Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Insured romance - a short story
INSURED ROMANCE
By
Patrick Achitabwino
Monday night. The hand of the clock pointed 8:49. Malikebu dragged his feet on the floor like the belly of a snake slithering its way into the bush. He forced his way into Zolozolo police station. It is an emergency, he told the police.
The last time he had seen Diandra, his wife for seven months was over the lunch hour at home. They talked of the war in Iraq, saw Charles Taylor in court in Siera leone courtesy of CNN news. She would drive to the hair saloon later in the afternoon, Diandra had told him as he was leaving for office.
“My wife has gone missing,” he told the police. “She cannot be contacted even on her mobile phone.”
Tuesday morning. As Malikebu drove to Bakodaya private mortuary deep in the city centre of Mangani city he stole a glance at the front page of the Daily Post newspaper. Woman murdered in a car ambush, read the headline. The Post had quoted the police PRO as saying that a woman identified as Diandra Malikebu was found shot dead in her vehicle in the outskirts of Minimini Township.
According to the publicist, the alleged car hijackers abandoned the vehicle after it had run out of fuel and they shot the victim dead.
He found the women’s choir at the mortuary. Reverend Makoka embraced him as he told him not to lose hope in God. The will of God is difficult to understand. It could not be as much more difficult as now. Diandra was the third wife in two years. Hurting so much was that all his wives had departed from the world through tragic circumstances.
Mellina was the first lady to insert a matrimonial ring on his finger. He was then an emerging businessman. Malikebu Stationery and Printers was just blossoming. Four months after the big day, fate skidded into his house. She was burnt in the house, reportedly due to an electrical fault while he was on a business trip to Mangochi.
Sopano awupeza moyo…kuli mtanda wayesu…sopano awupeza moyo, the choir sung as pallbearers were lifting the coffin carrying the remains of Diandra into a vehicle.
Malikebu had seen deaths. He had seen coffins. Alicia, his second wife of four months died in a vehicle that caught fire as she was igniting it on.
“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” reverend Makoka said as the coffin carrying the remains of Diandra were being lowered for eternal rest. Malikebu saw his love being robed off his sight by mere soil. Twin beads of tears broke from the chains at the edges of his eyes as they dribbled down on his cheeks.
“We have lost a hard worker, we have lost a firm believer in Christ,” the reverend consoled Malikebu as he was leading him to his vehicle.
The Malikebu family was well known as die-hard believers. Be it a big walk to raise funds for the church, the family would always be there. They majored in tithing. They could buy a choir a uniform, purchase cement to enhance developments at the church not forgetting sponsoring activities meant to fundraise for church projects.
Diandra was an active member of the women’s choir, women’s charity group, Children of God Orphanage Center and Women in Church Development. Malikebu was a church elder, chairman of the development committee, treasure of the church committee, and a patron of the youth wing of the church called Soldiers of Christ.
The night that followed the burial of Diandra became a nightmare in the life of Malikebu. He bursted his way out of the house, dressed in only underwear, screaming. A watch guard grabbed him as he fell down.
“Munthu akundithamangitsa,” he told the watchman.
The guard skidded into the house, searched all the rooms and found nobody. He grabbed the boss by the hand and led him into the sitting room.
“It must have been a bad dream,” the guard told him.
Malikebu stabbed his legs into a trouser and stuffed his hairy belly into a white t-shirt as the guard was walking out. It did not take him an hour in the house to scamper out again and dump himself into a car.
“Call the police,” he shouted at the guard as he was driving off.
Reverend Makoka was awed when Malikebu’s vehicle screeched at his door step.
“Pastor, pastor,” he was screaming as he was hurrying into the pastor’s house. “Pray pastor, pray…”
Reverend Makoka saw Malikebu lying on the ground, his face buried in the carpet. His wife joined him in prayer. Later on they showed Malikebu a room where he had to sleep.
Hardly half an hour elapsed than he rumbled out of the room, screaming. The pastor held him, prayed once more and gave him a bible to read in his room until sleep caught up with him.
The pastor and his family awoke in the morning but Malikebu shown no signs of being awake. They knocked on his door to wake him up for a morning prayer but he could not open. Reverend forced the door open only to see Malikebu hanging to the roof. He had hanged himself using a rope that was in the room on which people could hang their clothes.
The bible was still open on the pillow. On the last blank page of the bible was his final message and it read:
Pastor,
It is better to die in the house of the man of God. I am sorry for any shame my death would cause to the servants of God. I had no choice but to end my life this way.
Since the burial of Diandra, I have never had a moment of peace. In my house, the ghosts of Mellisa, Alicia and Diandra assaulted me accusing me of killing them. I escaped into your house but the ordeal continued. They said I would never find peace in my life.
Bear with me Pastor, the ghosts have all the reasons to accuse me. I used to insure every one of them for millions of kwachas that I ended up collecting from insurance agencies. Their deaths were all staged. Pray dear pastor that my soul may rest in peace.
