Marrie-annie has lived down here for thirteen years and has never swum in the ocean.
Bahari.
She is unwilling to let people see her without clothes on.
The ocean is blue, covers the coral reef at high tide, is fringed by soft white sands and edged by coconut palms.
The water is salty and healing.
At low tide there are cowrie shells.
She has no swimming pool, there is no room in her compound and she doesn’t want to speak to those who do.
Mzungu.
Wilson is not a mzungu.
He is Maasai.
He points at the ground; ‘what do you think this is?’
‘Rabbit poo?’
‘’Impala.’
‘Ah’.
‘And this?’
‘Er, bigger than an Impala, then, er, Antelope?’ I think an Impala might be an Antelope, but what do I know?
‘Giraffe’
Nothing about poo it seems. I put some in my pocket, I like Giraffe.
Suddenly Wilson stops.
‘Listen’
I hear a distant squeak.
He says something to Davis who is driving the van and we go further into the bush.
Wilson gestures that we need to go further.
We further the bush.
He gestures again.
We further further.
We stop.
Three lioness and seven cubs.
‘What did you hear?’
‘Impala alarm.’
Steve’s car has an alarm.
It goes off at three am.
It could be a bush baby jumping on the bonnet.
It could be Iddi misfiring his catapult.
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