Arrival

One long flight, one sleepless night, and I arrive in Lusaka.
I take a taxi to M.’s house. We haven’t seen each other for 25 years, haven’t been in communication for 18 years, and she’d laughed with surprise when I tracked her down. “Yvonne, I still tell people about you!”
It had been a new friendship for both of us. We were in our early twenties. She was an intense young lawyer, and I was an idealist who thought I could change the world with hard work and a good attitude.
What will she make of me now? I have left midwifery for journalism and keep busy with freelance work, but my principle role has been raising my boys. M. takes on legal battles for the women of southern Africa – forcing change through the courts and out into the international arena. In addition to taking on the problems of African women, she is also the single bread-winner for her three daughters.
I worry that she might find me trite and irresponsible? A let down to women!
The taxi driver stops outside a high wall topped with broken bottles. He toots his horn, but it’s 7.30 in the morning and I worry about the neighbours. We see a shadow pass through a gap in the tall gate. An older woman appears wearing an African chitenge around her hips. As she pulls open the gateway, the taxi driver climbs out to help her. “Mama, we have been waiting,” he calls.
I step out the car and peer at the woman as she fixes the latch, trying to find signs of my old friend. The serious eyes look like it could be her, but the face is so much rounder. What if I greet her and it’s the housemaid. M. would never forgive me. I’d be banished before my trip even began.
But the woman opens her arms, and I see her grin as she reaches out to hug me. “Yvonne, you have not changed at all!”
“Neither have you!” I giggle and squeeze her tight. We pull apart and laugh like young girls.