EIGHT: A mother’s heartbreak

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After leaving her daughter, Mrs. Nyoni made her way to the hospital where Mrs. Chomba was admitted. But when she got there, she could not bring herself to go in. She stood at the entrance and stared at the building.

Thinking of how her daughter’s selfish actions and insatiable greed had put someone in that hospital made her heart twist with pain. She would have loved to walk in and apologise to the family for everything her daughter had put them through. But she knew her presence would be like twisting a blade in an already open wound.

After a while, she accepted that if she could not gather the courage to face them, it was better to leave.

On the way back to the bus station, with every few steps she took, she turned her head, looked back at the building, and sighed. Her daughter’s actions sat on her like a weight she could not put down.

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Later that night, just after she had finished praying and was getting ready for bed, an insistent pounding on the door stopped her.

Wondering who on earth it could be at such an hour, she made her way to the door.

‘Who is it?’ she called out, moving the sofa she used to bar the door at night.

‘Amama, it is me.’

She thought she had heard wrong. Then the voice spoke again and asked her to open the door.

Mrs. Karen Nyoni pushed the sofa aside, pulled off the rods, grabbed the keys from the table, and opened the door.

‘Yolanda?’

She looked at her daughter and the friend behind her, puzzled. Both wore chitenge wrappers around their waists and had disguised themselves in large dark shades and scarves. They kept glancing over their shoulders as if afraid of being recognised.

‘Amama, can we come in?’

Mrs. Nyoni looked past her daughter to the friend, then beyond them both to the shadows. ‘Of course. This will always be your home.’

‘You can bring the bags in,’ Yolanda called over her shoulder.

A middle-aged man Mrs. Nyoni had not noticed stepped out of the shadows carrying several grocery bags.

‘And him?’

‘He is my chauffeur, amama.’ Yolanda stepped inside. ‘Come in, put the bags on the table.’ She looked around. ‘Amama, why is it dark? Do you not have power?’

Mrs. Nyoni scoffed quietly, stepped aside to let them in, reached for the matchbox on top of her display cabinet, struck a match, and lit the koloboi. She asked them to sit and told the driver to wait outside.

‘What are you doing here, Yolanda?’

‘I am sorry about the way I spoke to you earlier.’

‘Do not worry about it. I am used to it. Did something happen? Why are you here at this hour?’

‘Amama, you make it sound like it is wrong for me to visit you. Look, I stopped at Lupasha Supermarket and got you some groceries. Let me just put these away in the kitchen.’

‘Did you buy all of this with that man’s money?’

‘Amama, do not be like this. What does it matter where the money comes from?’

‘It matters because that money belongs to his wife and children. Please take everything back with you when you leave.’

From where she sat, Sofia scoffed. ‘Can you not just be grateful that you have a child who takes care of her parents? How can you afford to be so prideful?’

Mrs. Nyoni could not resist throwing a sharp look at the young woman. It was not in her nature to be spiteful, but if there was one person she had come to genuinely dislike, it was Sofia. She had always believed the girl had questionable morals and had used them to corrupt her daughter.

Not that Yolanda was innocent. Every decision she had made, she had made with full knowledge of the consequences. But Sofia and her family had introduced her to this life.

After Mrs. Nyoni had had the comfortable rug pulled out from under her, she had spent most of her waking hours just trying to survive. While married, she had never lacked for anything. But when she found herself alone with bills to pay and a daughter to raise, she had been forced to spend more and more time away from home. By the time she saw what was happening to Yolanda, it was already too late.

It is easier to corrupt the mind of a girl who has tasted comfort and cannot accept its sudden absence.

‘Sofia.’ Yolanda cautioned her. She had known bringing her along would cause friction. The two had never seen eye to eye. But she’d had no choice.

‘What? Someone has to tell her the truth. Other parents would be grateful to have a child like you.’

