EIGHTEEN : She dropped the ‘D’ word

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‘Gershom?’

‘Ma.’ He stepped out of the taxi, went around to the back, opened the door, and unbuckled Luthanda from her seat.

‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yes. Sorry for coming without calling first.’ He gave her an apologetic smile and avoided her eyes.

Mrs. Irene did not mind. Any reason to see the granddaughter she had only held twice since the wedding was reason enough.

‘Could you look after Luthanda for a while? I will come for her in the evening.’ He set the one-year-old on the pavement and let her walk towards her grandmother while he reached back into the car for the nappy bag, the travel toy bag, and the groceries he had picked up on the way.

Mrs. Irene scooped Luthanda off the ground on her fifth step and carried her into the house ahead of him.

‘Everything she needs is in the bag. If she gets too fussy, call me and I will come straight away.’

‘And why can I not call her mother? She should be the one taking care of this child.’

‘Ma.’

‘Fine, fine. Stop fussing. Luthanda and I will be perfectly alright, won’t we, my darling?’ She pressed kisses to the girl’s cheeks. ‘I raised you and your three siblings and looked after six grandchildren on top of that. One more is nothing.’

‘Thank you, Ma.’

He set the bags on the table. A wave of something he was not prepared for stopped him when his eyes found the wall of photographs.

Feggy in front of an unfinished house. Feggy and his mother pushing a drum of water between them. Feggy and his siblings outside the old house, which was now complete. Feggy blowing out candles on a large cake. In almost every picture, one or two of their children were beside her. In all of them, her smile was radiant — steady and full in a way that made something press against his chest.

She looked more beautiful than he remembered. And the children did not look like they were missing anyone.

He stepped closer and almost reached out to trace his fingers across the faces. He stopped himself when he felt his mother watching him.

He turned away and cleared his throat. ‘Where is everyone? It is very quiet.’

Mrs. Irene settled Luthanda on her lap and began unlacing the girl’s shoes. ‘Your father took your nephews and your son camping. As for Feggy — she no longer lives here. She moved into her own house three months ago.’ She looked up at him. ‘Sit. I will make you something to eat.’

‘I already had breakfast, Ma. Thank you. I should get going or I will be late.’

‘Before you go.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘Come. Let us pray together, hm?’

He almost said no. He nodded instead.

He did not feel he deserved her prayers. Part of him braced for her to use the moment to list his failures before God. But she did none of that. On their knees on the carpeted floor, hands clasped, she prayed quietly that he would open his heart. That he would listen. That wisdom would lead him back to straight paths.

The prayer reminded him of Feggy. Every morning before he left for work, she had held his hands and prayed for him for five minutes without fail. He had let that go the moment Yolanda arrived. What had once made him feel blessed he had come to see as neediness. He had told himself she was using prayer to guilt-trip him. Around that time, he had begun to resent both her and it.

He understood now that was where his unravelling had begun.

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An hour later, he found himself negotiating with a bus conductor for a reduced fare.

He found a window seat, took out his phone, and opened Facebook. He wanted to see what Feggy had been up to in the year since their separation. To do that, he first had to unblock his siblings. After the falling out, when he had convinced himself they were conspiring against his relationship with Yolanda, he had blocked them — his siblings, his old friends, anyone he had considered to be on Feggy’s side. He had told himself he did not need any of them. He had believed it.

When things got hard, when his bank account stopped being able to define him as a man of substance, none of the new people he had surrounded himself with were anywhere to be found.

And the life he had dismantled his family to build had become a nightmare within weeks of the wedding.

As it stood now, he had not known where Yolanda was for almost two months.

Seven months, five days, and twenty-one hours into their marriage, she had said the word divorce. He had not taken her seriously. He had assumed it was another tantrum, another ultimatum designed to get her way.

In the days that followed, she came home later and later. When she was home, they barely spoke.

He had reflected, eventually, on his own contribution to things — the way he had never let go of what Kasawa had revealed at the wedding, throwing her past at her face in every argument. He apologised. He promised to do better. He meant it.

And he knew there was one thing that could back up his words in a language she understood.

He deposited a large sum into her account.

Ten months, two days, and nineteen hours after their wedding, she walked out. She left the divorce papers on his desk in the study. Her phone went unreachable. Two days later, he found out through social media that she was in Dubai with Sofia and Betty.

A week after that, she was in Milan.

It was there in the photographs that he saw the man.

