Set Her Free

By Gerald Kithinji

Mozambique had just emerged from a lengthy and punishing guerilla war. Normalcy was slowly returning and citizens were enthusiastically enjoying the first small fruits of freedom and relative security. Dona Lucia, a young married woman decides to look for employment. Her husband, Germáno- who never encouraged her to get employment- does not object openly. When she lands a job with an NGO and gets promoted, he suspects that she is moving with her expatriate bosses. He starts a hate campaign. She loses her job. He then tightens control of the finances and becomes mean, violent and cruelly jealous. Under cover of duty, he starts gallivanting and takes a mistress whom he installs in an expensive penthouse. When she learns of this and queries, Germáno denies it, beats her and throws her out of the marital home. He travels on duty to Beira with the mistress, Aurora. How did the tables turn in Dona Lucia’s favour? Riveting all the way!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gerald Kithinji
• Release date: Sep 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311296924

Gerald Kithinji

I trace my roots to Kenya but I am a Citizen of the World when it comes to what I write or what I read. Whether Poetry, Short stories, Novellas or Novels, I strive to tell it as it is or was for the World Reader. Karibu. Welcome. Bienvenue. Willkommen. Bem vindo. Bienvenido. Benvenuto.Enjoy whatever suits you on my humble page.

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Set Her Free

Copyright 2014 Gerald Kithinji

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Prologue

Woman of Africa

Sweeper

Smearing the floors and walls

With cow dung and black soil,

Cook, ayah, the baby tied on your back,

Vomiting.

Washer of dishes

Planting, weeding, harvesting,

Storekeeper, builder,

Runner of errands,

Cart, lorry,

Donkey…

Woman of Africa

What are you not?

In Buganda

They buy you

With two pots of beer,

The Luo trade you

For seven cows,

And what is that Madi hoe

The Acoli men give your father?

He cannot even use it

For digging!

They purchase you

On hire purchase even

Like bicycles.

Woman of Africa

You are furniture,

Mattress for man

Your arm

A pillow for his head!

Woman of Africa

Whatever you call yourself

Whatever the bush poets

Call you

You are not

A wife!

Poem by Okot p’Bitek published 1966.

Chapter One- Suspicious Minds

Beautiful but gentle Dona Lucia got married to a darling sweetheart. He seemed to love her with a passion so intense that all other considerations appeared tedious. She loved him not any less in her own caring way. If and when he brought meat home she cooked it with such loving care that he devoured whatever was placed before him and asked for more. And when she gave it to him, it was as if it was for the first time. When he kissed her she felt what a rose felt when kissed by a butterfly. He whispered sweet nothings and she felt as though she could fly. When he had to go she felt as though she would cry. One time she felt so happy that she shed a little tear, ironically, not for the last time, nor for the same reason.

For months the couple lived as if life was one hell of a good honeymoon. They went out as often as they could, dancing, eating out, visiting friends and generally enjoying their lives. The mood was jovial if not romantically charged. Those who knew the couple envied the style and depth of their closeness. They seemed to share everything- food, drinks and, sometimes T-shirts. Theirs was an ideal marriage! Or so it seemed.

Germáno had courted her for such a short period of time that it appeared inevitable that the couple would take some time to settle down to normal married life. The rhythm was so robust and enticing that the couple just could not let go. They lived in seventh heaven where the stars danced incessantly for the heavenly dwellers.

Some of their friends tried to advise them to take their time; get to know each other better before taking the marriage vows. But they would not hear of it. They were thrust upon each other by a power greater than they. They had to obey that force or be damned. And the only way they knew was to head to the Civil Registry. They were urged on by others who felt that any delay could derail their plans. There were many who would have loved to see that happen.

Fragile peace had just returned to the strife-torn country after Frelimo and Renamo signed a peace accord to end almost eighteen years of civil strife. The accord appeared to have the full support of a war weary nation. At last citizens could move freely from city to city, province to province. People like Germáno- who had the spirit of adventure, released the beast and let it roam. Dona Lucia hailed from Quelimane not far from Beira in Central Mozambique but she had relatives in Chimoio. It was there in Chimoio that Germáno had his roots. And that is where the two had met.

