THE MISERY OF MUTINTA : Episode 26 (The End)

Two days later, I woke up feeling weak and nausea.
I rushed outside and vomited the content of my stomach onto the floor.
My mum heard me gretching and ran outside to see what was wrong with me.
She observed me for some seconds with her right hand under her jaw.
“I hope its not what I’m thinking?” She asked staring at me.
“I think its malaria,” I replied anxiously.


“When last did you see your flow?” My mum asked in a lowered voice.
I kept silent and muttered an inaudible reply.
“Heeeeew! this girl has killed me!” my mum screamed placing both palms flat on her head. “Who did this to you?” She asked.
I muttered again.
“Will you talk to me you stupid girl!” My mum bawled advancing towards me.
I started crying.
“Let’s go into the house,” she suggested and we both went in.
Once we were inside, my mum reopened the discussion.
“Now tell me who did this to you?” My mum pressed on.


I didn’t know what to reply. I didn’t know who else to point at except my former boss cos he was the only person who had access to my body intimately.
How to reveal that fact to my mum was what I didn’t know.
But then I had to.
“It was madam's husband,” I replied shaking with fear.
“You mean your boss in the city?” My mum asked with great consternation. “The same person that drove you back to this house? I can’t believe it!” My mum affirmed.
“He did it to me,” I repeated.
“Heeeew!” My mum screamed. “Your boss the bwanas in the city?” she asked rhetorically looking aghast.


“Yes mum,” I replied sobbing.
My mum couldn’t believe her ears.
There and then she informed me that we would be going to the city the next day.
The next day we got to him house around 2 o’clock in the afternoon.
He wasn’t around when we arrived but madam was around.
Her eyes nearly fell out of its socket when she opened the door and saw my mother and I.
She couldn’t hide her shock and trepidation even though she did all her best to.
I am sure her mind must have ran hay wire though she struggled to conceal it.
“Welcome ma,” she greeted my mum.


“Where’s that he-goat you call your husband?” My mum asked furiously shoving madam aside and marching fearlessly into their sitting room.
“How dare you call my husband a he-goat?” Madam barked in response.
“My daughter is pregnant for your husband,” my mum exploded the news to madam shocking her again for the second time in quick succession.
“What did you just say?” Madam asked not sure she heard my mum well. “You said my husband did what?”
“You heard me right!” My mum snapped.
I stood beside my mum sobbing quietly.


Madam was too dumbfounded to utter a word. She had enough for an afternoon.
Silently she went into the master bedroom and locked herself.
I couldn’t tell whether she called her husband or not but he came back approximately 20mins later and met us in the sitting room.
I think madam called him because he wasn’t surprised on seeing us like someone who already knew that we were around.
“How dare you impregnate my daughter?” My mum lashed out rising to her feet.
“Who?” he asked feigning ignorance.


“Mutinta my daughter,” my mum replied.
“Please madam I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied almost causing my mum a heart attack with his reply.
“And please if you don’t mind,” He continued. “Leave my house.”
My mum couldn’t believe her ears and with intense anger she stormed out of His house dragging me along.
We went back to the village that same day feeling dejected and annoyed.
I felt worse.


He had denied me before my mother and I felt like committing suicide.
The shame was unbearable.
And I didn’t know how to cope with being a single mother at such young age and coupled with the fact that my mother was not financially buoyant to cater for the additional responsibility I was bringing her way.
But all the same the months flew by and I was soon due to deliver.
At the maternity centre, I was delivered of a bouncing baby boy and guess what?
He looked exactly like his father. I named my son Mapalo which means blessings.
18 years later, Mapalo completed his Senior secondary school education and joined politics.
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THE END

Written by Mr Vincent Kalanda