By Lawrence Kadzitche
It was almost noon that November morning. The rain, which had been threatening since morning and was still holding off, had turned the day into a pressure cooker. With the black rain clouds shrouding the sky, one could think night had already fallen.
Escaping from the choking heat, most people had already deserted the surrounding fields. But Yamikani Sitepe and his wife Nagode worked on. They had been the first to arrive, leaving the village at the crack of dawn and the way it appeared they would be last to leave. Sitepe had wanted to leave an hour ago but his wife had refused.
“It’s going to rain today, so let’s make sure we finish planting before the rains start,” Nagode had insisted.
“But it has been like this since last week,” Sitepe had countered. “All we get is this suffocating heat.”
Nagode had grinned. “Well, we’re lucky it hasn’t rained yet. If it had rained before we finished preparing our maize garden, what would’ve happened? Don’t forget you said if we can make enough money this year you’ll venture into fish selling business.”
So they had laboured on. Nagode was like that, she worked hard on anything, be it in the maize field or at home. What they got from farming was barely enough to keep body and soul together but she supplemented the extra income by doing piece work washing clothes for the shop owners at the nearby trading Centre.
“Honey, I’ve finished,” she shouted moving towards the mango tree in one corner of the field.
Sitepe looked at his wife. He was planting the maize seeds in the holes she had been making on the ridges. And now she had reached the end of the maize field while he still had seven more ridges to go.
She stood under the mango tree and poured some water from a clay pot into a small bottle gourd. She brought the calabash to him. “Here, have some water, husband.”
“Thanks, wife,” he said straightening his back. He was stripped to the waist and his threadbare brown trousers were folded to the knees. His back ached and sweat run down his body in streams. He drank from the gourd and poured the remaining water over his head.
His wife, on the other hand, looked fresh and as always, he wondered how she did that. She seemed to have endless stamina. Nagode was a very hard-working woman. She did more work in the maize field than him and never complained. It was just bad luck that no matter how they toiled, they harvested barely enough.
Sitepe sometimes wondered what she saw in him. Neither could he call himself hard working being somewhat lazy nor good looking being a small man of stunted growth with a rather big head and bowed legs. Yet she loved him wholeheartedly.
“I’ll go ahead back home to prepare your food,” she said strapping on her back their baby who had been lying in the shade of the mango tree. Then she picked up the small hoe she had been digging the holes with.
He cast his eyes over the maize field then back at his wife as she walked away. She was a real blessing. Without her he would have been either one of those never do good village drunks or dead. She had rescued him from the hooves of stampeding cattle when he had lain drunk in a ditch. When he had sobered up and seen how close he had been to losing his life, he had made up his mind to quit drinking. Marrying such an angel had seemed like the natural thing to do and he had never regretted doing so. Since then, five years ago, he only drank on special occasions like weddings.
“If I harvest enough this year, I’m going to say goodbye to farming and start a fish selling business,” he vowed to himself. “I feel bad killing my wife with profitless hard work.” He raised his hands to heaven in prayer. “God, please grant me a bounty harvest.”
The rain clouds, as if in response to his appeal, began to gather with intensity and lightning flashed while thunder rumbled. This energised Sitepe and he returned to the task of planting the maize seeds with renewed vigour. He had just finished planting when there was a clap of thunder and the heavens opened up. Normally, he would have sheltered under the mango tree and waited for the rain to abate. But he set for home, whistling gaily as the rain soaked him to the skin.
The rain stopped as he approached the village, a clutter of thatched mud houses. The clouds vanished leaving the sun shining as if it had not rained. Children came out to play in the pools of water while goats, chickens and other livestock that had sheltered in the verandas of houses joined them to enjoy the sun.
Stanley and Sarah, his two children, stopped playing and threw themselves at him in welcoming embraces. He threw each of them playfully in the air. Then they left to re-join their friends frolicking in the pools of water.
His house was set off away from the main path. It was the most beautiful house in the village with pictures of flowers decorating the mud walls. The clay covering the veranda floor was black in colour. The roof was neatly thatched.
Nagode, who had now bathed and changed into a clean floral print worn out dress, came out to relieve him of his hoe and panga knife. “Welcome, husband,” she beamed. “Your bath is waiting for you.”
He went into the bathroom, a small structure made of grass that stood behind the house. The water was hot. He shaved then leisurely took the bath and patted himself dry with a piece of cloth his wife had left. Then he rubbed his body with petroleum jelly. He combed his hair with a plastic comb and when he looked into the small piece of broken mirror a freshly shaven man smiled contentedly back at him.
Feeling refreshed, he got out of the bathroom. He went into the house and found his lunch already set on a clean but tattered mat set in the middle of the small living room. There was no table or chair, only a small stool on which he sat down. Nagode came in with a basin of water and knelt before him. He washed his hands. Then she left the room with the washbowl.
