Effort for Comfort: A Little Girl's Journey

By Aggrey Bulamu

Eff ort for Comfort is a story about a 15-year-old girl in deep rural Uganda, East Africa, who is married off early, and endures many forms of harassment. Later, with the help of fellow young women, she works her way to transform livelihoods in her sub-county, and, indeed, the entire nation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9780228879978

Aggrey Bulamu

Aggrey Bamughamye Bulamu was born in the Busoga subregion of Eastern Uganda, in 1958. He is married to Elizabeth, and they have five children. He went to Ikulwe Primary School and Ndejje Secondary School, and completed his O-Level as a private candidate. Most of his achievements are self-taught. In 2004 he moved to Canada. He lives in Edmonton, Alberta.Cover photo: Elizabeth Kanyago Bamughamye

Book preview

ONE

The Arranged Marriage

It was popularly called shutting the dawn rooster’s beak. That time in the morning when the monkeys woke up for their breakfast looting of the juicy young corn from the fields. A freaking fast food looting, lest the humans jump out of their beds to skin them alive!

That was the time of day when Alpaksadi Bifandhuba Mwembe arrived to honour the appointment made the previous day with Kitakufe, his soulmate and an old boy in herdsmanship. Both were also World War II Veterans.

Earlier than the go-to-work cockcrow. Jesus! What a crazy soldier! Kitakufe exclaimed as he welcomed his friend, while his other hand continued to brush his teeth using the Nfoodo medicinal stick cut from a shrub.

"Oh, sure! You well know that poverty is sweeter in the morning blanket. And hey, you do it all the time too, don’t you my fellow soldier, sir?"

"Exactly that, brother. Karibu Sana! Come on, let’s go sit in the common hut, please. Calm cool morning, right? He then turned and called out, My dear, why the delay?"

Tolopista Namukuve, Kitakufe’s wife who had been watching them all along, turned and went back into the house. She reappeared carrying a unique triple-mouthed pot. A clan ritual vessel. In it was a first class malwa brew made out of millet. It had been secured in a sacred dark corner of the house, strictly preserved for the spirits of ancestors. They were believed to descend in the dark night to feast and bless them with longer life, wealth, reproduction, and abundant harvests. Their way of feasting added more mystery since the brew levels in the pot never changed.

Here’s our ancestors’ leftovers. Enjoy! she said, placing the pot carefully on a thick ring of woven banana fibres.

Yes, they were both old boys in the sense of herdsmanship and war. Both were born into stinking wealthy families. Their fathers had vast stretches of land, multiple wives, many children, and a lot of cattle. As juvenile herders, they had experienced a lot of fun and mischief together. They sneaked about climbing trees and stealing mangoes from one terrible Mapengo’s farm.

Along the paths to the wells, they would set traps by knotting handful chunks of tough grass growing on the opposite sides. It was not far-off the idea of someone plaiting another’s hair. Later, when the girls would come walking along those same paths unaware of the traps ahead, they would stumble precariously and break their water pots! Hiding in the thickets and monitoring the action very closely, the boys would congratulate each other upon their ‘success’!

Not all the girls fell victim though. It was mostly those who defied the notorious boys’ advances that were targeted. After months of harassments, the girls came up with a plan. They walked with knives and cut the damn knots. But that didn’t work for long. However, their last option worked fantastic. The girls easily sniffed out the bad guys and reported them to their respective parents, who in turn thrashed the hell out of the boys’ buttocks! And that was not all. The parents ordered them to grab some hoes, and to widen the path by a full metre all the way to the well. The fathers switched shifts to supervise. Each with a handy long stick, eagerly waiting for any foolishness from the culprits.

Later, their notorious past records easily qualified them to be forced into the King’s African Rifles. Colonial Britain flew them to Myanmar to fight.

Alpaksadi Bifandhuba Mwembe and Yokana Kitakufe were not just common friends. They were soulmates. Most times, they referred to each other as brothers; like the general African way.

Kitakufe wanted to get a wife for his only son, Tom Kalume who was aged sixteen. Time was passing by fast. In his mid-sixties, he yearned to have a real grandson in his line, other than a son who looked like one. Mwembe had a daughter, Mercy Namwembe, who was the age of fifteen.

