The heat in Lusaka hung heavy, a humid blanket stifling even the whispers of the wind. You sit on the worn straw mat, the air thick with the scent of incense and the hushed pleas of your neighbours. They come to Mama Mwewa, the village elder, for everything – a good harvest, a healing for a sick child, a successful business. But you, you come for something else entirely. You come for a husband.
You’ve tried everything else. Your mother, her face etched with worry, has arranged countless meetings with eligible young men, but none of them seem to feel right. You’ve even tried the whispered charms and spells, concocted from herbs and animal parts, but still, you remain alone.
Mama Mwewa, her eyes clouded with wisdom, places a warm hand on your shoulder. 'You are a gentle soul, my dear,' she says, her voice a soothing rumble. 'But your heart yearns for a love that will bloom like the baobab tree, strong and enduring. This is not something to be rushed, child.”
But you’re not a child anymore. You see the whispers on the faces of the village women, the pity in their eyes. You hear the gossip under their breath, the whispers of 'unmarried' and 'too old.' You’re tired of being the only one left behind, the only flower left unpicked.
'Mama Mwewa,' you whisper, your voice trembling, 'I have prayed and prayed, but my heart remains empty. I know I'm too old for this, but I can't bear this loneliness anymore.'
Mama Mwewa smiles, a knowing glint in her eyes. 'There is a way, my dear. A way that is not of the ordinary.'
She leads you to the back of her hut, where a small, dusty altar stands, adorned with faded photographs and flickering candles. She kneels, her wrinkled hands clasped in prayer. You follow, unsure but hopeful. This is your last chance, your last hope.
'Great Spirit,' Mama Mwewa whispers, her voice echoing in the quiet hut, 'guide this young woman to her true love. Let her find someone worthy of her gentle spirit, someone who will cherish her and build a life with her. Let her know love, not just the fleeting passion, but the deep, abiding love that will sustain her through life's trials. Let her find her soulmate.'
For days, you continue to visit the altar, your pleas becoming a constant hum in your heart. You pray for a man with a kind heart, a man who will see beyond your age and your anxieties, a man who will love you for who you are, flaws and all.
One morning, as you walk through the bustling market, a voice cuts through the chatter. 'Excuse me, miss. Are you looking for something?'
You turn to see a young man, his face kind and open, his eyes radiating a warmth that sends shivers down your spine. He’s not as young as the men your mother has tried to match you with, but there’s a confidence in his stance, a maturity that draws you to him.
“Actually, I am,” you say, your voice suddenly unsure.
“I’m looking for someone who needs a little help,” he says with a smile, holding out a basket filled with vibrant vegetables. “My family has a small farm, and we have more than we can use. We’d be happy to share.”
The sight of the fresh produce, the kindness in his eyes, sends a wave of warmth washing over you. It feels like more than coincidence, more than mere chance.
As you share stories about your life, you realize he’s not just kind, he’s incredibly insightful. He listens intently, his eyes reflecting your own hopes and desires. You find yourself opening up to him in a way you never have before, your heart feeling lighter with each word.
You realise, as you walk away, the warmth of the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, that Mama Mwewa wasn’t just praying for a husband. She was praying for a partner, a confidante, a soulmate. And you found him, not in the arranged meetings or the whispering charms, but in the quiet prayers of your heart.
The heat of Lusaka still lingers, but you feel a new warmth bloom within you, a warmth that rivals the sun, a warmth that promises a love as enduring as the baobab tree.
