what do I care? The shower pressure is amazing! So how are you getting around when you’re not with your father? I could show you some parts of town if you want.”

“Thank you. I already have a guide.”

“Take my card anyway.”

It was the second time he’d given it to me.

“Thanks. I should use the loo.”

When I came out, Ken had gone back to his seat. I returned to mine and looked out the window. We were flying over the Sahara, not the golden desert of popular imagination but an area that was craggy and brown. Cracks in the land looked like the courses rivers and streams had once flowed over.

I drew down the blind and turned my chair into a bed. For a six-hour flight it was an extravagance. I brought out the diary and turned to my favorite passage, an entry where Francis guessed at what a child with my mother would have looked like. He guessed at me.