He had almost had a heart attack. He had flown into a rage so complete it frightened him. His calls never connected. He suspected she had discarded the SIM. Her family, when he reached out, mocked him. They told him to let the girl go. She had found a better catch. This was the same family that had once treated him like royalty.

Two weeks later she returned and moved in with the new man.

Shortly after, Sofia’s family sent him a message informing him they were returning his insalamu.

The money, against all doctrines of tradition, came through Airtel Money mobile transaction. He refused to acknowledge it. Despite everything, he still loved her. He was not ready to accept it was over.

He was certain he had lost weight since discovering the affair. His clothes felt different on him.

He shook his head and forced his attention back to the phone.

What he found on his siblings’ pages once he had unblocked them left him feeling worse than before he had looked.

He had expected to find Feggy struggling. When he left her, he had been quietly certain she would have a hard time of it. Seeing her doing well — genuinely well — unsettled him in ways he could not articulate. He told himself there had to be a man behind it. He refused to believe she had built all of that alone and in so little time.

A live video notification interrupted him.

His employees were protesting outside GC Motors. They held placards and chanted, their voices carrying clearly through the small screen.

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‘Down with the miser!’

The young man leading the protest shouted the moment he spotted Gershom coming around the corner. The crowd, a mix of general workers and senior staff, took up the chant with energy. The young man at the front was the accountant Gershom had fired months before the wedding — let go simply because he had questioned how company funds were being used. His dues had never been paid.

At the time, Gershom had told himself it was worth it for the smile it would put on Yolanda’s face. He had genuinely believed he would replace the money. He had also gone out of his way to keep her family happy, pouring money into their approval, telling himself their praise and compliments were a sign things were on track.

Looking back, he wished he had listened to the accountant instead.

‘Down with Gershom Chomba!’

‘Down with GC Motors!’

The chants grew louder as sympathisers joined the crowd. The placards rose and fell in unison.

We won’t eat hunger.

There are no free things in this world.

We are not your slaves.

My family will not eat your empty promises.

Gershom crossed the road towards them, guilt sitting heavily in his chest. Once, before all of this, he had been a promising young entrepreneur. He had built something real over fourteen years. He had let it come apart in less than one.

What remained was this — protesting employees, notices from the labour office, more than a dozen lawsuits, and debt collectors who had stopped being polite.

The reputation he had spent years building had gone up like smoke. He had handed Yolanda unrestricted access to his accounts and told himself it was love.

Before he could say a word to the crowd, the first rotten egg hit him. The tomatoes followed.

They had heard enough promises.

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A few days later, Gershom sat behind his desk, fingers pressed to his temples, staring at the stack of bills in his in-tray.

His lawyer had walked out an hour ago and was now among those demanding payment by month’s end. Among the papers was an eviction notice. Six months of unpaid rent on the office space. His landlord wanted him out.

Weeks before the wedding, Yolanda had asked him a simple favour — could he employ one of Sofia’s cousins? How could he say no to something so small? Davis had been placed in the accounts department alongside his chief accountant, who happened to be dating Sofia.

Davis worked for almost five months before he disappeared, taking a significant sum with him. Most of it had come from client funds. He had not been found.

It was only a month ago that Gershom had discovered the other layer of what had been done to him. For every transaction Yolanda made from their joint account, she had been quietly redirecting five to ten percent to her own. Every purchase, every payment, every transaction across the entire marriage — she had been skimming from each one.

The chants from outside drifted through the window.

He sat with the weight of the past two years pressing down on him. Leaving Feggy. Abandoning his children. Cutting off his family. Giving Yolanda everything she asked for without question.

Not one of those decisions he was proud of.

His phone pinged.

He looked at the screen. Relief moved through him slowly.

Patson had agreed to buy both the Honda CRV and the Chrysler 300C. Yolanda would be furious when she found out he had sold her car. He genuinely did not care anymore. The combined sale would not resolve everything, but it was enough to pay the employees and buy him some time.

He picked up his phone and called the landlord, hoping there was still a conversation to be had.

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© Ponda

VOCAB

Insalamu — A traditional Zambian pre-engement ceremony where a man’s messenger( shibukombe ) presents two white plates with a bit of money to the bride to be’s family as he formally proposes marriage and as a show of respect.

Shibukombe –An elderly married man who presents a young man  at his bride to be’s family.

Airtel money – mobile money transfer service widely used in Zambia.