Mari thought there was nothing she particularly liked about her current position but after a while she found she enjoyed the few moments she caught with Isaiah each day. His pots and pans swayed in a constant symphony providing a tuneful background to their conversation. One afternoon she mentioned her initial reaction. "I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?" he asked in his mellifluous voice.

"I was rude when we first met."

"You were," he replied bluntly. "It is sad to say that I am almost used to it, but I appreciate your apology."

"I had never seen anyone of your … complexion before," Mari stammered. "I was scared."

"I understand. It happens all the time," Isaiah said stirring that night's stew sending up a strong aroma as it gently boiled over the heat.

"What are you cooking?" Mari enquired, sniffing the unfamiliar scent.

"Tonight, it's cou cou," he explained.

"Cou cou?"

"Yes, I caught some fish today and they go well together.

"But what is it?"

"It's delicious, that's what it is," said Isaiah unwilling to give away his recipe. "Everyone loves it." Mari looked into the pot and crumpled up her nose. "Well no one's ever complained," said Isaiah. Given the size of the man, Mari wasn't surprised. Isaiah might be a gentle giant, but he was still a giant.

After weeks with nothing to see but the endless waves Mari's heart quickened when she heard the loud call from the crow's nest, "Land Ho!" It was barely more than a smudge at first, so low she thought it might be no more than stormy clouds scudding along the horizon. Gradually as they sailed closer it gained shape, becoming over the course of the day a tall blueish peak towering over a small town in white below. It was a mountain unlike any she'd ever imagined though. In picture books, which were all the ones Mari had ever seen, mountains were tall triangular shaped edifices. This one was anything but with a flat table like summit. As it turned out Mari was not the first to think so as she found out when they named it Tabletop Mountain to her.

The port of Cape Town was well provisioned. The ship had taken a battering on the way down the African coast. As a result, after conferring with the shipping agent, John had arranged for some repair work to be undertaken before they continued their voyage. It would take a few weeks, which gave Marilla and the children some time to explore the town and surrounding countryside.

Isaiah stood in the market pausing for a brief moment drinking it all in. The sights, the sounds, the smells and most wonderful of all the anonymity. Isaiah was used to the second glances and stares when people first saw him. As he'd explained to Miss Mari, it happened all the time; which did not make it any less unwelcome. But here he blended in and no one gave him a second glance. He might be thousands of miles from whence his people came, but for the first time in a long while he felt at home.

This first time he had only to buy a few fresh provisions. The Captain and his family would be staying on land for a few weeks leaving him and the crew to oversee the repairs. Isaiah had no idea what they would be doing while they were away and did not much care. If he could go to the docks, meet a few women perhaps and enjoy himself; he would be content.

Johnny and Gilbert had been playing rock paper scissors in the back to pass the time as it had been a while since they'd seen anything of interest when their cart came to an unexpected halt forcing everyone to jolt forward.

Safari had been Gilbert's idea. He had been talking of little else since before they arrived. The shipping agent had been happy to set them up with a tour guide and they had repacked their bags and set off. Fortunately, it was not far, Cape Town was not a large town. Gilbert had hitherto only seen pictures of large animals in books. Today giraffe, elephant, rhinoceros, hippopotamus, then monkeys, gazelle, unattractive wildebeest and warthogs had all made their appearance; but they had yet to see a lion.

An elephant herd had silenced them, even little Jacob had ceased his chatter at the sight. Marilla had not believed quite how large they could be; no description could match their grandeur and she hugged the boys close. They spied a herd of perhaps twenty, of various sizes and ages. The bull so much larger than the females. Marilla blushed at the size of its appendage swinging every time the animal took a step. She tried to divert the boys' attention by pointing out its trunk, but little Jacob, bless his heart asked innocently why the big one had five legs. Thankfully they had ambled past barely taking any notice of their cart. Their guide had been quite tense throughout the encounter. He told Marilla afterwards that sometimes the animals get territorial and charge. Marilla shuddered at the thought of those menacing tusks pointed towards her in anger. A baby suckled from its mother, its stubby trunk forever getting in the way which made them all laugh as it its antics afterwards; it reminded Marilla of Johnny getting into mischief and taunting its elders.

That had been about an hour before and the excitement had waned as the cart travelled through an unremitting sea of yellow grass with the occasional thicket or flat branched tree standing sentinel all alone, all that they could hear was the unremitting chirping of crickets, and an occasional caark of a crow under a cloudless sky.