How fast it takes to peel a ripe banana was how long it took the two old men to determine an entire future for their two ignorant kids.

Unity for both our clans! Mwembe stated easily.

Thank you so much, my brother! Thanks to God you accepted! I think I will finally stretch my legs in my coffin as a happy man! His eyes were welling with tears.

Calm down brother! I understand your situation. We are in this together! assured Mwembe.

After sealing the deal, they dramatically changed the topic. They talked about the weather, malaria, weddings, wars, farming, politics, food, and the good old days.

From generation to generation Gibeeranwa (a name meaning working together) remained the same. It was a natural spring that emerged from above a humongous rock that was partly buried in a gentle slope of the land. Rising firmly from the ground beside the rock was a big musita tree. It enjoyed its full stamina thanks to its roots’ backup buttress. It stood below forty feet, spreading into a full, wide canopy. The gravitational impact of the spring had formed a lively and lovely sparkling pool at the base of the rock. In the spirit of working together, the majestic tree was assured an unlimited supply of water. In turn, its gigantic canopy maintained the cool water temperatures. For generations, many homes owed their entire livelihoods to the local natural wonder.

The Gibeeranwa Spring was on the eastern side of the village of Bwembe, several strides uphill. It was apart from a long wide valley, which also shared its borders with the villages of Buboodhe and Nkumiro. Within the valley was a creek that was inhabited by a vast stretch of multiple beautiful wildflowers. At the southern end bordering with the lake, was all papyrus.

Stories and myths have been told about Gibeeranwa. One of them that traversed many generations was that the big tree represented a strong, protective, and caring husband, while the rock was an industrious, reliable wife. They worked together in the smooth running of their home. The nice cool water reflected their beautiful offspring. To many, Gibeeranwa was more sacred than the closeby Nalubaale, or Lake Victoria as the latter was named later by the colonizers. The spring water was healing mineral water, while the lake water was polluted with bilharzia, a disease caused by parasitic worms!

Just a few days later, several little girls, many in their lower teens were leaving the spring and heading back to their respective homes. Each was balancing a twenty-litre plastic can of water on her head. It was early evening, and the big full moon was lazily glaring in the sky. The girls were singing, giggling, and competing. Their new challenge was basically to find who among them could balance the twenty-litre water can on her head while walking, hand clapping, and twerking all at the same time. Janet gave it a shot but nose-dived into some young banana plants due to her swaying can of water. Namwembe tried everything, save for the twerking. She believed she was the worst twerker of all time. Her friends couldn’t stop laughing whenever she tried. Adikin nailed every segment of the challenge flawlessly. All the girls enviously gave her a round of applause. She was only thirteen!

But exactly how do you do it, Adikin? asked Namwembe.

Take it slow, dear. Shamira comforted her. You will get there too. I’m nearly there myself!

Tease, teasy tricks again! I know you, ha ha!

How will Namwembe learn from my twerking? I heard she’s leaving us? Adikin stated, surprising almost everyone.

Whaaaat? Shamira couldn’t believe her ears. To which school is she going?

Good if another school, but sorry girls! They are selling her as wife! Adikin threw yet another bomb, in clear grief.

Whaaaat? exclaimed almost all the girls.

But Shamira quickly thought this was just another of Adikin’s jokes. So, she sought proof.

You believe in Adikin’s funny lies too, Namwembe?

Please, don’t say yes! I’m about to faint! Namasoga was trembling.

All the girls went to St. Varvara Elementary School in Bwembe. Shamira, Perusi, and Namwembe were all in Grade 7. The rest of the group ranged between Grades 5 and 6.

Pheeeew, thanks to Allah! I knew it was a joke! I knew it!

No Shamira! No! Namwembe slightly raised her voice. Painfully trying to find the right words. She’s correct!

Who’s buying you?

Where does he live?

How old is he?

Did he go to school?

Has he other women?

Does he beat women?

Stop! I can’t handle this. I’m sorry! cried Namwembe. Her outcry worsened matters by generating empathy. All the girls sandwiched her into a hug.

I know how you feel, dear! Shamira said.

Me too! The beatings! Adikin jumped in.

The beatings? But why?

Last Tuesday night, my dad returned home drunk when we were all sleeping. I woke up fast and opened the door for him. He walked straight over to my mom and punched her in the nose! revealed Jastina.