Sitepe closed his eyes and visualised his wife in the worse for wear dress and felt ashamed of himself. He opened his eyes taking in the living room whose only contents were the mat and stool. His wife deserved better. He hardened his resolution that no matter what happened, once he harvested the maize he was going to venture into business.
From that day on he worked very hard in the maize field and did a lot of piece work to find money to buy fertilisers. And true to his prayers, he was blessed with a bounty harvest.
“Dear wife,” he said on the day they sold the maize. “I’ve seen how you’ve toiled all these years. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be where I’m today. God has answered our prayers; we can now go into the fish selling business.”
She looked at him for some time. “You’re sure this is what you want?”
“Yes, my dear wife. I’ll be going to Mangochi to buy fish on wholesale and you’ll be reselling on retail here,” Sitepe said.
Nagode’s face brightened. “That’s a wonderful idea, husband. But be careful when you go there. I’ve heard that in the fishing villages there are women who…”
“You know me, honey,” he cut her. “Women are not one of my weaknesses.”
“I know,” she said with a smile. “It’s just that you’ve to keep your eyes opened.”
Because he wanted to start with a bang, he borrowed additional money from Lomosi, the loan shark. Loaded with the money, he donned his best clothes-a ragged jacket and bell bottom trousers and black shoes that showed signs of considerable use-and set off for Mangochi.
Sitepe arrived in the lakeshore district of Mangochi in very high spirits. He was through with farming. He decided to celebrate his victory by having a few drinks in a bar before checking into a rest house. Three days later, he would be regretting having ever entered the bar. But on that hot afternoon, it seemed the best thing to do.
It was one of those few posh joints near the fishing village of Mpondasi. Sitepe went straight to the bar and ordered a drink. He was still taking a long sip at his drink when he noticed her.
A big breathtakingly beautiful girl, she was perched on a stool at one end of the bar holding a drink in one hand. Her red shiny satin red dress, which looked as if it had been melted on her, gave a stunning outline of her shapely figure with big pointed breasts. Flowing hair framed an oval face with big black exciting eyes.
Sitepe immediately tried to dismiss her from his mind. After all, she was just a prostitute interested in his money. More importantly, he was already married to Nagode and there was no reason he should have been interested in another woman.
Then he remembered his wife’s advice. This was the type of woman she had warned him against. He made up his mind to leave the bar once he drained the beer he held in his hand.
But something held him in the bar. He found himself darting cavorted glances at her and ordering another beer; something attracted him to her like a magnet.
Her eyes held his all evening. She did her best to ignore all men who made passes at her and made it plain that she fancied him a great deal. Whenever he glanced at her, she would cross her legs so that the slit in her skirt showed her well-formed thighs for his benefit.
Sitepe continued his efforts to ignore her but it was useless. If he really did not want her all he had to do was leave the bar and there would be the end to the temptation. But he did not leave the bar. Instead, one drink followed the other.
He was ordering his fifth drink when a honey-dipped voice purred at his shoulder, “Hi!”
It was the girl. He had not seen her leave her stool and come where he was seated. Sitepe blinked, dazzled by her beauty.
“Excuse me, I seem to have seen you somewhere,” she paused and eased herself on a stool beside him. “Let me hazard a guess; Lilongwe?”
Sitepe’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. All he could do was nod his head.
“Bingo, your face looked so familiar, honey,” she pouted her lips and brought them close to his. “I’m Aisha.”
He had never seen her. Of that he was sure. But that did not matter. What counted was that in the packed bar she was making it open that she fancied him badly. His heart swelled with pride.
“Hi, Aisha,” he said at length, staring at her as if he had never seen woman before.
Aisha crossed her legs so that her skirt skipped back and seductively displayed her thighs. She seemed not to notice that her thighs were bare. Sitepe felt his heart start to race and ripples of desire spread over him.
“What’re you drinking, Aisha sugar?” he croaked.
She rolled her eyes and replied in a sing song voice, “You’re my visitor and I’m buying the drinks.”
She ordered their drinks and led him to secluded corner of the bar. He took the drinks quickly. After the drinks he had already taken, his head felt light, his body relaxed.
“This is a great day for me, Aisha,” he told her. “I’m saying goodbye to farming.” He told Aisha of his business plans and the money he had.
Soon they were dancing, Aisha wiggling her lithe body sensuously against his as their bodies responded to the music. All he could see on her smooth face was love.
Sitepe trembled with desire and held her tightly by her copious backside. For a moment he thought of Nagode and her warning. But Aisha could not be after his money. If she was, she would not be buying him the drinks. This thinking, lame as it sounded, convinced him that the girl could indeed have seen him in Lilongwe and was not after his money.
