LOVE, BETRAYALS & TRIUMPH; PART 1.

She stood at the shore of the great river, her feet were buried in the sands thereof. The sun was just setting, the fowls ululated, the breeze blew over her gray, volumetric, maternity-garment as she scratched her belly and wondered how fast it had bulged and blobbed.

She stares at the waves of the might Zambezi; the crests and the troughs, the mounds and the ditches; once again in her eyes, Zambezi is dazzling.

She tilt her neck, far from the west, a boat looms; her eyes welcomes it, it’s now clear and near, she sees a loving couple solacing, “How I wish,” she screeches.

The scenes of this passing couple bathes her eyes with tears, she bemoans and groans, her voice cracks and stammers, she is all alone, not ashamed, so she cries in her voice so loud, pouring all the pain and grief incubated for months.

“It used to be nice,” she voices.

“I weep for him,” she says.

“I mourn for I’ve been denied,” she affirms.

“I cry because he adores the other woman, and cares less for this his unborn child,” She adds.

Inonge misses him, she’s now eight months bulky with his child, however! Sitali cares less; he dumped her six moons ago. It’s obvious, that her child will be considered illegitimate; for it will be born out of the wedlock.

She’s here standing before the Zambezi, her head is loaded with a bunch of questions. She weeps and sorely mourn, her tears fall on her own garment, soaking the very pointed part of her belly; how she wishes her child could hear and comfort.

“What happened to our love,” she utters helplessly,

“What about those promises?” she groans as she hits the bar of her thoughts.

“Yes! Those words spoken in the dark corners of the Zambezi, when we were but two!”

 “What about that diadem he crowned it on my head? In the thicket, upon that hill! As he said that, that’d forever stand to be the symbol of our love.”

Inonge speaks her minds, her wound is highly abysmal. She imagines Sitali and his newlywed spouse, reclining on their wooden bed, she knows it well, she has climbed and reclined on it many times before Sibeso pooped out and took Sitali away from her.

In fact! It was on that pine-wooden-bed, that Sitali caused her to conceive, a child that she now carried.

She’s still at the shores of Zambezi, darkness is slowly seizing the river, it’s quite and the scenes are even goodlier to behold now.

She recall one time; they had visited this very site, she runs through the memories, they flash in and out as if it were just yesterday. Vividly clear, soothing her heart, but she can’t entertain them for one reason; Sitali is now an enemy,

“He deserves to be hated if not cursed. He’s an idiot and a great deceiver.” She hates.
Not only that, She wishes that fire can just come down from above and devour him. But she is not that evil, “how can I wish him this bad,” she restrains.

“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your father in heaven.” She recalls this statement, but she doesn’t need it.

Away with it, she dips her hand into her garment, and reaches for her breasts holder; guest what! She untacks a folded paper. It’s a last letter she purported to send to Sitali, but she had changed her mind and she’s here to dump it.

The letter reads,

“24th April had become a red letter day in my life,

For in it I thought my soul had caught an apple of its eye,

I dressed up in nines and the beauty you unfolded caused my heart to miss a beat,

I became a slave in love and whatever you uttered; made my heart merry,

As the marrows are to the bones; so did my life glue to you.

Anyway! Thanks for hurting me; am still nursing my wound.”

“When I thought I was the early bird, why didn’t you tell me that it wasn’t so?

That I came at an 11th hour to be used as a covering wool for cold!

What was the point of you lying? That Love arrived with me!

It hurts to know that the passion you expressed was nothing but a fake paradise.

Anyway! Thanks for hurting me; am still nursing my wound.”

“When I thought it was love, why didn’t the birds whisper the kind of a being you’re?

When I thought it’d last forever, why didn’t the seer give me a sign?

A sign that an illusion was to last for a nine days wonder!

It’s like, when I took a bird’s eyes view on you, you paid me with a worm’s eyes view,

Anyway! Thanks for hurting me; am still nursing my wound.”

“Would I be wrong if I called you a deceiver and a devil?

Because whatever you said sounded so real and tangible!

I still recall that day you laid your head upon my bust.

Flooding it with your own tears as you said; it was always me.

Anyway! Thanks for hurting me; am still nursing my wound.”