Why? She did not do anything wrong! All the girls inquired.

"Well, he claimed that Mom did not come to open the door because another man was sleeping in their bedroom. That was not true. I told Dad but he wouldn’t listen!"

A long silence was filled with obvious fear and anger.

Were the police informed? Namasoga dared to ask the question.

Stop it! Of course, she dares not! The police eat a lot of money. We need that money for school. My mother sold her chicken, and I escorted her to the clinic. She is slowly healing! Jastina sadly narrated.

The rest of the girls clearly sympathized with her.

So, Namwembe, when are you leaving us? Shamira asked.

I just don’t know for sure! I don’t! My dad called me and gave one damn sentence. She was breathing very hard as she continued. "He said Namwembe, I have got you a gooood man to marry . . . and that was it!"

All the girls hugged her and cried together.

I thank you for loving me. I love you too! I’m not sure about many things! she said in appreciation.

My mom says it will be all right. I’m not sure of that either! she clarified.

Namasoga abruptly shouted, panicking, Let’s hurry home girls!

Three market days passed. Nothing about the impending arranged marriage was newsworthy, yet.

One day after the previous day’s rain, the next afternoon was hectic with trapping white ants. Housewives in their farming fields, hunters in the forests, and no doubt, herders while grazing their cattle took part. Down in the valley separating Bwembe and Buboodhe, five boys were scampering all over the place checking their trapping spots.

Wooololoh! C’mon guys! Hurry here! We can do this once more!

Tom Kalume was running and stopping at every single spot his colleagues were busy preparing.

Today is our day, guys!

Yes, Mr. Lazy-Noisy! yelled Gadiitule. If your foot stumps dare scare my white ants back into the holes, you write your will before your funeral!

Hohooh, boy! Shut up! Are you ready to risk your tiny life, fighting a man like me? Okay, here I come, and don’t cry like a baby when I squeeze you! retaliated Tom Kalume.

Gadiitule sprang to his feet almost immediately and Kalume fled away. He sprinted, then stopped and watched cautiously. The rest were eagerly watching, falling back onto the ground, laughing hard about the drama.

Oh man, forget about that coward and concentrate! Tulyanabaisi shouted.

All the other boys were busy while Kalume was lazing around, not giving a damn. His mother, Namukuve was already doing a better job at home. No clear-headed mother would deny an only son his right to as many handfuls of white ants as he desired!

Suddenly, a gust of the Muyanja wind from the lakeside swept the entire area, smashing all the easy leaves into the air and swaying the tree branches precariously. The boys squatted behind the trees and watched as everything they had prepared was left in ruin. When tranquility returned, the sad boys wobbled back to check on their parents’ livestock. They found them grazing peacefully, seemingly not to have been bothered at all.

Guys, I’ve some food for us! Kalume called out in an effort toward reconciliation.

Wow, hello, Mr. Tom Kalume! All the other boys applauded.

Soon they were feasting on fried tilapia fish with roasted cassava and sweet potatoes. He had done a timely check on their weakness. Food! Now he was back in charge. He was the boss.

So, you guys like my food, huh? He stood up, hands holding his waist firmly.

Thanks for the food, replied Gadiitule. But remember I can still punch you if you keep fooling around!

Gadiitule is crazy! Do not listen to him. Odundo disagreed. Boss, do you have more fish for me alone, Boss?

You see . . . as a full man soon getting married, I have to practice feeding kids . . . like you, in my future home!

He walked around them with the air of a professional events planner.

"Excuse me; you just said you are getting a wife? You? Ha ha! Who is the unlucky girl! Thanks for the food and the joke, idiot!" Gadiitule complimented him sarcastically.

He painfully tried to explain about it. They tried to wake him out of a possible serious daydreaming problem.

So, from today, I . . . He walked around, thumping his chest with his fist, his eyeballs almost popping out. "I am Tom Kalume, The Lion! And you? Squirrels! Ha ha!"

A rat can’t be a lion, so shut up! Disagreed Odundo.

Okay, okay, okaaaay guys, keep it calm. Now she’s coming when? humbly asked Gadiitule.

None of your business little kids! Kalume retaliated, apparently both angry and full of himself.