Mrs. Nyoni scoffed, crossed her arms, and held Sofia’s gaze. ‘My dignity is all I have left. If I trade that for comfort bought at the cost of my own daughter’s dignity, how will I ever walk with my head held high?’

Sofia glanced up from her phone with a small laugh. ‘Amake Yolanda, pride  na njala siviyendelana. The source of the money should not matter as long as there is food on the table and a roof over your head.’

Mrs. Nyoni straightened. ‘You have never heard me complain, have you? This tiny two-roomed house without electricity is more than enough for me. I will put food on my own table with my own hands. Whether I eat delele nangu voshola, it is better than eating a chicken I did not work for. I would rather sleep on the floor than on a king-sized bed built on another woman’s tears. As for you, Sofia, I do not know how your parents sleep at night knowing what they have made of their own child.’

‘Oh, they sleep just fine. Very comfortably and on full stomachs.’

‘Alright, that is enough, both of you,’ Yolanda cut in.

Mrs. Nyoni turned towards the door. ‘I think you should both leave. Thank you for visiting but it is best you do not come back unless something changes.’

‘Amama.’

The voice stopped her. She turned.

Yolanda’s voice had lost all its usual sharpness. What Mrs. Nyoni heard instead was something she had not heard from her daughter in a very long time.

‘Please do not ask me to leave.’

Hearing that dejection from her proud, guarded daughter, Mrs. Nyoni felt the smallest flicker of hope.

Yolanda closed the distance between them and reached for her hand. ‘Amama, I know I have disappointed you. I know this is not the life you wanted for me. But I cannot change the past.’ She paused. ‘And even if I wanted to leave him now, I cannot.’

She took her mother’s hand and placed it gently against her stomach.

For a moment Mrs. Nyoni did not understand. Then the meaning settled over her and her eyes went wide. She pulled her hand back as if she had touched something hot and shook her head slowly.

She felt repulsed. Defeated. Horrified.

‘Yes amama.’ Yolanda was smiling. ‘I am going to bring a new life into this world. Is that not wonderful news?’

‘No. Yolanda, no. How could you…’ Mrs. Nyoni’s voice broke. A woman like Yolanda did not fall pregnant by accident. Everything was a calculated move. Her heart ached for the child not yet born.

‘Amama, do not think of it like that. It is your grandchild. Your first grandchild. The first of many…’

Mrs. Nyoni raised her hand and slapped her daughter across the face. Yolanda’s head snapped to one side.

She pointed a trembling finger at her. ‘Have you no shame? Have you no limits? Why?’

‘Amama.’

Sofia rushed to her friend’s side, fussing over the reddening cheek, then spun to glare at the older woman. ‘How could you? You should be celebrating.’

Mrs. Nyoni looked at her with contempt. ‘Selfish? Me? How dare you, Sofia. How dare either of you. Have you thought about what kind of life that child will be born into? How could you be so selfish as to bring a baby into this confusion?’

‘Amama, Gershom is going to marry me. That is why I am here. He wants to meet the family and pay lobola.’

‘And his wife? His children? What happens to them?’

‘How is that any of my business?’ she asked frustration settling in.

Another slap landed before the last word had finished leaving her mouth.

‘Amama…’

‘What happened to everything I taught you?’

‘Values and principles have never put food on anyone’s table,’ Sofia muttered.

Mrs. Nyoni heard it. She turned and looked at Sofia with a steadiness that was more unsettling than anger. Then she landed a third slap on Yolanda’s face.

Her own hand ached from the force of it.

‘This is getting out of hand,’ Sofia said, moving towards the door. ‘Yolanda, let us go. You know my parents are always willing to help you.’

Mrs. Nyoni laughed without humour. Of course they would be. To them, the girls were moneymaking ventures and nothing more.

‘Get out. Both of you. Get out of my house.’

‘Amama, my uncles…’

‘Get out!’

‘Fine.’ The doleful expression Yolanda had been wearing dropped from her face as cleanly as a mask. ‘Whatever. I will remember to send you the invitation to the kitchen party. I hope you will make it.’

