storytime

Polite starts first. She stretches out a tentative hand to his head and strokes the long bits of hair near his ears.

Igno is fascinated. Her hand reaches out too. She pulls, just a little bit. He swats her hand away as if it's a fly. He's trying to listen to a complicated story about a hippo and an elephant caught in a trap.

Stroke, stroke...

From the other side of the room, I watch, waiting for the inevitable explosion. Clustered round the teacher are eight small black heads and one white one. Sounds simple, but it's not. I've been here long enough to know that the eight black kids won't all be Shona. For starters, Fadzie has some Mozambican blood in her, Kimberley's grandmother is Ndebele and Baizel has some sort of connection with the US. My own child has a British passport but a Zimbabwean birth certificate. One of the names on it is Shona.

Polite can't stop herself. She runs her fingers along his hairline. Hippos are old hat to her: yellow hair is much more interesting.

I wonder if he will remember these things?