The day before they were due to leave Africa, I would leave Saxonwold, telling Miriam I was going to visit her granny and brothers in the Northern Transvaal. I would return to Johannesburg, and my new job, after they had left for England. As soon as this decision had been made, time hurried forward like a shepherd returning from the hills, and it wasn’t long before the last Sunday was upon us. For one final time Miriam and I made our way through the suburbs on our well-worn path to salvation. I shunned the company of others as we walked, Miriam’s small hand in mine, her warmth pulsing against my fingers. She did not run ahead to explore, nor chatter much at my side. And even before I had chided her for dragging her Sunday shoes in the dust, her bubbly exuberance seemed to have disappeared. In church I did not take my eyes off her, chiseling her face into my memory and trying to imagine how it would grow and change.
What do You think about Another Woman's Daughter (2015)?
