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a chair; lights off, then on in the next room; someone reading, someone sewing, someone drinking long from a glass. Rarely more than a person in a room, rarely a scene of hilarity or mirth. Sometimes the lights never turned on, and the grey evening shadows were engulfed by the black night without a protest.

    The news of Maria’s engagement passed like a ripple through the neighbourhood. For the brief period of a few days it went around, was marvelled at and commented upon and then allowed to pass, pending developments. Maria was not liked very much for her high and mighty (it was thought) ways and the news while it lasted was a cause for envious backbiting.
    We learnt from Alzira that Maria had gone to visit an aunt in Kericho in Kenya, where she met the man she got engaged to; and (from Mrs Daya) that the aunt had made several prior phone calls and the engagement had all the appearance of being ‘arranged.’ Mrs Daya had the only telephone in their building. Maria’s fiancé (or ‘lover’ as he came to be called) was the only son of a rich family, and it was this that was the cause of all the excitement and envy. He lived with his mother and sister on a European tea estate thathe managed. What he offered was nothing less than a release for Maria – a release from drab surroundings into the high and good life of garden parties, travels abroad and chauffeur-driven trips to Nairobi.
    While the news was still fresh Maria herself arrived – the triumphant queen returned – not too unwilling to show herself more now while she waited and shopped for the big day. An announcement duly appeared in the
Sunday Standard
, accompanied by a picture of the couple. Maria had all the luck it seemed.
    It was then that Mother came out with her advice to Alzira and told her not to take things too lightly.
    ‘You should also get married,’ she pronounced one afternoon.
    Alzira deftly snapped the sewing thread from the material on her lap and smiled, retying the loose end.
    ‘I’m in no hurry Mama …’ she said, ‘I will bide my time. I don’t want to marry any old person and regret it for the rest of my days!’
    ‘Don’t be too choosy. It will be too late then. There is nothing like having a man of your own, I tell you. Even if he be one-eyed or lame – a man is a man.’ She nodded knowingly. ‘Without a man you’ll be nothing. Haven’t you had any good offers?’
    Alzira grinned in embarrassment, finally looking up from her sewing. All eyes were on her.
    ‘There must have been
some
,’ said Razia. ‘Tell us about them … Come on, tell us! Please!’
    Razia and Mehroon had reached fifteen and sixteen, and marriage and boyfriends had become subjects of keen interest. Only recently a young man had started spending time at our store, treating everyone to Coke and roasted mhogo and being a lot of fun – until Mother found out that he’d been boasting about his exploits with Mehroon that he had obviously made up. He was told, with much loss of face on his part, that her daughters were not ready for marriage yet and he never showed up again.
    ‘Well, there was this teacher …’ Alzira began.
    ‘Who?’ said several voices at once. All the teachers in town were known.
    ‘John Fernandes …’
    ‘Fahndo? What are you saying! Really?
Mr
Fernandes?’
    Mr Fernandes, or ‘Fahndo’, taught history at the boys’ school and had a reputation for his arrogance. He rode a scooter, spoke good English, and was turned out rather smartly. He also knew his subject which was not always true of our teachers, especially those who came from India and Pakistan. The thought of Alzira saddled behind Fahndo, holding him by the waist, was on several minds at once. She was a head taller than he.
    ‘Did he give you rides?’ asked Razia.
    ‘Yes, several times!’
    ‘Then what happened?’
    ‘His family thought I was too tall – and not educated enough.’
    ‘How stupid!’ said Mehroon. ‘If he thinks himself so educated and