What do you know about a boomerang? When correctly thrown, a boomerang can go a long way. Having gone that far and unless obstructed by an object, it takes a turn and heads back- towards the thrower, at an even faster and more dangerous speed. Germáno changed course like a boomerang. The man changed overnight like a volcano, wrongly thought to be dormant. He revealed his inner coat one freezing-cold morning, totally without warning.

Or perhaps Dona Lucia had not noticed the change earlier. He had been preparing himself for a day when he would make it clear that the days of courtship were over and that now they were man and wife. And wife meant just that: a partner, yes, but not an equal in his scheme of things. If he could not rein her in early he might miss the bus altogether and be unable to control her in future. Then real men would be laughing at him.

They had just finished breakfast when he turned to her in an uncharacteristic style.

I was not joking when I said I had a journey to make this morning, he said matter-of-factly. Where are my shoes?

They are exactly where they normally are, darling, she replied.

I want them here, he said coldly.

She took them to him.

And the socks, where are they?

She took them to him, as well. He put on the socks and the shoes. He stood up, went to the mirror and adjusted his tie. He then noticed that she was still looking at him.

Why are you staring at me like that?

Nothing, she replied. You look smart in that attire.

Do you want me to take it off? he scoffed.

No, it was just a compliment, an observation.

There are more important things in life than a man’s attire, he said. I will see you later.

What time should I expect you? she asked.

Anytime; all the time. Or are you going somewhere?

No.

Then why ask?

Look, Germáno, what is the matter, darling? Is everything OK?

Yes. I will be back later … or when I please.

If she thought he was joking then she was wrong. He was damn serious. He left and did not return until ten o'clock that night, not exactly drunk but teetering on the tipsy.

Am I not entitled to know where my husband has been? she asked him.

Definitely, he replied. I have been out.

Is that all I'm entitled to know?

Yes. If you wanted to know more you would have waited for me to tell you, instead of interrogating me.

'OK. I'm sorry, Germáno, she replied. I was so worried about you."

No need to worry. Was there an earthquake?

No; but a tremor in my heart.

I need to wake up by six tomorrow. I'm going to bed, unless you have another question.

She had, but she did not want to trigger more rude answers. She wanted to ask him if he still loved her. Instead, she held him close, pressed herself against him and kissed him.

Oh, Germáno, I love you so much.

I know, he said, as he returned the kiss. I love you, too.

Then, eat something small before you go to bed. You must be very hungry.

The following day was a very nice day for Dona Lucia. Not just the weather- that was better than expected, but also the stars- that were smiling at her. She had applied for a job with a non-governmental organisation- one of many that had flooded Mozambique immediately following the signing of the peace accord in 1992. A letter inviting her for an interview arrived that morning. She felt as though she already had landed the job. She couldn't wait to tell Germáno about it. She hoped he would be home for lunch but he did not appear. Her eyes were at the door all afternoon. When he eventually arrived a few minutes after eight in the evening, she flung open the door and flashed the letter at him.

I got it, darling. I got the letter from the NGO. Isn't it wonderful?

Haven't you received a letter before? he asked, coldly.

Can't you see? This is an invitation for an interview! I'm sure I'll get the job!

Let me see it, he took the letter and read it. How many other candidates have been invited for the interview?

I don't know. But does it matter? I will pass the interview.

How do you know?

I have that feeling. Besides, I will do my very best. Can I count on your best wishes?

It is not a matter of wishes. It depends on whether you are qualified or not.

But, darling, a store-keeper's job is very simple. I don't even know why they pay so well for it.

Precisely, he said. The pay reflects the importance of the responsibility and the challenges to be encountered.

I'm ready for all that, but I need your support.

How do you want me to support you? You haven't even got the job, yet!

Do I then assume that you don't want me to work?