Malikebu
By
Patrick Achitabwino
Monday night. The hand of the clock pointed 8:49. Malikebu dragged his feet on the floor like the belly of a snake slithering its way into the bush. He forced his way into Zolozolo police station. It is an emergency, he told the police.
The last time he had seen Diandra, his wife for seven months was over the lunch hour at home. They talked of the war in Iraq, saw Charles Taylor in court in Siera leone courtesy of CNN news. She would drive to the hair saloon later in the afternoon, Diandra had told him as he was leaving for office.
“My wife has gone missing,” he told the police. “She cannot be contacted even on her mobile phone.”
Tuesday morning. As Malikebu drove to Bakodaya private mortuary deep in the city centre of Mangani city he stole a glance at the front page of the Daily Post newspaper. Woman murdered in a car ambush, read the headline. The Post had quoted the police PRO as saying that a woman identified as Diandra Malikebu was found shot dead in her vehicle in the outskirts of Minimini Township.
According to the publicist, the alleged car hijackers abandoned the vehicle after it had run out of fuel and they shot the victim dead.
He found the women’s choir at the mortuary. Reverend Makoka embraced him as he told him not to lose hope in God. The will of God is difficult to understand. It could not be as much more difficult as now. Diandra was the third wife in two years. Hurting so much was that all his wives had departed from the world through tragic circumstances.
Mellina was the first lady to insert a matrimonial ring on his finger. He was then an emerging businessman. Malikebu Stationery and Printers was just blossoming. Four months after the big day, fate skidded into his house. She was burnt in the house, reportedly due to an electrical fault while he was on a business trip to Mangochi.
Sopano awupeza moyo…kuli mtanda wayesu…sopano awupeza moyo, the choir sung as pallbearers were lifting the coffin carrying the remains of Diandra into a vehicle.
Malikebu had seen deaths. He had seen coffins. Alicia, his second wife of four months died in a vehicle that caught fire as she was igniting it on.
“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” reverend Makoka said as the coffin carrying the remains of Diandra were being lowered for eternal rest. Malikebu saw his love being robed off his sight by mere soil. Twin beads of tears broke from the chains at the edges of his eyes as they dribbled down on his cheeks.
“We have lost a hard worker, we have lost a firm believer in Christ,” the reverend consoled Malikebu as he was leading him to his vehicle.
The Malikebu family was well known as die-hard believers. Be it a big walk to raise funds for the church, the family would always be there. They majored in tithing. They could buy a choir a uniform, purchase cement to enhance developments at the church not forgetting sponsoring activities meant to fundraise for church projects.
Diandra was an active member of the women’s choir, women’s charity group, Children of God Orphanage Center and Women in Church Development. Malikebu was a church elder, chairman of the development committee, treasure of the church committee, and a patron of the youth wing of the church called Soldiers of Christ.
The night that followed the burial of Diandra became a nightmare in the life of Malikebu. He bursted his way out of the house, dressed in only underwear, screaming. A watch guard grabbed him as he fell down.
“Munthu akundithamangitsa,” he told the watchman.
The guard skidded into the house, searched all the rooms and found nobody. He grabbed the boss by the hand and led him into the sitting room.
“It must have been a bad dream,” the guard told him.
Malikebu stabbed his legs into a trouser and stuffed his hairy belly into a white t-shirt as the guard was walking out. It did not take him an hour in the house to scamper out again and dump himself into a car.
“Call the police,” he shouted at the guard as he was driving off.
Reverend Makoka was awed when Malikebu’s vehicle screeched at his door step.
“Pastor, pastor,” he was screaming as he was hurrying into the pastor’s house. “Pray pastor, pray…”
Reverend Makoka saw Malikebu lying on the ground, his face buried in the carpet. His wife joined him in prayer. Later on they showed Malikebu a room where he had to sleep.
Hardly half an hour elapsed than he rumbled out of the room, screaming. The pastor held him, prayed once more and gave him a bible to read in his room until sleep caught up with him.
The pastor and his family awoke in the morning but Malikebu shown no signs of being awake. They knocked on his door to wake him up for a morning prayer but he could not open. Reverend forced the door open only to see Malikebu hanging to the roof. He had hanged himself using a rope that was in the room on which people could hang their clothes.
The bible was still open on the pillow. On the last blank page of the bible was his final message and it read:
Pastor,
It is better to die in the house of the man of God. I am sorry for any shame my death would cause to the servants of God. I had no choice but to end my life this way.
Since the burial of Diandra, I have never had a moment of peace. In my house, the ghosts of Mellisa, Alicia and Diandra assaulted me accusing me of killing them. I escaped into your house but the ordeal continued. They said I would never find peace in my life.
Bear with me Pastor, the ghosts have all the reasons to accuse me. I used to insure every one of them for millions of kwachas that I ended up collecting from insurance agencies. Their deaths were all staged. Pray dear pastor that my soul may rest in peace.
Malikebu