The door banged shut behind them.

Mrs. Karen Nyoni locked it, sat down heavily in her chair, and let the tears fall. She rubbed at her chest and looked up at the ceiling.

She knew she should be grateful the child was at least coming into the world. But at what cost? Even before this baby was born, it had already arrived into so much chaos. What would happen once it was here?

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The following morning, Gershom stormed through the doors of his parents’ house. The last time he had walked through them was when the family had summoned him after he first started seeing Yolanda.

Joseph Junior was on the sofa reading the morning paper when he walked in.

‘Ba Joseph.’

Joseph lifted his head and acknowledged him with a slight nod, then returned to his paper.

After a long silence in which his brother continued reading as though he were not there, Gershom cleared his throat. ‘Your lawyer came by. Is it true? Did you send him?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Do you not think you are being rash?’

‘It is my investment, Gershom. I can do with it as I please.’

Joseph Junior was Gershom’s silent partner in GC Motors. He had made a forty percent investment when Gershom and Feggy’s son Joseph was born, ten percent of which was a gift to his nephew and namesake, Joseph Chomba the Third. Over all those years, Joseph had never once asked for his share of the profits, trusting Gershom to put the money to good use. Instead of withdrawing at year end, he would reinvest it back into the company.

‘Why are you doing this? Is it because of the other day? I admit I went too far but what you are doing now, is that not stretching it? People fall out of love and divorce all the time. I will not be the first man to have moved on.’

‘Is there a point to this conversation?’

‘All I am saying, Ba Joseph, is that we should not let personal matters affect business. You cannot twist my arm like this.’

‘My decision is final. I want my money by the end of the week.’

‘A week is too soon. Give me at least two months.’ The sudden withdrawal had made him realise, too late, how reckless he had been. ‘It is not a small amount. I do not have that kind of money sitting around.’

‘Not my problem. A week. No more.’

‘You are all ganging up on me. This is not fair.’

Joseph wanted to laugh. He set down his paper, folded it carefully, and looked at his brother. ‘When I put that money into GC Motors, I did it as a gift to my namesake, your son Joseph. Not for you to waste on cheap pleasures.’

Gershom rose to his feet and clicked his tongue. ‘Fine. You can have your money back. And I know exactly what this is all about. If you think pulling your investment will force me back to Feggy, you are wasting your time. It will not happen.’

‘Go on then. Let us see how long that woman stays by your side when you have nothing left to offer. You will come back to your family.’

‘Yolanda loves me. And do not flatter yourself. My business does not need your investment. I built it with my own hands and I have grown it the same way. Do not think that if you pull out, I will collapse and come crawling back.’

Joseph stood, put his hands in his pockets, and looked at his brother with a mixture of amusement and quiet pity.

‘Mwiponta sana, Ba Gershom, when you do not even know what tomorrow holds. Mukabwela humbled, and we will be here when you do. As for your family, this will always be your home and we will always take you back with open arms.’ He paused. ‘I cannot say the same for Feggy. Every woman has her limit and you are just inches from reaching hers. When you are done with that girl, do not be too surprised if Feggy is no longer willing to wait.’

‘Mtchew.’

The door banged on his way out.

Joseph looked at it for a moment, then picked up his paper again. His brother’s reaction surprised him not at all.

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© Ponda

Vocab

pride na njala siviyendelana — hunger knows no pride

Mwiponta sana — do not be too arrogant / you are too full of yourself

Mukabwela — you will come back

Koloboi* — homemade paraffin lamp

Amake — mother of (used before a child’s name, e.g. Amake Yolanda means “Yolanda’s mother”)

Lobola — bride price; goods or money paid by the groom’s family to the bride’s family

Delele(okra)— a slimy vegetable dish, considered humble food

Nangu – even if

Voshashila (vishashi) — dried vegetables mixed with powdered groundnuts; simple, modest food

Mtchew — a sound of dismissal or contempt, similar to kissing one’s teeth