The Sleeping Baobab Tree by Paula Leyden

with her shouting but none of them came to see us off.
    When I got downstairs Nokokulu handed me a sandwich. “We’ll eat in the car, otherwise the darkness will come and we won’t be able to find our way.”
    If the darkness had come then, it would have been the shortest day in the recorded history of Zambia: the sun had only been up for a couple of hours. But I didn’t tell her that. She already knew it, she was just looking for something impatient to say to me.
    As we walked towards the car my heart started thumping really loudly. If she found the twins now we’d all be dead meat. She turned round and looked at me, as if she could hear my terror. But she said nothing.
    We both got in, and once the doors were shut I gave a big sigh of relief.
    Too big as it turned out.
    “You have something you want to say, Chiti? Where’s your map?” Nokokulu said.
    The map. That I had carefully packed in the bag that was now in the boot. I had to think quickly.
    “Sorry, Nokokulu, I’ll jump out and get it. You relax,” I said, opening my door.
    “Me, relax? You think I’m an old woman who needs to relax?” she said, opening her door too.
    I jumped out of the car and ran round to the boot. As I opened it a hand reached out and gave me the map. Along with it I heard a Madillo giggle, which was not very helpful. I slammed the boot shut and ran back to my seat before Nokokulu had got properly out of the car. Luckily she
is
actually an old woman and a little bit stiff.
    “You can read this map?” Nokokulu said as we headed out of the driveway.
    “Yes. Sister taught us in school,” I said.
    Sister was supposed to teach us about maps when she taught us Geography. But she said that road maps were stupid and how were you supposed to know where you were going if there were no obvious things like trees or gates or buildings on them – things that would help you to know you were heading in the right direction. Bul-Boo told her there was north, south, west and east to do that, but Sister ignored her.
    “You think that makes me feel better,” Nokokulu said, “hearing that that mad nun taught you about maps?”
    I think Nokokulu and Sister would get on really well, because they’re both a little bit mad, but I decided not to say that.
    “I know how to get to Kariba, anyway, and it’s near there,” I told her.
    “The sun is near the moon but that doesn’t help much, does it, boy? I know where we’re going but I want you to direct me. It’s part of your training.”
    Training for what?
    The first part of the journey was torture. Nokokulu drove so slowly. She said that the car took time to warm up its engine and if we rushed it might give up on us. Imagine if all cars needed that long to warm up!
    It took us almost an hour just to get to Chilanga. That means we were driving at twenty kilometres an hour along the Great North Road, and behind us was a long line of truck drivers hooting and flashing. If I’d been driving I would have felt pretty embarrassed, but Nokokulu didn’t.
    “Ha! They can hoot and flash their silly lights, I don’t care. What’s the big hurry? It’s Saturday morning – they should all still be in bed. What’d you say, boy?” she asked, turning to look at me.
    If I hadn’t answered she might have carried on asking and looking at me and forgetting to watch the road, so I said, “You’re right, Nokokulu, they should all have stayed in bed.”
    Nokokulu just ignored my answer and stuck her arm out of the car window to shake her fist at a truck driver who had dared to pass her. I sometimes think she sees her life as a replay of David and Goliath – Nokokulu versus the world.
    Anyway, once we got to Chilanga and were passing Munda Wanga gardens she decided that right then would be a good time to go in, despite the fact that the gates were not only closed but padlocked. Even if she does have bad eyesight she must have seen that. The gates are not invisible – they are painted red and yellow.
    Before