The argument could have heated further if it were not for their animals who strayed into a nearby cornfield. All the boys ran and whisked them to the safe side. The sound of the cockatoos arriving back at their respective home trees to feed their chicks alerted them that it was time to take the herds back home. Cows staggered away with their heavy udders, clearly more than ready for their milking.

"Rrrrrrrrrrttchaaah! Shhhhhkss! Rrrrrrrrttchaah!" Shouted the boys, as the hooves responded faster in a heavy stampede.

TWO

Aunt Sophia

"Hmm . . . I guess it is cleanliness, Mama?" Answered Mercy Namwembe, to one of her mother’s endless quizzes on how to be a good homemaker. She was peeling raw plantains for steaming, while her mother pounded some kulekula or queen nuts using a wooden pestle and mortar.

The kulekula dish had as many inconclusive myths as chicken did. It was a delicacy mostly eaten by women. Since generations unknown, to about that time, it was perceived as a curse for women to eat chicken. They cooked it, then handed everything over to the men for serving of the meal. A man would sit cross-legged on a mat (the latter position known as magaba-nkoko or the chicken serving position) and put the pot full of chicken between his legs. He would distribute it strictly to a few of his sons, leaving anywhere north of two-thirds of the original lot for himself.

Some stories pinned such acts to greed and subjugation, contrary to it being a cultural norm as it was widely claimed. Some time later, in what could have been viewed as a retaliation, some of the women connived and kept the incredibly delicious kulekula nut dish to themselves. They had hatched out a smart plan, which had brought their husbands to their knees.

Any man who dares to taste the delicious kulekula nut will immediately go limp in bed! All the women had warned.

No man had seen that coming! They had no choice! They had to protect their manhood. When prevalent modernity arrived, Namwembe’s generation went liberal and demystified everything. Many from the older generation had first watched, then cautiously tasted the abominable dishes themselves. Later, everybody devoured everything. That evening, Mwembe was eagerly waiting to enjoy the kulekula nut delicacy too. Several experiments he had made in recent months were encouraging.

The conversation in the kitchen continued.

"Well, in one way you are right, but cleanliness is just one of the main branches of a tree, my dear Maselina!" Byogero was educating her totally innocent daughter.

If you win a man’s stomach first, the rest will follow more easily. Always start with the kitchen. Men are like babies when hungry! She took a deep breath then continued her direction. I think my part is done. It has been a long journey since I brought you into the you now. For the remaining lessons about husbands and wives, it will be your aunt’s job, not mine.

Stop speaking like that, Mama! Namwembe burst into tears. Her mother’s mention of dealings with her aunt rekindled her unhealed trauma. "I hate that Auntie! I h-h-hate her husband even more! I hate them all!" She was crying helplessly.

Oh, sorry my lovely sunrise! She quickly wrapped her arms around her daughter. I understand!

I love you, Mama!

I love you too, my darling!

Mama, can we please talk about your ideas tomorrow?

As you wish, dear. But promise me to enjoy our dinner. Or else, I’m going to cry myself!

No way, Mama! It was her turn to wrap her arms around her mother. I will eat lots of kulekula and mashed matoke. I promise. She giggled.

The next morning, people were in the fields working. In one of Mwembe’s farm fields, three of the boys were on the left side of their mother and her only two girls were on her right. The two-acre field looked all freshly green. The young corn stood barely two feet tall. Intercropping appeared to be successful. The red beans looked older and ready for harvest thereby granting the corn breathing space.

Arresting the weeds out of the intercropping was the main task of the morning. An uphill undertaking especially for the boys who abhorred details. They lacked the patience and precision found in knitting. Each girl, with a small hoe in one hand was carefully digging while the other hand pulled out the weeds and restabilized the crop firmly into the ground. The girls were far ahead. Fred Ikendi was thirteen, Milton Kiswakita seventeen, and Isaac Kirimwita nineteen. They were the boys. Rebecca Kiwala was eleven and Mercy Namwembe fifteen. The girls of the family.

The eldest boys, Paddy Naighano Kikonhogo at twenty-eight, and Hosea Kinamunda, twenty-six were not there. They both were married men living in their own respective homes.

