2023, 2024
The map is a crowded kaleidoscope of colour and ink, with more than half the world filled in.
‘So what’s it going to be?’ Imani asks, interrupting my wide-eyed snooping. ‘Wine? Tea? Coffee?’
I glance back over to her and watch as she disappears into the kitchen. I follow her and stub my toe on a suitcase that’s poking out from behind her large sofa.
‘Tea,’ I say absentmindedly, then nod towards the suitcase.It’s a dark brown trunk-style case with her name stitched into the top. ‘Are you planning on taking off sometime soon?’
Imani pokes her head out, sees where I’m looking and gives me a sad smile. ‘Habit. I always keep one packed. Comes with the lifestyle.’ She shrugs, like it’s obvious. ‘It just makes sense. Since I travel so much it’s just easier to have the essentials ready to go, you know?’ She frowns and lets out an irritated sigh. ‘I mean, itusedto make sense. I’ve been stuck here for the last three months. Not sure why I haven’t put it away yet.’
She’s staring wistfully at the suitcase, and it suddenly hits me just how important travelling is for her. I enjoy a break as much as the next person, but it’s obvious that it goes deeper for Imani. It’s not just a hobby; it’s the thing that keeps her going.
‘How come you love it so much?’ I ask.
She glances away from the suitcase to frown at me, like the question doesn’t make any sense to her. ‘Huh?’
‘Travelling,’ I say. ‘What kickstarted the love?’
Her frown deepens, like she’s never really considered it before. ‘I guess it’s just in my blood?’ The answer comes out more like a question than anything else. ‘Peregrine’s been looming over me all my life; of course I was going to love travelling.’
I hum noncommittally, not wanting to push it. It doesn’t feel like the right answer, thefullanswer, but who am I to say? She starts moving towards the kitchen.
‘Where were you supposed to be going?’ I ask, pivoting the topic ever so slightly as I follow.
Just like the large, open-plan living area, the kitchen is filled with reminders of all her travels. There’s a hand-sewn and embroidered spice bag hanging from what I assume is the pantry door, a stone pestle and mortar resting on the counter, and a row of gleaming knives hanging above the range with Japanese characters engraved into the handles in gold.
‘The Seychelles,’ she says, forcing a sad smile. ‘Have you been?’
I shake my head.
‘You have to go one day – it’s beautiful. One of my favourite places in the whole world to visit.’
‘You’ve been before?’ I ask, leaning against a counter.
‘Twice,’ she says. ‘First time was a trip with my parents in that last summer between school and sixth form. It was amazing, and I had a great time, but travelling with your parents…’ She pulls a face. ‘Anyway, I wanted to experience it on my own terms, so I went back again a few years later and fell in love even more.’ She sighs wistfully, crosses her arms, and leans against the counter opposite me. ‘I was really looking forward to going back.’
‘How do you decide if you want to go back to a place?’ I ask, thinking about the countries with multiple entries on her map.
She shrugs. ‘Usually there’s something I didn’t get to do or see the last time I visited, but with the Seychelles…’ She trails off and suddenly looks shy. ‘Nothing. Forget it.’
I frown. ‘Tell me. What was it?’
She absentmindedly reaches for a nearby tea towel andstarts picking at it. ‘I was meant to go for work this time. Well, notworkwork.’
I tilt my head. ‘What does that mean?’
Her fingers wrap around the fabric of the towel, twisting it around and around as she fumbles for the right words. ‘I’ve always wanted to open my own travel agency,’ she says quickly, like ripping off a plaster before she can overthink it. Once she’s started though, the words come tumbling out. ‘A different kind of travel agency. Not like one of those corporate ones that just funnel rich tourists into five-star hotels and pretend like the rest of the country doesn’t exist. No offence,’ she adds as an afterthought.
I laugh. ‘None taken.’
‘I mean, I love a bougie hotel as much as anyone, but the best part of travelling is when you step outside the predetermined path. I wanted to start an agency that workswiththe locals – people who actually live there and know the land, you know? I want the experiences to be curated by them, not some random person sitting in an office a thousand miles away, who gets to pocket most of the fee while the person doing the hard work gets next to nothing.’ She glances at me, almost like she’s bracing for a reaction, and then looks away just as quickly. ‘I know it sounds idealistic. Probably naïve. My father certainly thinks so. He keeps telling me it’s not scalable enough and there’s no real profit in it unless I compromise with the margins.’ Her shoulders lift in a small helpless shrug. ‘But I don’t want to compromise. What’s the point of travelling if you’re leaving the place in a worse state than you found it?’
