“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.
Bronwen and I have had pillow talk tonight. Of children. If Bronwen had a child she would like him to be as close to my color as possible. “Are you pregnant?” I asked. I was horrified. At least here I can be honest. My mother has warned me that if I marry an obroni she will cut me off and leave her business to my uncle. I don’t know if the old woman is serious. But if I were disowned, how would I look after a family?
“No, I am not pregnant,” she said. Caryl has taught her how to the count the days so she knows when to avoid me.
Had she told Caryl about us? No. Caryl thinks her sister’s lover works in a shop on her street.
“But if I were pregnant,” she said. So we went on to build our phantom child—a son. He must have her eyes. If he has that, he cannot have my skin, or else he will look like an obanshee. He must have my size or else he will be bullied. He will speak Fanti and Welsh but no English. By the time he comes of age the Diamond Coast and Wales will be free.