Page 1 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

Chapter One

Skye

JUNE 2022

I checked the front pocket of my rucksack for my passport. It was there. Just as it had been the last five times I’d looked. The taxi I’d booked to take me to the airport on the other side of Kampala was due any minute. My throat was tight with the anxiety which had been building over the last forty-eight hours.

Was I doing the right thing? I thought I was. But it didn’t stop the niggling voice in my head telling me I was running away. Back to the place I’d run from.

I’d initially come to Africa to travel, to do some volunteering, to escape from a life that had felt pointless, and from my parents, specifically my father, who made me feel as if nothing I did was ever good enough. Within days of arriving here at the Hope Foundation charity project in Uganda, I felt sure I’d found the place I was supposed to be. Here I felt valued; I had a role to play and, for the first time, my life had purpose.

Before long, the emotional baggage I’d brought with me became irrelevant in a country where life felt raw and vivid – bigger than anything I’d experienced. The red dirt roads, chaotic traffic and crowded towns were islands in a vast ocean of green plains inhabited by animals I’d only seen in zoos. Scorching dry heat was counterbalanced by torrential rain, and, despite the poverty, I’d encountered friendship, community and pure happiness. Uganda was a country of contrasts and, for a young woman who wasn’t quite sure who she wanted to be, it was the perfect place to be while she figured it out.

Five years on and apparently I still hadn’t figured it out.

My case was sitting in the doorway, stuffed with as many mementoes from my time here as I could fit in it. Even so, I was leaving a lot behind . I cast one last look around the house and walked outside onto the porch, where I could avoid seeing all Jesse’s pairs of flip-flops piled up by the door, and the knick-knacks we’d accumulated over the years to make this tin-roofed house feel like a home: the wood carvings, wall hangings and the children’s art I’d been given and couldn’t bring myself to throw out.

I kept my eyes on the entrance to the camp, willing the taxi to hurry up. My palms were clammy and my stomach was fluttery with nerves.

My plans to return home to the UK had been made so quickly that I kept expecting to wake up and find it was a dream. That what had happened at the party two nights ago wasn’t real and that any minute now everything would be back to normal.

But then I’d catch Jesse’s eye and my stomach would plummet all over again. My carefully curated, simple life managing the volunteers who came here to work at the Hope Foundation was over.

My friends, Aster and Dembe, crossed the yard separating our houses and came to join me on the porch. Dembe had her new baby, Kemi, swaddled close to her body, tied in a scarf as usual.

‘You’re really leaving?’ Aster asked as she sat beside me. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘I’m really leaving.’ As I squeezed her hand between both of mine, I felt a lump form in my throat, and it hit me just how much I’d be giving up if I didn’t return.

Officially, Aster was our cook. She’d been preparing meals for the volunteers since before I arrived. But she was so much more than that; she was the maternal figure the volunteers turned to when they were missing home or when they were feeling under the weather. She had twelve grandchildren of her own, but counted everyone at the Hope Foundation as her family too.

‘Don’t worry, Aster. She will come back, her heart is in Uganda. This is her home now.’ Dembe held my gaze, as if challenging me to argue with her.

‘It does feel like home and I’ve been very happy here,’ I admitted. ‘Happier than I’ve been anywhere.’ I leaned forward to peek at the baby’s face. ‘One last cuddle?’ I said, holding my arms out.

‘One last cuddle for today,’ Dembe corrected me, unknotting the scarf.

I cradled Kemi to me, her little body totally relaxed in my arms, her knees tucked up towards her chest.

When I’d first arrived five years ago, Dembe was newly married. Now she had three children, all of whom I’d held in my arms, just like this. Motherhood hadn’t stopped her working for long; she and her husband were in charge of transporting our volunteers on trips, airport runs, medical emergencies … you name it.

Aster frowned. ‘It’s not right that you are leaving without a celebration. The community will be disappointed they were not able to thank you for all you have done for us.’

‘And the schoolchildren haven’t said goodbye, performed their songs and dances for you,’ Dembe added.

The children loved to put on a show for the volunteers to thank them for whatever they had achieved: sports coaching, English classes, music lessons. It was always a highlight of any stay here for the volunteers.

‘There’s no time, I need to go,’ I replied. ‘When I come back, we can have a party then.’

‘I don’t understand. Why so quickly?’ Dembe asked, folding her arms. She and Aster shared a look. ‘Is it because of the boss?’

‘Jesse can be …’ Aster paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘A bit bossy?’

I lowered my head and kissed Kemi’s soft dark hair so that they couldn’t read my expression. ‘This isn’t about Jesse.’

A white lie, and only told because I didn’t want to make anyone out to be the bad guy. This was about me.

My friends gazed back at me, uncomprehending, worried. I had to tell them something.