When they came to their unannounced halt Gilbert cried out, "why did we stop?" but he quickly hushed when John silently pointed up an embankment to their left. About three yards away a lioness yawned luxuriously showing off its massive eye teeth and licking its bloody lips with a long pink tongue. She reminded Gilbert of the ship's cat after it had caught a rat. A wildebeest's carcass guts spilling out from its bloody ribcage lay in the grass next to her. Her tail acted as the perfect fly-swat, when she waved it near the carcass flies lifted in a black mass only to resettle a moment later. In the trees surrounding thousands of vultures waited patiently drawn, the guide whispered, by the smell of death.

"Oh," said Gilbert, his mouth a perfect circle. Johnny looked like he was about to cry out so Gilbert clamped his mouth shut with the palm of his right hand and pulled him close. Behind him Gilbert could just hear the click of the guard's gun as he cocked it ready to shoot should the need arise. They watched for a while, the horses panicking. Marilla could hear their breath snorting and see their beading sweat.

"Everyone seen enough?" the guide asked. They nodded, when he released the reins the horses walked off eagerly, breaking into a trot further off. When they got further away, they were able to let go a collective breath. "Well Gilbert, I hope you're satisfied. You wanted to see a lion. I doubt many people have got that close and lived to tell the tale," John said. Gilbert nodded still lost for words. "Are you ladies all right? Marilla? Mari?"

Mari looked close to tears and Marilla said to her, "that's a story to share with your family, eh. Don't see many lions in Avonlea."

"No," Mari gasped.

"Maybe the women we met were right to counsel against coming," Marilla said.

"Did they?" John asked as the horses trotted back to town. Marilla thought back to an afternoon tea the shipping agent's wife had invited her to in a show of hospitality.

They had sat around a coffee table the local ladies in their finery, the fashion slightly out of date as you might expect. Marilla's announcement that they planned on taking a trip into the interior to see some wild animals was met with a frosty silence. One woman, looking severely down her nose said in her clipped accent, "ladies do not go bush."

"White woman, I daresay they meant," John said thoughtfully. "I'm sure plenty of African women come without anyone taking much notice. Well we know you are made of sterner stuff darling. I reckon none of those ladies ever rounded The Horn." Marilla looked across to him and grinned. "That's true enough. Us Islanders are made of tough stuff, eh Mari?" she said swivelling around. She reached out and patted the girl on her knee. "And you lived to tell the tale."

"Yes, I suppose so," Mari said quietly. Just privately their escapade had been rather more terrifying than she had expected but this daredevil family had not batted an eyelid. She felt more alone than ever and wished that she were safely back home with her family.

Isaiah caught the eye of a pretty young girl sitting by herself in the crowded café. She had a beautiful dark complexion and a sweet smile. Cape Town had its fair share of brothels and Isaiah had enjoyed himself, but that had been passion no more. This girl looked more refined than those low women. "May I take this seat?" he asked politely. She looked up at him and at all the people around. Their being no spare she nodded up at him and watched as he clumsily concertinaed himself into the small chair, somewhat hanging over the edges. When he had stopped Isaiah grinned at her saying, "my apologies these itty-bitty chairs ain't quite big for me."

"So, I see," she said with such a lovely voice that Isaiah felt warm to his toes. Without thought he stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "Isaiah Brown." She looked rather shocked at the massive paw in front of her, but daintily took it in her small hand and shook it lightly saying, "Mthunzi. Forgive me for saying Isaiah, but you don't look or sound like you are from Cape Town."

He laughed in delight at her sweet voice then replied, "no, indeed ma'am I'm from Trinidad."

"Trinidad?" she said questioningly. "Where is that?"

"Way across the ocean," he said waving his arm expressively narrowly missing a tray bearing waitress. She giggled demurely at his clumsiness and watched as he pulled his arm back in embarrassment apologising to the waitress. She came back a moment later hoping to get his order and then rid of him as soon as possible. The café wasn't quite big enough for giants like him.

"I will take tea, please," he said.

"Rooibos?" she said impatiently.

"I beg your pardon?" he said confused.

"Yes, rooibos," Mthunzi interjected on his behalf. "A pot and two cups please, and some cake." The waitress tsked rudely and stalked off.

"What have I just ordered?" Isaiah asked.

"South African tea, rooibos," Mthunzi explained. "It's a local speciality I think you will like it. Tell me about your travels, Isaiah. I am very interested to hear where you have been."