Milton stood up with his right leg clinging to the hoe and his right hand leaning on its top. He gazed above at an army of cockatoos flapping their way south, and who were perched on the palm trees laden with chunky clusters of ripe fruit.

Woooow, look at thaaat! he uttered in amazement. But he was not able to dodge in time a scud missile, a lump made up of compressed and moistened soil that smacked onto his back.

Aooouucch! Mama! He wriggled around, his palm on the hurt area. Only looking at the sun’s position to check on the time, Mama!

Really? Byogero’s narrow eyes scanned her mischievous son dangerously.

True, Mama!

Really, Kiswa?

She was walking closer to him, briefly inspecting his job on the ground. The results were not impressive. Weeds were spontaneously standing back up, and creepers were still held from underneath the ground. Or had only been trampled upon all over the place.

So, may I know why all this grass is still standing, sir?

Don’t worry about those, Mama; I just cut their heads off! See? He stretched out his hands unconvincingly, while stepping further back to prepare enough distance for a takeoff, just in case. They will die slowly, believe my word, Mama!

His own doubting face betrayed his efforts to calm down the furiously charging Mama. He sprang back and took to his heels. Everybody, including Mama broke into prolonged laughter.

Hey, Mercy. Look. Jastina is over there at the road! Rebecca shouted. She’s waving to you!

Namwembe turned her head and saw a group of schoolgirls smiling sadly, as they gestured some messages to her. She waved, and quickly turned back stumbling into her mother’s scary stare. She dropped her eyes apologetically, and faked concentration on pulling out the weeds.

I understand how hard it feels now, my love! said her mother. I was like you, but two years younger than you are now. You will get over it and live life. When I had my first child, I was so happy! Everything changed!

Her dad, Mwembe, was a good man. She knew it, and everybody said so about him. A man of sound character who respected human values. But, in her mind a circus of mysteries was troubling her. Given her indelible, traumatic molestation experience, she couldn’t figure out how any happiness could be hidden in that so-called love act that her mother was possibly glorifying! No way! Good things do not happen like that!

But Mama! She hesitated a bit. Did you say you were happy to have Paddy?

Absolutely, ha ha!

"Did you love our father?" She maintained eye contact that was demanding honesty.

Who, me? I don’t remember everything by now, my dear! Who cannot love a man like him, hmm? He has always been good to me. She threw her arms around her daughter. And my beautiful daughter is going to be loving to her husband too. I’m sure!

"And my Muko. My brother-in-law will slaughter a fat he-goat all for me, right Mercy?" Milton chimed in hilariously. Forgetting there could be another possibility of a scud missile.

Shut up, lazy chatterbox! Namwembe yelled out emotionally.

See, Mama? I always told you that Mercy has never liked me! You hear her calling me that bad name and you keep quiet? You need to do something! Bad behaviour is bad behaviour, Mama! I go bring a stick, Mama?

What a great idea! Bring that stick very fast. You need some, too!

Let’s work! We are just talking, Mama!

Everybody was laughing again. They had enjoyed the microbreak.

Byogero sighed with relief. Stubborn Milton had just saved her from answering the fiery questions from her daughter. Did she love or was she in love with Mwembe before getting married to him? Hell no! Not at thirteen years old.

Despite all the distractions, they had completed a quarter of an acre of the job. Mama’s tough love turned kind and tender.

Those are my sweet kids! She praised her children for a job generally well done. Any ideas for lunch, friends?

Oh yes, Mama! Matoke and fish, and chicken, and . . ., was the usually silent Rebecca’s quick input.

The fat duck to be slaughtered for lunch! Stopped laying eggs, you know it Mama! said Milton.

I got it, thank you ladies and gentlemen! Byogero shouted, bringing the house to order. Your Mama is thinking of a little surprise, so keep guessing!

They feasted on a delicious mash of beans and sweet potatoes, with sun-dried tilapia in a peanut paste. Every child ate to pot-belly level.

After dinner and the night prayers, Mwembe ordered everybody to their bedrooms, except for his wife and Namwembe. He cleared his throat, and made it official;

Namwembe; we love to see you have a bright future and a good family. His eyes tried to meet hers in vain.

Yes please, Baba, replied his daughter calmly.

