It was a bank holiday. Bapuji didn’t have to work but he decided to anyway. Ba said we should leave him to it, get out of the house, let him have some peace and quiet. She said she would take us all to Lake Nakuru. It was rare for both Falguni and me to be excited about the same thing, but wildlife was one of the few things we had in common. We loved it.

We got up early. Ba and Nanima made shaak and thepla for a picnic and then we were in the car and Ba was bombing out of Nairobi, combating heavy-loaded matatus with surprising glee. My mother is at her most fierce when driving a big four-wheel-drive. Falguni and I bounced in the back and Nanima held on for dear life.

We left the city behind and I prodded Falguni in the side – I wanted us to share the feeling of escape – but she just swatted my hand away and glared at me. She got out a book and started reading. I stared out the window. Nanima relaxed and fell asleep. Ba thundered down the highway. Eventually I leaned forwards and shook Nanima.

‘Wake up,’ I said. ‘You shouldn’t miss the view.’

‘Ah, my deekri,’ she said, her voice as creaky as a hammock, and she smiled at me before turning to look out at the Rift Valley.

We got there quicker than I had expected. Ba paid the entrance fee and then we were through the gates and on a track, heading up to the Baboon Cliffs. Falguni put her book away. We opened our windows and looked out, eyes peeled for any movement. I spotted a red-billed hornbill pretty quickly and we made a short stop to look at it. Then we were on our way and up to the viewpoint.

Our car was the only one up on the cliff. We got out and stretched. Ba opened the boot and got out a thermos of sweet tea and cups for each of us. As she poured the drinks, Falguni, Nanima and I looked out over the lake. The cloud cover was heavy and the lake was a dull grey beneath it – a tarnished coin. I squinted until I could spot the occasional clump of colour – pale pink. Flamingos.

‘There! Can you see them?’ I asked, pointing down to them.

‘Hā,’ Nanima said. Yes. Falguni grinned as she looked down at them.

‘We’ll picnic near the lake, right?’ she asked Ba.

‘Hā,’ Ba said with a nod and she came over with two cups of tea. I went back to the car to grab the other two and then we all stood and looked out. We saw the dark shadows of buffalo herds, and we spotted a small group of giraffes.

‘Rothschilds’ Falguni said.

‘I know!’ I told her.

I went to get the binos from the car and saw a baboon a small distance away.

‘Look!’

They all looked. The baboon sauntered a bit closer and then sat down and scratched its stomach. We slowly moved closer to the car as a group.

‘Everyone finished their tea?’ asked Ba.

‘Hā,’ we all said in unison.

We got in and Ba took us down to the plains below where there was an abundance of life. As always it was the zebra we saw first. Some Thomson’s gazelle grazed near them. We drove slowly but didn’t stop. It was only when we spotted the rhino that we stopped. No one said a word. We sat, breathing softly, and we watched as it grazed, its skin shivering under the flies that settled on it, its whole manner unconcerned. We knew it was watching us too though. Finally, Nanima sighed and Ba started to drive again.

It was a great morning. The air wasn’t too hot, the clouds kept the sun at bay, and all the animals were out. Come afternoon we were all satisfied and hungry. Ba drove us to a picnic site by the lake and she had barely come to a stop when we were out, rushing over to get as close to the flamingos as we could. 

They were brighter up close – the pink was vibrant. They were both elegant and awkward, beautiful and absurd, and we loved them. We oohed and aahed, pointed out the prettiest ones we could see, tried to work out which were greater flamingos and which were lesser flamingos. Falguni agreed with me that the names ‘greater’ and ‘lesser’ seemed simple and rude.

‘Let’s rename them,’ she said.

‘Catherine and Anne,’ I offered. ‘Like the majority of Henry’s wives.’

Falguni rewarded me with a laugh.

‘Which ones are which?’

I thought about that.

‘Let’s call the lesser ones Catherines. Catherine Parr outlived him. They may be smaller but they’re strong. The greaters can be Annes because Boleyn was pretty fierce and they are      working it out there!’

Falguni laughed again.

‘Nice, little sis,’ she said.

‘Girls!’ Ba shouted ‘Food!’ and we ran over to fill our faces.

After lunch Ba decided to have a little nap in the car. Falguni found a nice patch of grass to lie on and she got out her book again. But Nanima and I decided to walk. We went down the beach, arm in arm; she needed a little support when she walked these days. I listened to her sari swish and wondered how she could be bothered to wear one every day.

‘How are you, my deekri?’ she asked me.

‘Good,’ I said and I smiled at her. I didn’t expect her to say much more than that. She was self conscious speaking in English, although she understood a lot, and I was useless at Gujarati.

She pressed my arm and we walked on quietly, down the beach, staring at all the Catherines and Annes. I pointed out the prettiest ones to her and she nodded and smiled. We walked and the car grew small behind us. We walked and then she pressed my arm and made me stop.

‘Nanima?’

I looked at her. She was staring out at the lake. I followed her gaze.

‘You see?’ she asked me.

‘What?’

She pointed. And then I saw. There in the distance, in the water, stood a figure. It looked like a person. But if it was standing in the water it would have to be incredibly tall. Was it standing on the water?

‘What is it?’ I asked.

Nanima shook her head.

‘A person?’

We watched to see if the figure would do anything. We waited for what felt like a long time but I didn’t want to move and Nanima showed no signs of wanting to go either. And then the figure did move. It stretched out its arms to either side of it. Only they weren’t arms. They were wings.

At that moment I remember feeling afraid. I turned to look at our car. I couldn’t see Ba inside, it was too far away, but I knew she was still sleeping. There was the vague shape of Falguni in the distance and somehow I knew that she was sleeping too. I looked at Nanima and she looked back at me and smiled and everything felt okay again.