Far from it. I want you to work. Go to the interview. If they take you on, then that's all right. But one cannot be too optimistic. Have you forgotten the story of Nina? When she applied for the job at the lakeside town, she was told that she was the only one who had her qualifications. And when she did the interview, she was told that she was the only one who had qualified to be interviewed and that she had passed very well. But, did she get the job? No, his boss at the head office overruled the boss who had made the promises. The candidate of the top boss was flown in on a Saturday and was on duty on Sunday, to catch up with the attractive overtime schedule. And that was despite the fact that Nina had her documents treated by a curandeiro to make them irresistible to the concerned bosses.

So, what do you want me to do?

Nothing. Just don't get excited over an invitation for an interview. And by the way, where is my dinner? Or am I going to eat the letter?

One Saturday afternoon she went out with her girl friend. She was wearing a low sitting blouse and tights. And so was her friend. The busts and other body curves were very well pronounced and gave them the sexy Sophia Loren looks. They were very happy with themselves. Even the few friends they met on the way could not hide their admiration.

Hi, ladies, said Quiquinho, that's smashing! What are you up to?

Thank you, Jení replied. We are just hunting for some fresh air.

Why not stop by for a cold drink?

No thanks, another day perhaps.

It'll only be for a moment. The day is still young.

What do you think, Lucia, Jení asked.

No, thanks. Or what do you say?

Germáno had left them at home, saying that he had a business meeting with some friends from Zimbabwe. Dona Lucia and Jení had assumed that he would be away all afternoon, as usual. But his meeting did not materialize. So he was on his way home when he saw them standing outside Quiquinho's gate talking to him. They were resuming their walk after declining Quiquinho's offer when Germáno surfaced.

Where do you think you are going dressed like that? Germáno shouted. And what were you soliciting from that house?

Surely, Germáno! Jení interjected.

You think I don't have eyes? Go back! Get back to the house.

Germáno, who was by now burning with fury, grabbed Dona Lucia by the left arm and started marching her towards his house.

Let's go or else…! You want another husband or a boyfriend?

I want nothing. We were just going to visit her cousin.

Dressed like street girls? And what did you want from QQ? Or is he the cousin?

He just said 'Hello' to us.

What kind of 'hello' keeps you on the road for ten minutes? What were you negotiating?

We were just politely declining an offer for a drink, that's all.

By promising to have it another day, no doubt? That's what I call negotiating for a date. A difference in terminology, is it not?

Call it what you will, but it had nothing to do with a date.

Perhaps it is a prelude to an invitation for a date. That's why you wore next to nothing. What did you want to show?

Just casual dress…

Casual? No doubt synonymous with exposure. You are a married woman. Why do you want to expose yourself like a commercial sex worker? Look at yourself! What's the difference between you and a prostitute?

You know I'm not a prostitute, Germáno. You think you married a prostitute?

Nobody is born a prostitute. You expose yourself and offers keep coming. Before you know it you will be removing the last piece of clothing on you, and accepting drinks from your friends and total strangers alike. Why can't you dress decently?

What is the limit?

It is entirely up to you. But when you see eyes turning because of tight pants and low blouses you know it is not the blouse or the pants they are admiring. They are lusting after your flesh. That's what you are selling. It's not beauty, it is raw flesh.

And that excites you?

It disgusts me! You vulgarise feminine beauty. You look like an object: a poor re-definition of a woman's figure. It's as if the body curves are the most important part of a woman. It degrades a woman, her intelligence, her personality, her natural beauty, her femininity, her dignity, her sensuality; all are swept aside by banal exposure. If you reveal all that to the world at large, what is sacred and preserved only for your lover or your husband?

I didn't know you felt so strongly about some of these things.

You are following the wind. Don't just swallow what that crazy friend of yours tells you.

They reached home and the debate turned to other matters. Jení had gone her way.

Dona Lucia got the job. She was employed as a stores assistant, a job to which she applied herself very selflessly. The mandatory three months probation period passed satisfactorily and she was confirmed in her job.

But by the time she was confirmed her husband had changed a great deal. He had become overly protective on the one hand, and intolerant and ill tempered on the other. A few times he had stopped short of beating her for very minor infractions. However, after the wild outbursts he would calm down and call her 'my darling', 'my sweetheart' and the matter would be forgotten- for Dona Lucia was a forgiving woman.

