Chido went into Standard Six in the year that Babamukuru returned from England. This meant that he was going to secondary school the following year. Babamukuru had intended him to stay on at the mission to counteract the unAfrican exposure he had been subjected to in England, but Mr Baker, as Nyaradzo’s father is called, arranged for Chido to take the entrance examination to his son’s school. So determined was this good missionary that Chido should have the best in life that he personally drove my cousin to Salisbury, where the examination was taking place. Not surprisingly, since Whites were indulgent towards promising young black boys in those days, provided that the promise was a peaceful promise, a grateful promise to accept whatever was handed out to them and not to expect more, Chido was offered a place at the school and a scholarship to go with it. Nyasha was sure that Mr Baker had had a hand in that scholarship. To ease his conscience, she said. ‘A word with the headmasters’ she told me when Nyaradzo was not present. ‘You know how it is, bwana to bwana: “The boy needs the cash, old man!”; “He’s a good boy, what. Pity to waste him. We'll see what we can do.” So Chido gets his scholarship and Mr Baker feels better about sending his sons there in the first place. Really! The things they get up to to pull the wool over our eyes. Really!’ Nyasha’s analysis made sense because Babamukuru did not approve of European habits, easy options or unnecessary expenditure. Without the scholarship Chido certainly would not have gone to that school and Mr Baker would have had his sons’ superior education nibbling away at his conscience. The upshot of all this was that Chido did go to this boarding school and by the time I went to the mission he had adapted remarkably well to private-school life. He had acquired the usual courteous, self- indulgent, private —- school habits and was firm friends with the Baker boys. As a result I did not see much of him or of the Bakerboys, except for a day or two at the beginning or the end of the holidays, because their school ran according toa calendar that was different from the one we used at the mission.

Nyasha remained stern for some time after Maiguru left us. The creases of concentration furrowed her brow ever more deeply. There was nothing for me to do — my bed had been made, my clothes were neatly packed in my suitcase. I sat on my bed and waited, not daring to speak to Nyasha, whose detachment, when she was not disarming you with the full force of her precocious charm, was very intimidating. Fortunately, it was not in her nature to remain detached for long. She could not resist eyeing me quickly and cautiously when she thought I wasn’t looking, and I was able to catch her at it because of course I was doing the same. Our eyes met and Nyasha burst out laughing. ‘We shall have to speak to each other sooner or later,’ she laughed. ‘And anyway, it’s not you I’m cross with.’ She was, it seemed, well-disposed towards me. There followed the usual pleasantries about how the situation was at home and my eager questions about school at the mission. What time did lessons start in the morning? What time did they end? Were those buildings I had seen through the living-room window the classrooms? The siren, that was the bell, wasn’t it? And what about the teachers, were they harsh or kind? ‘I’m glad,’ said Nyasha when we began to talk seriously, ‘that we have to share this room. It means we’ll be friends. But you curled your lip at us when we came back from England, so I didn’t know what was going to happen when you came. I just said to myself, P'll try to be nice, I'll try to be friendly and we'll see what happens.’ ‘But I did not sneer at you,’ I protested, speaking in Shona. Our conversation was laboured and clumsy because when Nyasha