‘Chālō,’ she said, clutching my arm tightly with her bone and paper hand. And she stepped into the water. I walked with her. I had to.

The water was shallow and for a while it only lapped at our ankles. Then it grew deeper. It was warm on the surface but cooler beneath. It felt soft and light in contrast to the air which had become thick and oh-so-warm. Sweat prickled and dripped down my face. I looked at Nanima. Her soft wrinkled skin was dry. Her face was serene. I looked down and watched her light sari float and swish in the water. I looked everywhere except ahead.

The water got deeper, it came up over my knees, and the soft lake bed pulled and sucked and soothed my feet. I worried at Nanima walking through water this deep – her knees were weak – but she stepped forward confidently, more sure of her stride than I had ever seen her.

The water soaked my shorts and tickled my waist. Nanima’s sari floated all around us. Her grip on my arm loosened, and I grabbed her hand, fearful I would lose her.

‘My deekri,’ she said, her voice smooth as ghee and when I looked at her face I was shocked by how young she appeared. She pressed my hand and then let it go and walked ahead of me. I watched her.

I let her get a metre away, perhaps two, before following on behind. I couldn’t let her go entirely.

We walked to the middle of the lake. We walked to the person in the water. And I had to look.

She seemed impossibly tall because she was standing on the surface of the water. Her skin prickled with beautiful pale pink feathers. She was covered in them. They were growing out of her. She was a feathered thing, a human flamingo, and her arms were arms and also wings.

‘Habari,’ she said and she sank slowly into the water until she stood only a head taller than me.

‘Kem che,’ Nanima said.

‘Hello,’ I said.

The feathered lady smiled at us.

‘It’s good to see you,’ she said to Nanima. I could tell she was speaking in another language, maybe Kiswahili, maybe Kikuyu, maybe Flamingo, but it was a language I didn’t know, and yet I understood her.

‘It’s good to be seen by you,’ Nanima said in Gujarati which I suddenly also understood.

‘I think, perhaps, you are a little early,’ the lady said.

‘No. I’m on time,’ Nanima replied.

The lady grinned, white teeth showing under dark lips and pink feathers.

‘Then come,’ she said and she held out an arm, a wing, a hand, a talon, and invited my nanima to her. Nanima stepped away from me and suddenly my sweat was cold, the water was freezing, and my stomach was a black hole of fear. I wanted to cry out but my throat was tight as though a snake was wrapped around it. I tried to go to them but the lake bed held me fast. I watched as Nanima embraced and was embraced by the lady in the lake, and as one they sank, down beneath the water, not even a ripple left as a clue that they had been there.

‘NANIMA!’ I shouted. ‘NANIMA!’ but she did not reappear and I was stuck to the mud under my feet. So I waited.

Perhaps it was no time at all. Perhaps I grew old as I stood there. But I blinked and when my eyes opened the water was breaking as two figures emerged. I was sprayed with droplets that caught the light as they flew through the air. I blinked again as water splashed my face. And there before me was the feathered lady, the lady of this lake, and a young and beautiful woman standing straight and tall – unbowed by everything I didn’t know about her but could now sense. My nanima. 

‘Nanima,’ I said. She smiled wide. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ I said. She laughed softly. ‘Where have you been?’ I asked.

‘To the island,’ the feathered lady said. I looked at her now and where before she had frightened me, now she was inviting. I wanted to go to her and take hold. I wanted to stroke her feathers and feel her wings around me. I tried to move but still the mud was tight around my feet.

‘It’s too early for you, Namrata,’ the lady said. ‘But the island will wait. You will see it one day.’

‘What does it look like?’ I asked.

‘That depends on the life you live,’ said the lady.

Nanima spoke then, in a strong voice, she told me:

‘It has rich soil. Mountains rise in the distance and the air is thick with the smell of mango, paw paw, and lemon. It is soft and warm there and the beach is white and clean.’

‘Are there people there?’ I asked.

‘There are,’ she said.

‘And—’

‘There is no more time for questions,’ the lady said. ‘You will get your answers one day.’

Nanima came over and took my hand.

‘Chālō, my deekri,’ she said.

‘Be well,’ the feathered lady said.

And the mud slipped from my feet. The water was soft and easy to wade through and Nanima led me to shore. I stared at her straight back the whole way there, but when we reached the beach I heard my ba calling: ‘Namrata! Ba!’ and startled I turned to see her waving at us by the car. When I looked at Nanima she had grown small again. She smiled at me and took my arm in a bone and paper hand.

‘Chālō, my deekri,’ she said and her voice was as creaky as a hammock.

We walked to the car very slowly.

‘Namrata! Why did you take her so far? Can’t you see she’s exhausted?’ Ba said when we reached her. ‘Come on. I slept for far too long. We should go home.’

I helped Nanima into the front seat of the car and then we were all aboard and Ba drove us back through the park to the gates. Falguni pointed out the impala and the wildebeest. She told Ba about the flamingos and how I had called them Catherines and Annes[1]. I listened but I was only half there, still thinking about the water, the island, and the lady in the lake. Nanima was fast asleep. We reached the highway and headed back to the city.

When we got home Ba woke Nanima up. Nanima smiled at her and Ba helped her out of the car and into the house.

‘Nanima,’ I said when we got inside. She turned to me and frowned. Then her face brightened.

‘Falguni!’ she said. ‘How pretty you are.’

‘No, I’m Namrata,’ I said. That was when I realised she was still on the island. She would always be happy on the island.  

[1] How mad to name these beautiful African birds after long dead English royalty! The Kiswahili word for flamingo is ‘heroe’. Swahili is an invading language. We need the Flamingo word for flamingo.