“Oh no. Look who it is, Mandla,” Ruth shouted, changing the game. “Look who’s arrived. It’s the tickle monster and he’s coming to get you.” Mandla squealed as Ruth lunged at him while wiggling her fingers around wildly. As he pried free of her grasp and began crawling away, huffing with exertion, Ruth pulled herself up onto her knees and went after him. Her cream linen pants were creased and dirty but if she’d noticed, she didn’t seem to care, probably because she was so relieved that he was finally crawling. She made animal noises, part snorting pig and part snarling lion, which set me off laughing with how ridiculous it was.

Ruth’s head snapped up and she smiled when she saw me, calling out a breathless greeting. “Sherbet, I really need to stop it with the smokes. I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.”

“‘Sherbet’? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

She laughed and got up, her knees creaking in protest. “His mind is like a sponge right now. I’d prefer him not to be soaking up all the bad words.” She then sniffed the air theatrically before reaching down and picking Mandla up, planting kisses all over his face. “Someone is a little stinky. I’m not going to mention any names . . . but someone needs his nappy changed.”

Ruth put Mandla down on the changing table and set about cleaning him up. “I’m getting a few things together for Zodwa’s arrival tomorrow,” she said, nodding at two overflowing garbage bags in the corner of the room. “Do you have anything you’d like to donate since you’re more her size than I am? Oh wait, what am I saying? She probably has more clothes than you do!”

I rolled my eyes and went over to the bags, peeking inside. “Dear God, please don’t tell me you’re giving her stilettos and lingerie?”

“What? A girl can’t have enough shoes and nice sleepwear. I’m giving her a few jerseys and blouses and pants as well.”

“She won’t wear the pants.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s a cultural thing. Zulu women don’t wear trousers.”

“Well, that’s very backward. Maybe she’s a new generation of trailblazing feminist Zulu women who’ll not only wear them but start a new trend.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You really like her, don’t you?” It never ceased to amaze me how despite Ruth’s offhand, almost casual, racism, she was able to form such strong attachments with certain black people.

“What’s not to like? She saved Mandla’s life.”