While they waited Isaiah briefly told her about life on board the ship, his fellow crewmates. Though he did not say so in so many words Mthunzi could hear his loneliness. "Are you happy?" she asked him.

He looked at her. He had been so caught up in his stories that he had forgotten his audience for a moment. "Happy? I, ah yes, I suppose I'm …" he trailed off. "I mean I have friends on board… I."

"If you don't mind a stranger saying, you sound lonely." She looked up as the waitress served their food rudely plonking their cutlery and cups down and sloshing the tea.

"Well everyone on a ship is a bit I suppose." Isaiah nodded as Mthunzi offered to pour the tea. He continued, "the captain is happy enough; he has his wife and family, but the rest of us are single men. We all get a bit lonely."

"Are there other men of colour on board?"

"No, just me. I'm the only one." He sipped his tea appreciating the unfamiliar taste. "Can we buy more of this in the market?" he asked her.

She laughed, "if you like it, it is available everywhere. I will show you."

It appeared that Mthunzi was well known. If Isaiah had enjoyed his anonymity in the market the first time he visited, in her presence the store traders lit up with offers. "Mthunzi, fish?" "Mthunzi, mangos!" "Mthunzi, meat!" but she ignored them and lead Isaiah to her favourite tea stall. "This gentleman is a recent convert to rooibos," she explained. "And he would like to buy some."

With her advice, Isaiah was able to purchase a good amount for the next stage of his journey and she made sure he got a good price too. They stood outside the market afterwards unable to think of an excuse to stay together but unwilling to part. "Would you like to see my ship?" Isaiah blurted out. "You probably have somewhere else you need to be." It occurred to him as he spoke that he had learnt nothing about her other than her name and the tea she drank. "It's a quick drive down to the docks and on the way, you can tell me about yourself."

They chatted on their way down the street. At one point, Mthunzi glanced across at Isaiah and noticed that she had lost him. She glanced around and found him staring into the window of an art shop. She doubled back and stood next to him. He pulled himself out of his reverie when he felt her by his elbow. "Sorry, I just like to window shop. They're so beautiful."

It turned out that Mthunzi worked as maid for a minor Zulu princess. She told him that she was often sent to the market and that was how she knew all the traders. They chatted happily on their ride down to the docks and alighted at the crowded dock.

The Jonathan Swift had seen better days, her top mast had been stripped and the rigging was all over the place. Apologising for its looks Isaiah took a most intrigued Mthunzi for a tour, dodging debris and various local workmen. The white foreman somewhat bravely accosted him, but Isaiah was able to talk him down, explaining that he was the ship's cook. Silently the workmen downed tools when they heard the foreman's raised voice. In a pause he noticed that he and Isaiah were not alone and wisely backed down politely asking them to leave when they had finished their tour.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" Isaiah blurted out when they had disembarked.

"I would love to, but I must get back. My mistress will be missing me. We are going on a trip in few days' time and I must help her get packed," Mthunzi said. "But," she added when he looked crestfallen, "I very much enjoyed meeting you Isaiah. I hope we may meet again some day."

"May I, may I write you?" Isaiah said hesitantly.

"You may," said Mthunzi kindly and she wrote her address down on a scrap of paper and handed it to him. "I look forward to hearing from you."

Isaiah stood watching her carriage make its way up the road towards Cape Town but did not glance at the scrap she had given him. He had a sinking feeling because he had promised something he could not deliver. Isaiah had never learned to read or write and but now somehow, he would have to.

A few days later his dread was somewhat assuaged when the Mate delivered a neat package into his hands. Wonderingly he opened it up to find a beautiful box of paints, brushes and some parchment. The Mate knew he was illiterate and kindly read out the note for him. "'For my favourite artist, may he find inspiration on the seven seas.' That's a generous friend you've found," the Mate said. Isaiah nodded his thanks and carried his box away to reverently unpack in private.

Finally, the ship was ready. The cargo was loaded in the hold and the Blythes had reboarded full of stories of their adventures; the lion in particular grew each time Johnny recounted the tale. Marilla wondered if it would soon rival the elephant for size.

John gave the order to cast away to the Mate and swelled with pride as he heard it repeated down the ship. They watched as the sails unfurled and the ship slowly slipped out of port and away. In a few hours the last sight of Table Mountain slipped beyond the horizon and before them lay nothing but the sea swelling until Australia. But that was not their destination this time; instead they were bound for the mysterious Orient.