Good. Next Saturday, a week from now, we are hosting some important visitors. My dear friend Kitakufe’s son Tom Kalume, whom we have carefully chosen to be your good husband, is coming here for the introduction ceremony. He turned to his wife. I will work with the boys and you with your lady friends. Anything else?

Yes, Baba.

What is it? Mwembe inquired, almost springing from his seat in surprise.

I’m just asking that I go visit my Auntie Sofia before that day. She raised her eyes slowly locking hers with his. He turned and stared at his wife inquisitively.

There is no problem with that. Your daughter has always loved her aunt. Last time she visited her, she returned with a little chick, which she raised into a big hen. Now she has a whole pregnant goat out of it! She continued, "Her earlier assigned Caretaker Aunt, did not step up to her responsibilities, by siding with her evil husband to hurt our child! I am only afraid of loading Sophia with more responsibilities as we already know her condition."

"She’s far smarter than all of us with eyes. I know thaat, my sister!" Mwembe asserted.

I agree Dad. I like her. Namwembe added, sighing with a slight sense of relief.

Isaac Kirimwita was to ride with her on their father’s bicycle to Bwondha and back.

At the Bwondha lakeshore trading centre, Aunt Sophia was supervising her fishermen as they counted the previous night’s catch, while others were straightening some nets. An activity least expected by a blind person but it was what it was. When Namwembe uttered her presence, the strong lady in her mid-fifties wrapped her Lesu firmly around her waist. She swung her arms open in the right direction and around her niece and nephew.

Oh God! What a beautiful day for me! she shouted jubilantly. Letting go of both, and thinking faster she said, You no doubt are hungry after all that ride. Yes, you are! She turned her head. Zeina! Do for us what you do best. Make food for the three of us. Thanks, I delayed my breakfast!

A lady appeared carrying a large light blue tray with three half-litre plastic mugs of hot milk, and six cowpea veggie samosas. The milk smelled of ginger.

Maneno, dear! Are we making any progress? Auntie Sophia raised her business tone toward her most faithful worker. Her seventeen and fifteen-year-old sons lived in Kenya. So, Maneno had become crucial in her day-to-day activities.

Yes, Aunt Sophie, he confirmed. We are ready for the buyers.

She was addressed in that way, which transcended her real extended family circle. All fishermen in Bwondha knew her as Auntie or Mama Sophia, whichever came first.

Perfect, let’s do it.

She rose to her feet and with her cane walked over to the fresh fish stall. Soon several fishmongers were gathered.

Now, who brought cigarettes, marijuana, cassava flour, and salt for my fishermen? she demanded.

The lovely music from the eating rooms, beer joints, and retail shops along with the breaking waves at the shore mixed with the singing of the birds and people chattering. It produced a weird mix-up of sounds.

A mischievous hawk disrupted everybody at the stall. It descended with an amazing skill onto a pile of fresh fish, swiftly grabbing one big tilapia with its mighty claws, before dragging it up and away into the air. It turned and flapped its wings victoriously, while ripping the belly of its prey for a quick uninterrupted taste of its juicy intestines. It was a high-level skill of eating as you go, only known to the hawk world. Stones and boomerangs hurled at it were a wasted effort. No sooner did it settle on top of a mvule tree at the opposite side of the landing site to have a sound fill, than it was spot-crashed by an army of other hawks. All were demanding a quick share. The scramble for the loot, turned dirtier and dangerous. Namwembe and Isaac had a lot of fun watching it all, while sipping coffee.

Transactions and organizing for the next evening’s shift were completed. Aunt Sofia collected all the accrued cash and wrapped it in a handkerchief, which she slid into her bra. She apologized to her visitors.

Sorry to keep you waiting, my little sweeties! It’s crazy around here, especially in the morning. But it feels relaxing when I turn my eyes to see my niece and nephew. Oh my God!

The two young visitors looked at each other in confusion.

Ha ha! I can guess what my beauties think now! Do seeing eyes look like that, really?

We are sorry, Auntie! Namwembe tried to explain. We . . . She vainly tried to explain. Her aunt quickly hugged them firmly and affectionately before pulling out her walking cane.

Just wishing you lived here longer to learn how much of an idiot your father’s sister is, ha ha! See this stick? It is my eyes! Now, let’s hurry home my beauties!

With the cane she walked confidently, negotiating one corner after another. Isaac rolled his eyes, mesmerized.

