Introduction

Set in Kenya in the 1950s against the fading backdrop of the British Empire, a story of self-discovery, betrayal, and an impossible love.
 
After six years in England, Rachel has returned to Kenya and the farm where she spent her childhood, but the beloved home she’d longed for is much changed. Her father’s new companion—a strange, intolerant woman—has taken over the household. The political climate in the country grows more unsettled by the day and is approaching the boiling point. And looming over them all is the threat of the Mau Mau, a secret society intent on uniting the native Kenyans and overthrowing the whites.

As Rachel struggles to find her place in her home and her country, she initiates a covert relationship, one that will demand from her a gross act of betrayal. One man knows her secret, and he has made it clear how she can buy his silence. But she knows something of her own, something she has never told anyone. And her knowledge brings her power.

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Excerpt

Chapter One

1952. Mombasa, Kenya.

The steward has said we will dock at 9 a.m., but I am too excited to sleep, and I walk on to deck in the dark, long before the sun comes up, watching for the first sight of land. I pull a packet of cigarettes from my coat pocket, light one and inhale, smoke curling up into the warm night sky. My heart beats out a rhythm born of long anticipation. After six years I am finally coming home.

? The lamp casts a small pool of light on to a black metal bench. Someone has left a book behind. The Settler’s Guide to Up-Country Swahili: Exercises for the Soldier, Settler, Miner, Merchant and their Wives. I open it and cast my eye over the introduction. ‘This book aims at teaching, in a simple way, just that degree of Swahili that is understood and talked by the average intelligent up-country native.’ A curious use of adjectives, not something you would find in England. It is a long time since I have used my Swahili and I wonder how much will come back to me. The book starts with greetings and I turn the phrases over silently on my tongue, enjoying the familiar rhythm of the words. Jambo, Bwana. Jambo, Memsaab. Habari gani hapa? Habari mzuri tu, Bwana. What’s the news here? Only good news, Master. I slip the book into my pocket, as I stare out into the dark, waiting for our arrival.

An hour later the sun rises huge and heavy from the horizon. Through a screen of mist I make out the shadow of Mombasa Island. A couple wander on to deck, clutching cups of coffee and bread rolls, whispering excitedly. My eyes are fixed on what lies ahead. Green coconut palms and a scattering of white buildings emerge out of water so blue that I realize I have forgotten the meaning of colour. The sky is clear and limitless. In England – a country in the grip of rationing, where the sun struggles to illuminate even the clearest winter day – no one has understood my descriptions of the sky in Kenya. My skin burns in the early morning sun, my neck damp beneath the weight of my hair. The white sails of the Arab dhows soar like the wings of huge, prehistoric birds, their decks crammed so full of men, grinning and shouting, clinging to every mast, that sinking seems an inevitability.

They shout up their greetings in Swahili. Karibu. Welcome. And I grin down at them, waving.

We dock, and I step giddily down the gangplank into a city that smells of fish, of salt, of acrid woodsmoke and sewage – the smell of a city whose people live life outdoors under a hot sun – down into the sweltering heat of the customs sheds where I am left waiting, sweating for a few hours before being released on to the small, crowded streets of Mombasa’s port.

Bougainvillea tumble over white walls, purple, orange, crimson red, amidst the trumpets of white datura flowers and clusters of pink hibiscus. Dhow captains spread their intricately woven carpets on the street for sale, beating out the dust in thick clouds. Porters in bare feet and white lungis pad across the hot cobbles between piles of old newspaper and fish bones, past the Arab men dressed in white robes, who sit on low wooden stools drinking tea. I can smell roasting fish rising from a charcoal fire tended by two sailors in brightly coloured kikoys, who stand prodding the coals, spitting out jets of red betel nut into the street, while others unload their cargo – boxes of fish, dates, henna, great piles of copper wire. Indian women in saris gossip in close groups. I stand and watch, dazzled by so much noise and colour, happiness soaring inside me. I have escaped England. I am back in Africa. But I am not home yet. There are still over four hundred miles to travel, upcountry, before I see the farm, before I see my father.

‘Aleela,’ a voice says behind me, and a hand touches me on the shoulder. Aleela – ‘she cries’ in Swahili. It was the name the Africans had given me as a baby, when I was born healthy, after my mother had given birth to a child who never breathed.

I turn and see Kahiki, our headman, standing there, his stick in one hand.

‘Jambo,’ I say, smiling as hard as I have ever smiled in my life.

‘Jambo sana,’ he answers, his eyes smiling back at me, grasping my outstretched hand in his sinewy one. And – just like that – I have come home. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. Over the course of the novel, Rachel—though always one of the more progressive characters—develops a more nuanced, less naive view of the impact of imperialism and racism in Kenya. How does this happen? Which characters and events are most influential in this transformation?

2. Were you surprised by the romance between Rachel and Michael? Why, or why not? What does each see in the other? How does their relationship develop and grow?

3. Discuss the role of memory in the novel. How does the past come to bear on Rachel’s aspirations, values, fears, and triumphs? How might Michael’s perception of the past differ from Rachel’s?

4. How does the legacy of World War II figure into the story?

5. Consider the reference to the fairy tale Hansel and Gretel in the novel. How is Rachel’s story similar? How is it different? Do you feel any sympathy for Robert, Rachel’s father, and Sara, his mistress?

6. Rachel’s home Kisima is located in rural northern Kenya and is so isolated that the closest neighboring farmhouse is an hour away. What impact does this setting have on the story? Why was it important for this story to be set there, rather than in a metropolitan area like Nairobi?

7. Much of the novel is concerned with imbalances of power and the fight for control and dominance. What relationships and institutions illustrate this theme? How do various characters try to exert control over Rachel? How do the European settlers try to control the African natives?

8. Discuss the importance of some of the smaller characters, such as Harold, Jim the cook, Kahiki, Nate Logan, and Lillian Markham. What does each add to the story?

9. The novel is not only a love story and bildungsroman but also a gripping and tense depiction of a turbulent moment in history. How did the author build the suspense in the story? Which were the most heart-pounding moments, and why?

10. Near the end of the story, Rachel is involuntarily committed to a mental institution because of her affair with Michael. What do these scenes convey about the function of asylums in British colonies in the 1950s?

11. In the postscript, Jennifer McVeigh quotes a historian who notes that only thirty-two European settlers were actually killed by the Mau Mau, yet the European characters in the novel treat the Mau Mau as a mighty threat to their own safety. What accounts for this discrepancy? Do you see any parallels to how rebellious and subversive groups, especially those whose members are mostly not white, are perceived today?

Weblinks

»	Publisher's Book Info
»	Author Jennifer McVeigh's web site

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