You know I love you, he told her once. That's why sometimes I react like that. I hope you understand. I won't do it again.

She understood. She forgave him. And life continued, interrupted only by his rash and intemperate deeds. It did not matter that she was heavy with his child. He loved her and loved the unborn one, but he felt he had to discipline her if she overstepped the bounds: unmarked though they were. Her friends wondered why she had to put up with such a crude husband. But she always responded that she loved him.

That's all I have, she told Jení, her friend, one evening.

There are hundreds out there who would take proper care of you, if you let them, Jení replied.

Even in my condition? she queried.

OK. Maybe he will respect you more when the baby is born.

That is what I said to myself, said Dona Lucia. You understand there are things I can't let him do now. That angers him all the time.

You mean he cannot understand that? asked Jení. Don't they advise them about these things, anymore?

I don't know, said Dona Lucia. All I know is that he has changed drastically since our marriage.

Men must be cruel by nature, Jení observed. I think they pretend to be gentle when they need a woman to marry and then revert to their real cruel selves after putting a ring on her finger. How many married men wear rings? They think the ring was only meant for a woman. That has to change.

How will it change? asked Dona Lucia.

Women will also stop wearing rings, said Jení. What is not good for the bee cannot be good for the hive, as the saying goes.

They did not notice Germáno's approach. He had decided to come home early for a change. Actually, there was a matter that he wanted to discuss with her concerning the end of the month. The two women were engrossed in their conversation.

You remember Rodrigues? Jení asked. I thought you were going to marry him.

Rodrigues! That was another one! I…

She stopped abruptly on noticing Germáno opening the door. He did not even greet them. He had heard the name 'Rodrigues' and that was enough. He decided to beat her there and then.

Whack! Whack! Went the slaps on her cheeks.

What about Rodrigues? he fumed. Why didn't you marry him? Rodrigues, Rodrigues! What is he to me? I don't ever want to hear that name again.

She was only saying that he was a terrible man, interrupted Jení.

Whack! Whack!

Who wants to know whether or not he was terrible? he shouted at Jení. Are you comparing him and me? Get out of my compound before I descend on you!

I'm sorry it sounded like that. But surely the mention of his name was purely innocent!

I don't care. I just don't want to hear it again, whether from you or from her. Why can't you talk about yourselves?

After Jení left, Germáno went to his wife and held her by the hand.

I'm sorry, but I don't want to see that woman with you again. You get that?

You know she is my best friend, Dona Lucia replied. She doesn't mean any harm. I've got to talk to somebody!

All right. But be careful. Any further provocation and I'll throw both of you out.

While they were having dinner, Germáno decided to raise the issue that had made him come home early. Dona Lucia was earning a good salary. But, according to him, very little of it was utilised, as it should.

You are spending all the money on clothes and shoes, he complained.

But I am a working woman now. I cannot wear the same dresses all the time.

So you spend all the money on clothes? he asked.

How many dresses have I bought? Only three and two pairs of shoes!

Is that all? Then where is all the money going to?

You forget the house.

What is there in the house? Just the little food we eat?

And the fridge and utensils?

The fridge, yes. But that could not have taken all the money!

OK. So what do you want?

I just want us to spend the money sensibly, that’s all. We have to be responsible.

So?

So, I want you to hand over two-thirds of the salary for me to keep. It is good for you and for the family, if we are a family, that is. You keep one-third for your shoes and dresses, and I look after the rest for the future, for the family, for the son and daughter that you are carrying. That is what I want. I don’t want your money for myself, no, but for us all. Now, tell me. Is that sensible or not? And don’t say that I am pushing you. I am only being fair. What do you say?

You have a good idea, but I think we should prepare a budget for the house first and then you and I should contribute equally to the budget, said Dona Lucia.

What do you mean by a budget? asked Germáno.

A budget! Expenses. What we need to spend in a month. What we need to buy. That sort of thing.

