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Marisa Parker
a book bubble about
Ciao! We’re In Africa
Biographies & Memoirs
Author Insight
Creativity 'on tap'
Creativity is not something that is ‘on tap’. Even just writing a short blurb can cause head scratching. I once read that an author didn’t read other books or articles while creating their own novel as they didn’t want to be influenced by others’ opinions … For me, reading as much as I can engenders creativity. Of course, purity of vision, such as a natural landscape of water and green trees with fluting birdsong and the rich smell of growing plants, has a beauty of its own. But it is appreciated all the more when contrasted with chaotic bright lights and a city scape; a babble of voices interspersed with the clink of glasses and the spicy smells of an Indian curry. When my Italian mother left Italy, in 1955, to go to Rhodesia in Southern Africa, her life had been so insular up to that point. Thankfully, she is an adventurer, as fearless as my father was, and together, they experienced so much by being open and willing to explore. Even an invitation by the wife of the Governor-General turns out to be an enlightening …
Book Excerpt
Ciao! We’re In Africa
Walking into the cool formal entrance hall, Lady Dalhousie is waiting for me. Her twinkling dark eyes and genuine smile puts me at ease. She is wearing a stylish, pastel-coloured, summer morning dress. I comment on how lovely she looks and soon we are chatting about the latest fashions. Within minutes a two-tiered, ornately decorated, wooden trolley with brass handles is wheeled in. It has a silver tea service laid out. The white-uniformed servant stands to attention. Even his whitegloved hands patiently wait by his side, ready for action at the slightest command.
“Now, Maria. Is it English, Chinese, or Indian?”
I’m floored by this question. What on earth is she talking about?
“Tea, my dear. What type of tea would you like?”
Annoyingly, I feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Thankfully, I manage to respond with, “Oh, whatever you are having. Grazie! I mean, thank you.”
“Oh, I just love the Italian language. Grahh-zie. Is that how you say it?”
I nod. I don’t want to correct her accent when she is being so kind.
The servant proffers an assortment of sandwiches and sweet delicacies; it is a display of culinary arts on a three-tiered silver dish. Everything looks delicious. But, I don’t want any food to drop on my dress or attach itself to my lips. I decide on a petite sandwich that can be swallowed in two dainty bites.
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