Aunt! You are magical, believe me! You make us all feel empty! We must work hard just to reach her standards! Not so, Mercy?

Tell her what I always say I want to be when I grow up. Namwembe asked Isaac.

She calls herself Small Aunt Sophia!

Ha ha! Thanks for loving me so much! You all know that I love you a lot too!

Her home was a four-bedroom permanent house, situated on a 20 foot by 150-foot plot of land on the outskirts of the trading centre. She had built the three blocks of seven double room rentals. It was a noisy, but relatively clean property.

After a good day of a heavy lunch and heavy dinner along with lots of laughter, Isaac retired to the boys’ room to sleep. Aunt and niece went into the master bedroom. Farouk Kadingidi, her new boyfriend had left for Jagusi Island earlier in the day with two of their fishermen to try better fishing positions.

"My advice is to love God, then love yourself before you love your husband, or anybody else. Know your own strengths and weaknesses. Do not be a slave of what other people think of you. You are not them. You are you! Do you know your strength, Namwembe?"

Let me see . . . hmm . . . not really Auntie! I may feel strong in many things, but I cannot exactly name them, sorry!

It’s all right, dear. That is a good step. I understand how all of us were brought up. She observed. Obedience, Obedience, Obedience!

Aunt Sophia writhed her body on the bed for a moment, before kicking herself out of the flat sheet and blanket. She sat up, leaning on the bed, and bent to face her niece. The latter was sitting on a cotton mattress that she had prepared for herself on a beautiful mat. It was approaching eleven at night. In the adjacent room, Isaac was snoring loudly.

It was the moment of truth.

Let me be clear here. Love and respect your husband, but just do not be a fool if he’s one. If you can prove that he’s cheating on you, never do it to him in revenge. That is stupid! Men have no wombs, let alone never carry any babies, do they? The other man will either shy away or boast for destroying a home! Most men are explorers, get me?

Explorers?

Yes, sweetie! Will use you and dump you. Understand? Her stunning aunt ruthlessly elaborated.

Oh sure, Auntie! You’re right. Many girls at school drop out like that for sure!

So, like all people, men have strengths and weaknesses. Study your man. Talk about problems seriously, or jokingly. Help push each other for the better of your family. I used to do the same thing with my husband. She sighed emotionally as she recalled the late father to one of her children, who had died by drowning seven years ago. Since then, her subsequent relationships were uncommitted.

Sorry, Aunt!

I’m fine. Just do not sleep with a cheater if you can. My previous boyfriend brought me gonorrhea. I kicked him out! Remember to be prepared to move on if everything fails. You have to love yourself first, remember?

Those diseases are disgusting and dangerous! Our female teacher taught us about them! revealed Namwembe.

"I’m not driving you to disrespect your husband. Just teaching you to learn not to be a fool and regret it later. All right?"

I understand that Auntie. Thank you.

Have you ever slept with a boy, or anybody. I don’t mean forcefully . . . have you?

She heard the young girl writhe her body in loathing, agony, and anger. She lowered herself to her niece’s mattress and hugged her tenderly.

"Listen, daughter of my brother! I know what an ugly experience my sister got you into. It should never happen to anybody. But . . . listen. We should also . . . remember that God wanted us to have children. It’s important to bring children in the same way we brought you into this world. It is not a sin. It is God given. It is about being fair to nature if you can, all right?"

Right timing is not a sin too, Auntie!

That’s the smart young woman I was trying to find, ha ha!

Thank you, Auntie! Some people love children but are unable to have them. I agree.

Good words, my Princess! So . . . have you?

Suddenly, her dimples resurfaced. She turned her wet, drowsy eyes in the direction of her aunt.

So, women . . . are really happy doing that? she asked smiling while ensconcing her head onto her aunt’s lap.

Her aunt sighed with relief. It was the moment she was waiting for. A time to reconcile with her past and to enjoy her future.

Do boys hit on you?

Wow, Auntie! Where are we heading to? Not ready to stop this, really? Ha ha!

Feel free to talk to me for as long as you like. I want you to be happy in the new world you’re about to enter. A world of men.

Yes, thanks Auntie. Countless men and boys. Sometimes, men try to pull my hands whenever we go to the market with my mother! Augh! I’m allergic to men, that’s why.