What do we need to buy except what I have been buying? I see you don’t like my idea. You want to keep on buying clothes and shoes and wasting money. OK! Keep your money! I was only trying to put sense into your spending, but since you don’t want it, I leave the matter. Let’s carry on as before. I will not mention the issue again. I did not know that it was that sensitive!

Dona Lucia tried to explain but to no avail. She stopped trying when he started boiling over.

Dona Lucia decided to prepare her own monthly budget to prevent any further misunderstanding. But it was like tying the bag after the cat had escaped. Germáno had reached the conclusion that Dona Lucia was a rebel. He was determined to deal with her decisively. He had to get to the root of the matter.

He started going home early and eating and drinking as much as he could. He ate a full breakfast, a full lunch and a full dinner. He grew fat: layers upon layers of adipose tissue. If an egg was missing in his lunch he launched a long tirade against his wife, claiming that she wanted to starve him. If the vinegar was not served he blamed it on the clothes-and-shoes’ budget. If a cup or plate got broken accidentally, he complained that the cups and plates were targeted because it was said that the funds were inexhaustible.

Even when she was very heavy, he made ridiculous demands upon her. If she could not do what he wanted he would start his now common complaints.

Being pregnant doesn’t mean that you are sick, he would say. For God’s sake I’m not asking you to carry a ton of potatoes! Just move your limbs a bit!

Then all of a sudden, he changed his style. This time he complained that she was the one who was punishing herself.

Do you want to deform that boy or what? he asked her one-day. Do you know what he means to me?

Is it more than he means to me? she replied. She bit her tongue as she said this. She had resolved not to be curt with him. But this was the limit. She hoped he would understand.

Then carry yourself properly! he answered. Don’t over-exert yourself.

OK, doctor. I will remember that.

In fact it was a bouncing baby-girl that she was carrying. She was named after his late mother. Both baby and mother were to be confined in hospital for three days. Germáno drank himself stupid, visited at odd hours and made a lot of noise when he was cautioned, making sure that he left an indelible mark at the maternity wing of the hospital.

Tell me. How is my baby doing? he asked a Sister.

We have ten of them in there, she said pointing at the cribs. Which one is yours? she responded.

The bouncy one, you know, the bouncy one, he tried to explain. The one that looks like me.

There’s none that looks like you. Who’s the mother?

Dona Lucia, but I’m the father, he answered.

How do we know?

Now you are becoming rude, he said.

No. We know the mother for sure. She has to tell us who the father is. But even then there may be some unanswered questions. Do you want us to do a DNA test?

What’s that? he asked. I’ve never heard of it.

I’ve only just heard of it myself, replied the sister.

What does the DNA test tell you- that I’m not the father?

Not exactly. But it can tell us that you are the only probable one.

And how much would that cost?

A bomb!

Then keep it! That kid is mine and you know it. May I now go in and see them?

It is feeding time.

I’ll not touch her milk if that’s your fear.

We don’t disturb, she replied. You can sit here or go round and come back in twenty minutes’ time.

A whole twenty minutes? What is she feeding on? he wondered.

Milk and honey! she replied.

Am I allowed to bring in something?

Not anything. It has to be wholesome and edible.

Juice, Weetabix or Nan?

Just for your wife, nothing for the kid. But, what’s the use? They are leaving tomorrow.

Dona Lucia and her baby went home in the company of her husband and her younger sister, who had decided to stay with her and help with home chores. That evening Germáno went out to drink his daughter’s toast with friends. He got home very late and woke up everybody, including the baby.

That’s my baby, he sang. She has to wake up and welcome me. Hello! Belinha! How are you? Why aren’t you crying for me? You must cry and keep them attentive. Otherwise they will sleep, instead of looking after you. Hello!

He danced around holding her and she started crying.

That’s right! But not too loud, eh? Ya! Ya! Ya! What do you want to drink? Beer? Milk? Where is mother? Give her milk. Those breasts are not for show. They are for her!

Dona Lucia and Germáno had everything to be thankful for. Shortly after she resumed duty, she was promoted to the position of a checker, thanks partly to the policy of encouraging women to venture into higher levels of service. The NGOs were distributing food to returnees and other internally