Part 1: From Village to Vows
In the village of Chibwika, where chickens roamed freely and the sun rose with a golden breath across the hills, there lived a humble young man named Mwansa. He was not rich, nor was he a man of titles, but he was known to be respectful, hardworking, and thoughtful, a rare kind of man who greeted elders with both hands and never raised his voice in vain.
One day, as the village gathered for the annual harvest celebration, Mwansa saw her.
She was dancing by the drum circle, barefoot and carefree, her laughter floating into the evening air like a song. Her name was Thandiwe. A name whispered by many young men, but one who had never given her heart away. But when she danced that night, her eyes met Mwansa’s… just once and that was enough to shift something in both their worlds.
Over the weeks that followed, Mwansa found himself returning to the market more often than usual. Sometimes he’d buy nothing at all, just hoping to catch a glimpse of Thandiwe as she sold tomatoes or helped her mother with cassava.
And soon, the glances turned into smiles. The smiles into greetings. And those greetings, over time, became long walks under the moonlight, when village noise had quieted and only the sounds of crickets accompanied their conversations.
They talked about dreams. About family. About the future.
“I want a peaceful home,” Thandiwe once said, her voice soft. “Not riches… just love. A man who won’t shout. A man who returns home.”
“And I want a woman who walks beside me,” Mwansa replied, “not behind me. One who’ll make our house a home.”
Months passed. Their bond deepened. The elders took notice. One afternoon, Mwansa gathered courage and approached Thandiwe’s family with the traditional offering (amataba) maize, signs of his intent. His family followed, drums played, and the village rejoiced when the two were finally wed in a modest but beautiful ceremony that lasted three days and three nights.
Their marriage was a symbol of hope to many, a couple who didn’t just fall in love, but respected one another deeply.
But love alone, as life would soon show them, was not always enough.
After the wedding, Mwansa expressed his desire to leave the village.
“There is opportunity in town,” he said one evening as they lay on a mat under the stars. “Jobs. Money. A future we can build.”
Thandiwe hesitated. “I have never lived anywhere but here.”
He held her hand. “I will protect you. Always.”
And with those words, she agreed.
They packed what little they owned. Thandiwe carried her cooking pots and a small bag of millet seeds from her mother, (To plant a bit of home). her mother had said. Mwansa carried a single suitcase of clothes, and together, they left for town with wide eyes and hopeful hearts.
Town life was not like the village.
There were no chickens crowing at dawn. No neighbors dropping by without notice. Their rented room was small, squeezed behind a noisy bar and across from a dusty road where buses never stopped long enough for peace.
But they managed. Mwansa found work at a construction site. He left early and came home with cement still in his fingernails. Thandiwe, true to her word, turned their room into a home. She cleaned, she cooked, she waited. Every day.
They laughed when the landlord cut water without warning. They sat on the floor, ate nshima with their hands, and planned what they’d do once they had enough money.
And soon, they began to talk about children.
At first, it was light-hearted.
“What if our firstborn is a girl?” Thandiwe would ask.
“Then I’ll name her Mwaka,” Mwansa would reply. “She’ll be as wise as her mother.”
But months turned to years. And no child came.
At first, they prayed. They fasted. Thandiwe visited a local clinic. The nurse said her womb was healthy, that she was strong. Mwansa never went for any checkups, he said there was no need.
“My father had ten children,” he said. “The problem can’t be with me.”
Thandiwe never argued. She simply continued to hope. But hope, as the days wore on, started to wither, slowly and painfully.
And beneath that hope, something darker was beginning to grow.
Watch out for part 2….
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