Sophia laughed her heart out. She was almost there, she thought.

But sincerely, have you ever had a crush . . . or, let me put it this way. You are sitting somewhere safe, and you see several boys passing by. You look at them, one after another. Do you get any feelings for, or do you get excited in some way, when you see a handsome, young . . .

Stop it, stop it, creepy Auntie! She turned her body from one side to the other, giggling, and laughing helplessly. Later, she replied. "Auntie, I need you on the introduction day, and later with the other arrangements. Will you please come?"

Anytime! I’m here for you as long as I live. All right?

Thank you so, so much, Aunt Sophia! Thank you!

They separated and fell asleep.

THREE

The Introduction Preparations

It was dawn, a day before the introduction ceremony. Husband and wife were in bed, and their minds were scrolling down the memory lane of their youth, and when they first met. Byogero recalled when she first got a glimpse of her would-be husband.

I couldn’t dare look into those owl eyes! She chuckled. You looked so ugly and scary, and I wanted to run away!

Who, me? Lies! Mwembe shook his head in objection. You now forget what your very own sisters wished when they stared at me on introduction day? Please handsome, pick me too!

Ha ha, disgusting liar! She pulled herself out of bed early, readying herself for the busy new day.

After double-checking the large pots of millet brew prepared for the next day’s ceremony, she turned and charged out of the house. She inhaled the sweet cool Saturday morning air outside. Sweet air, from the ripe bananas and pineapples in the backyard. Different birds were singing in the air.

Mwembe was fastening the first button of his dirty looking shirt when he heard his wife screaming outside. In rapid response, he rushed and appeared on the scene bare chested.

Whoever on earth did this for us! exclaimed his wife, pointing to a huge pile of firewood bundles. All of us were attacking the forest early today! She cried, confused, and jokingly added, Sometimes we should thank wizards and witches, or whosoever was brave enough to work in the forest at night!

"Captain will tell me what really happened," Mwembe spoke, referring to their family dog, a brother to Kitakufe’s, called Burma. Both dogs shared the same parents and were bought on the same day.

I have all the firewood to see me through all the cooking today, tomorrow, and beyond! Declared Byogero, clearly satisfied.

If we don’t thank somebody, we will remain not thankful . . . Warned Mwembe.

Now, go brush your teeth while I bring a basin of warm water for your bath. Forget about the firewood for now. I will slowly find it out. Diverted the wife.

He had to respond to nature’s calling first. On his way, he stumbled upon a big stone. The pain from his big toe temporarily distracted the off-loading urgency. A glimpse back made him realize it was a simple tortoise beginning its day. Just a bit later, he was washing his hands with soap and water from a five-litre plastic can by the toilet hut, when he heard his wife in the midst of another excitement. This time he took his time.

The entire extended family had woken up and were gazing at an army of gallant young girls. They were twenty-three in number. Each of them was standing by a twenty-litre plastic jug full of water. Byogero calmly watched as Namwembe, totally overwhelmed hugged each of the girls emotionally.

Did you plan this Namwembe? her mother asked, confused.

No, please Mama. Not at all. Intervened Jastina, the girls’ leader. She knew nothing about our plan. Just a sweet surprise for her as our sister! She explained.

Namwembe burst into tears of inexplicable joy, walking forward and hugging Jastina again.

I’m also getting married three months from now! Amina Kateme whispered jubilantly. She looked out of place as all the other girls surrounded Namwembe, many full of tears.

Thank you so, so much to all of you, my daughters for showing all this love to your sister! Byogero acknowledged, as she asked Namulondo, her daughter-in-law to make some tea.

No thanks Mama! We must hurry back to our homes for our normal routines. Being Saturday, we got permission to do this, but only for a limited time! Jastina begged.

I hear that girls; just tell them their sister called Byogero has delayed you. Only long enough for a cup of hot milk and crunchy, yummy peanuts, all right? Now, c’mon everybody!

They lamely agreed on the condition that no one would object to their fetching one more round of water with Namwembe, while her mother prepared what they called their Last Breakfast with her. They giggled, danced, and sang together all the way to the Gibeeranwa well and back.

Patrick Naighano Kikonhogo, commonly called Paddy,