“Nonkonzo! Nonkonzo. We need to get ready. We have an important journey. We are going to visit the Bishop. He has invited us to his home. You must pack a bag.”

When I sat up in bed I found that my cheeks were wet. I had been crying in my sleep.

I wiped the tears away. I remembered my dream. In that dream I was wearing a white dress and getting married to Thobekile. He looked a true gentleman in his white suit and a red tie. My father was marrying us and I was excited. Thobekile looked down to fit the wedding ring on my finger. But when he looked up at me again he had changed into somebody else, an older man who I didn’t know. “This is the Bishop’s son,” my father told me in the dream. “You are going to marry him.”

“I will die before I marry him,” I said, then covered my tear-filled eyes with my hands.

As I packed my bag for our journey to the Bishop’s house I tried to push that dream out of my head.

My mother didn’t speak on the journey that ended at the Bishop’s house in Mthatha. Was it because she felt guilty? Did the Bishop really have so much power over her and my father?

All Father told me was that the Bishop had called us to spend the day at his house. I suspected that the purpose of that visit was to introduce me to his son. I was right.

When we arrived I was introduced to the Magadla family and to Chumile, the Bishop’s son and my intended husband. He appeared to be a kind gentleman. He was not talkative and spoke only when it was necessary.

He tried to soften my heart towards him, but it was as hard as a rock. It was already taken by Thobekile. Chumile was older than I by several years: he was in his mid-thirties, the same age as my Maths teacher. I could not imagine myself marrying him.

Our parents tricked us into being alone together. Mother, Father, the Bishop and his family left us by saying they were going to look at books in the Bishop’s office.

“Why do you want to marry me?” I asked Chumile at once when they were gone.

“Father had a vision. In a dream God commanded him to arrange this marriage. In that way you will be a parent of this congregation. It will be in the hands of a good, God-loving family.” The way he spoke it sounded like he had learned it off by heart, just as we recited poems at school.

“But are you interested in getting married?” I asked him. “Tell Father Bishop that you don’t want to get married.”

“I don’t see any bad thing in this vision Nonkonzo. When God is commanding us to go this way we should obey His wish.”

“But it is difficult to marry someone you don’t love.”

“I see no problem in that. I will learn to love you.”

“Learn to love me!” I exclaimed. “Am I some test, to be passed?”

“Shhhh!” He put his fingers on his lips and said in a threatening voice: “You will learn to love me too.”

What is the lesson in this, I asked myself, trying to hold back my tears. What was hurting was the way Brother Chumile was throwing these words at me. He was not interested in my views. He was stamping all over my love for Thobekile – crushing it with his large shiny shoes.

I told him without fear that my heart was taken by another man and that we had a future together. He waved his hands, dismissing my words, and saying that it would be over soon.

“God sees you as a leader, Nonkonzo. He has chosen you to lead this congregation and spread good news to the nations of the world.”

Eish! He sounded like an open Bible, Brother Chumile, as he quoted me the verses that warned me against the punishments from God that I would suffer if I broke his commands.

“Do I marry you just because God’s finger has pointed me to lead your father’s congregation?” I asked.

“You will marry me because it is a good thing.” His answer caused a deep wound in my heart, and I turned away because I didn’t want to see him. He followed me saying, “You cannot run away from God’s finger. You and I were born to be together without any doubt, to save the souls who are taken by Satan. That is what we know.”

I couldn’t sleep that night. I was longing for my home village, longing for Thobekile’s kind hands to share this pain with me.

***

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