Corinne Hofmann - Back from Africa

I hear the voice faintly, like someone calling from far, far away: Hello hello time to wake up! All of a sudden I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes and for a moment I havent the faintest idea where I am. Its only when I catch sight of the travel cot next to my feet and my daughter Napirai lying in it that it all comes rushing back. Im in an aeroplane. The woman takes her hand from my shoulder and says with a smile: Your baby and you have been sound asleep. Well be landing in Zurich shortly and youve missed all the in-flight meals.

I can hardly believe it. Weve done it. Weve got out of Kenya. My daughter and I are free.

Immediately my mind darts back to the tension of our last moments in Nairobi at passport control: the official looking at us and asking, Is this your child? Napirai is asleep, wrapped up in a kanga cloth on my back. Yes, I say. He leafs through her childs identity card and my passport. Why are you leaving the country with your daughter? he asks next. I want to show my mother her grand-daughter. Why isnt your husband with you? He has to work to earn money, I tell him trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

The man gives me a stern look and says he wants a better look at the babys face. He wants me to wake her up and call her by her name. Im getting more nervous now. Napirai, just over fifteen months old now, wakes up and looks around sleepily. The man keeps asking her her name. Napirai doesnt answer him; instead the corners of her mouth start drooping and all of a sudden she starts crying. I try to calm her down as best I can, worried that everythings going to go wrong at the last moment and were not going to be able to leave the country. The man turns Napirais German childs ID card in his hand and asks in a stern voice: Why does a child with a Kenyan father have a German passport? Is this really your daughter? The questions keep coming until Im dripping with sweat. I try to tell him as calmly as possible that my husband is a traditional Masai who doesnt have a passport and this was the only one we could get for my daughter at short notice. I tell him well be back in three weeks and will try to get a Kenyan passport then.

At the same time I push the letter signed by my husband at him and pray silently to myself: Dear Lord God please dont desert us now, let us just manage these few metres out on to the plane! Behind us crowds of tourists are jostling in annoyance, wanting to know whats going on. The man gives me another penetrating stare and then his white teeth flash into a big broad grin: OK, have a nice journey and see you in three weeks time. Bring back something nice for your husband.

All this is still running through my mind as I pick up my little daughter and, still exhausted, put her to my breast to feed. Now, just before landing, my emotions are mixed. What is my mother going to say? Will she and her husband bother to turn up at the airport to meet us? And if they do, then what? How do I tell her that this isnt a holiday but that Ive run away from the former love of my life and have neither the courage nor the strength to go back? I dont know where to start.

Shaking my head, trying to shut out these thoughts, I start getting our stuff together. But as the aircraft lands once again Im overcome by a wave of relief: Ive got my daughter out of Kenya. Weve done it!

I stroll through the airport terminal with Napirai on my back, feeling a bit out of place in my simple patched skirt, short-sleeved T-shirt and sandals on a cool 6 October 1990. I get the impression people are giving me funny looks.

Finally I catch sight of my mother and her husband. I run up to her happily but notice straight away that shes taken aback to see how skinny I am. Im little more than skin and bones and weigh barely fifty kilos for my one-metre-eighty height. I have to struggle to keep back the tears and suddenly feel unbearably tired and exhausted. My mother is clearly moved and takes me in her arms, her own eyes damp with tears. Hanspeter, her husband, greets us warmly but with a hint of reserve; we dont really know each other very well.

We set off for home. They have moved from the Bernese Oberland down to Wetzikon near Zurich. Were no sooner in the car than my mothers asking after Lketinga and wanting to know how long were staying here on holiday. I feel a lump in my throat and cant bring myself to tell her the truth. Instead I say simply, Three to four weeks maybe.

I make up my mind to tell her the whole tragic tale later. My mother hasnt the faintest idea how bad a time Ive had because I wasnt able to write to tell her what had been going on over the last few months. My husband watched my every move and insisted on me translating each and every sentence I wrote. When we moved down to the coast he would take my letters to other people who could read some German and ask them to translate them. Unless he agreed with the letters contents, he forced me to burn it. Even when I thought a little about things back home he would look at me suspiciously as if he could read my mind: WhyyouthinkingatSwitzerland, youstayhereinKenyaandyouaremywife. Then again, I hadnt wanted to worry my mother unnecessarily , given that at the time I was still planning on us staying together in Kenya.

When we get home were greeted by the loud barking of a dog which scares Napirai. In Kenya people and dogs keep their distance. This animal is barking like a lunatic and baring its teeth.

Hes not used to strangers and not to children at all, but itll be OK for a few days anyway, my mother explains. Once again I feel embarrassed and awkward knowing that well have to live here until everything gets sorted out. And that could take some time as I no longer have a residence permit for Switzerland and have only entered the country as a tourist . I may have been born and brought up in Switzerland but like my father, I have a German passport. After living abroad for more than six months Ive lost my right to residency in Switzerland. I dont even want to think about all the stuff were going to have to deal with.

God help me, I really have to tell my mother! But right now I simply havent the strength to shatter her happiness and tell her the real reason were here. Shes just so happy to see her daughter and grand-daughter again. Apart from anything else they simply arent prepared for her grown-up daughter and a child moving in. I havent lived at home with my mother since I was eighteen.