‘And, how are you going to keep yourself occupied while I’m gone?’

For a second Dad looks kind of lost, but then his face flicks back to neutral. ‘What are you talking about? I’m going to be too busy living my best life.’

Kiama laughs, ‘Old Man, you’re making me cringe.’

‘I’ve got a deep clean lined up for next weekend. I might even hire a carpet cleaner. Also, I’m looking forward to opening the fridge and finding food in it.’

Kiama winds up a laptop cable.

‘You’re taking your laptop?’ Dad asks and Kiama shrugs.

‘I don’t think you should take any valuables. I’ve got an old handset somewhere too, so you don’t have to take your phone.’

‘And what do you expect me to do in the evenings?’

‘Hotels have televisions. There’s no point taking something that might make you a target out there.’

They had argued last week after Kiama caught him looking up the crime statistics for Nairobi. It wasn’t helpful and it wasn’t what either of them needed.

Dad leans forwards and grabs the arm of the chair to stop it moving. ‘Have you got your antimalarial tablets?’

‘Yep.’

‘And the stuff you bought, for your grandparents?’

‘Yep.’

‘How? How did you fit everything into that tiny little rucksack? Especially for ten days. You’re going to run out of T-shirts.’

‘Stop stressing.’

‘I’m not stressing, I’m trying to be organised for you. To make sure you’re ready. You know it’s cold out there too, I checked the forecast and the temperature drops at night. Have you got sweatshirts?’

Kiama goes over to his chest of drawers to find another sweatshirt. There’s a photo of Mum on the wall there, most days he barely notices it, but recently he finds it keeps grabbing his attention. It used to be in the hallway downstairs, along with all the other pictures of the family. But as Kiama got older he started to feel self-conscious about people seeing it, this image of his mum who was no longer alive; it made him feel kind of exposed, so one day he took it down and brought it up to his room.

‘I can’t believe you’re going tomorrow,’ Dad says. ‘It feels like you’ve only just come back from travelling and now you’re off again.’

In the photo Mum’s sitting in a garden or park somewhere, she’s wearing a lot of make-up and a nice dress, like she was done up to go out.

‘How did this picture get here?’ Kiama asks.

Dad glances up it, ‘You put it there. Remember? It was down in the hall with the others and you moved it. I can put it back if you want?’

Kiama shakes his head. ‘No, I mean, where did we get it from?’