They went back to seat in their corner. Aisha continued to order the drinks which Sitepe consumed with speed. He slid his arms around her and she snuggled into his embrace, and slowly traced a pattern on his trousers with the tip of her fingers. With a groan, he found himself running his hands on her body, almost undressing her. He forgot why he was in the bar, why he was in Mangochi and forsook himself to the beautiful girl in red.
When he woke up, it was late in the morning of the following day. He was in a double bed tucked in expensive beddings. He sat in bed, cupping his head in his hands, conscious of a throbbing pain in his head
He did not know where he was until he saw Aisha in a flimsy dressing gown leaning against the door post.
“Oh, you’re awake, darling? How do you feel?”
“As if I’ve been run over by raging bulls,” he mumbled, wincing.
She came over and kissed him on the cheek. “What you need is a bath to chase away the hangover.”
What happened next surprised him. The big woman scooped him up and put him on her back. He could not believe it as she carried him on her back like a baby. She gently deposited him in a bathtub half full with hot water. “Enjoy the bath while I go and prepare lunch.”
Sitepe lay back in the bath and closed his eyes. What did Aisha see in him to treat him like this? If this was love, then he had found it.
Aisha appeared and put a glass of orange juice beside him. He took the bath very slowly, enjoying the relaxing effect of the water while sipping the juice.
It was about ten minutes later when he went back into the bedroom. The bed had been made. On it was a pair of new blue jeans and a white T-Shirt.
The door opened a fraction. Aisha peered in. “Bought the jeans at the shop behind our house. Hope you don’t mind wearing my T-shirt.”
He did not. After all, who in his right mind would, given an offer like that? The jeans fitted him perfectly. But Aisha being a big woman and he a small man, the T-Shirt fitted him loosely.
After he finished dressing, he went into the dining room. A mouth-watering smell filled the room. The table was laid for two.
He sat down at the table and uncovered his plate. It was piled high with chips, a quarter chicken and salad. Aisha took the seat facing him.
Sitepe ate ravenously like a starved dog. “I’ve never eaten such a delicious meal,” he confessed, smacking his lips. “You’re a wonderful cook.”
She smiled lazily. “Thanks. You’re the first man to appreciate my cooking.”
‘Is it? Maybe the others are jealousy or they don’t have a sense of taste.”
She took a mouthful of chips. “Not really. I never invite men in here.”
Sitepe laughed. “Then I’m the lucky guy.”
They finished eating. As she cleared the table, he went to the window and stared sightlessly out towards the lake, deep in thought. Aisha had bought most of the drinks the previous night. She had given him free accommodation, bought him the jeans and given him this delicious food.
He was born and bred in the village. A man did things for the woman not vice-versa. He must not take advantage of this woman’s love. He turned slowly. Aisha stood behind him. She looked beautiful and desirable. Without a word, he took out his stuffed wallet and extracted a thick ward of notes. He gently slipped it between her breasts.
That afternoon, she took him out. They took a cruise on the lake and visited almost every good drinking place. Aisha did not demand any money from him. But she showed him a love he never thought possible. Everything she did to him was new and he freely gave her a lot of money in return. By midnight, Sitepe was plastered out his skull.
The hangover the following day was not very bad but he found himself flat broke. Coincidentally, the same morning, Aisha casually reminded him the reason for his visit in Mangochi.
“Honey, when are you going to buy the fish for your business?” she asked, while combing her hair.
Sitepe, sitting on the bed, cupped his head in his hands. He noticed that Aisha had packed his bags. “I… I don’t have any money.”
She smiled brightly at him, her teeth glinting in the morning sunlight filtering in through the open bedroom window. “Don’t joke, darling. What have you done with all the money you said you had?”
“I…I don’t know…”
“Then there’s no reason for you to continue staying here,” she purred. “You’ve to go back to raise new capital.”
Sitepe collapsed on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head. “Part of the money I had was a loan. The loan shark will kill me if I don’t repay it.”
“So, what are you going to do?” she asked nonchalantly, touching her lips with lipstick.
“You should bail me out, darling,” Sitepe said with hope. “Lend me some money. You should still have some of the money I gave you…”
“What did you just say?” Aisha snapped.
Sitepe ran his hand through his hair. “I…I…”
“Are you insinuating that you gave me money?” she cut him with violence, her face ugly with anger.
Sitepe was shocked. How could Aisha be saying this after all the good time they had together? “Aisha darling…”
“Don’t darling me!” she shouted. “I spend my hard-earned money on you and you dare accuse me of stealing your dosh?”
Too late now he saw her for what she was. She did not love him, had never loved him. She had only pretended to love him in order to milk him of his money.
“No. I…”
“No one insults me in my house,” she said imperiously. “Get lost. Now!”
“I don’t even have transport money…”
“How is that my concern? You can do piece work at the fishing village,” she said callously. “Now get the hell out of my house!”
End
