TWENTY FIVE: Falling dominoes

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While Marion remained to talk to Yolanda, Fiona walked into the doctor’s office. Dr. Ngoma, a middle-aged man, stood as she entered.

“Mrs. Akende.”

She acknowledged him with a nod. They exchanged pleasantries before she turned to his other guest.

“Mrs. Nyoni, it’s good to see you. How is Luthanda?”

Mrs. Nyoni, Yolanda’s mom, smiled at the young woman before her. “She’s fine. The doctor says she’s responding well to her physiotherapy.” Her eyes lingered, longing, on the baby in Fiona’s arms.

“ Oh. Here, would you like to hold him?” Fiona offered.

Mrs. Nyoni hesitated. “If it’s okay with you.”

Fiona smiled fondly. “Of course it is. I’m sure Sepo can’t wait to be in his grandmother’s arms.”

Mrs. Karen Nyoni took the baby. She couldn’t help the tears that welled as she cradled the tiny bundle.

Fiona watched her fawn over him before speaking. “I left Marion talking to Yolanda. Won’t you go see her before the police come for her’

“No. It’s better this way. I don’t think I could hold myself back if I faced her.” Mrs. Nyoni’s voice trembled. “I knew she was selfish and conniving – I just never imagined her insatiable greed would lead her to commit murder.”

She had never imagined a day would come when she’d be told her own daughter had stained her hands with another human’s blood – especially that of her own child. It was the darkest day of her life. She’d wanted to die on the spot.

Each time she saw the toddler struggling through physiotherapy, guilt gnawed at her. She blamed herself – Maybe if I’d tried harder. Maybe if I’d put my foot down, she wouldn’t have turned out so greedy, so cruel.

After Yolanda had ripped the girl from her father’s custody, she’d left her in a private hospital under the care of a paid nurse. Marion had been the one to contact Mrs. Nyoni after a week. When she arrived, she found Fiona already there – tending to the child.

Over the past few months, Fiona had built a quiet, steady bond with the girl. Yolanda hadn’t bothered to visit – not once.

Not a call. Not a message.

Fiona watched the older woman for a long moment before speaking gently. “You’re not to blame for Yolanda’s actions. Don’t do this to yourself. She made a conscious choice to do the ugly things she did. Don’t be unfair to yourself.”

As far as Fiona was concerned, they’d both been dealt bad hands. The difference? Fiona had no choice in the life she’d been forced into – Yolanda had.

“I know,” Mrs. Nyoni whispered, lifting the baby’s tiny hand and pressing it to her lips. “But I can’t help it. Still… despite how ugly all this has been – this beautiful little being came from it. He’s as beautiful as Luthanda was as a baby.”

“I must say,” Fiona replied, “despite her bad character, Yolanda has some fine DNA in her.”

Mrs. Nyoni chuckled softly, handing the baby back just as Marion walked in.

“You’re back already. How did it go? Did she accept the money to hire a lawyer?”

Marion nodded – a relief to Mrs. Nyoni.

“Thank you. May God bless you,” she said, reaching for his hand. He wasn’t obligated to do anything – but he had.

They chatted for a while. Before Mrs. Nyoni left, Marion offered to take her and Luthanda with them to America when they departed in a couple of months.

She was grateful – but declined. Though furious with Yolanda, she told them she needed to be by her daughter’s side. Marion and Fiona promised to visit before they left for the States.

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Back in Yolanda’s room, when the police arrived – along with the Chomba siblings – she was long gone.

While the police launched a manhunt, the Chomba siblings put up a reward:

Fifty thousand kwacha for any information leading to Yolanda’s whereabouts.

Hours later, when the family returned from the police station, they found Gershom sprawled unconscious on the floor.

The doctors later confirmed: he had suffered a stroke.

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Some endings don’t need a courtroom. Just an airport.

The next morning, the country woke to the news:

Two Zambian women arrested at Abu Dhabi airport with over twenty kilos of cocaine impregnated in their clothing – attempting to flee to Thailand.

The women?

Sofia Bweupe and Betty Mwangala.

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© Ponda