One morning as she busied herself with her chores, Mwangu angrily stormed in.

“”Where is your blouse?” he questioned like a lawyer.

“I am wearing it, father,” she answered, as she pulled what she was wearing in emphasis.

“Do you think I am blind? I mean your favourite blouse, the one you always wear on Christmas.”

“That one…that one is in the wardrobe…” she stammered.

“I don’t think so, Mwaka. Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth.”

“I swear upon myself, dad, that I am telling you the truth.”

“Is your room locked? Did you ensure it was there when you locked?”

“Yes I did. I can even show you if you want.”

“That is all right then, if it is there.”

Mwangu now, after a long silence of studying his daughter, looked at her and unfolded his hand from his back and revealed what he had concealed.
“How would you guess I got this blouse?” he asked as he handed her the blouse.

She without any word stood gazing at her father like a mirror. Life had become tougher. There was no doubt now that the robber she had guessed was her father.
She had now found it more difficult to suit with the father.

That was a long time ago. She had convinced her head to forget, forgive and try to abide by the father’s pieces of advice, lest they were correct. She burnt her painful history. Even the reply letter from Nyangu that he sent her to consult when he would pay for her bride price.

He had written, “I can’t marry a girl whose father is a criminal. A man that almost killed me for loving his daughter. How then does such a one expect me to marry his daughter, without love? Don’t worry Mwaka, your father will marry you!”

A new leaf had been turned. Her love had germinated. This round was more different. She no longer kept a deaf ear towards her father. She would never kiss, never let a boy near her, never even look at one. She would never accept any boy’s good news, save for it is accredited by her father.

Nevertheless, of all the suitors that her father had failed her, Nsolo alone seemed to have held more water. The two had legally loved each other. Soon the two would be sworn in as one flesh. As the two agreed, they would take on a customary marriage.

Long after Mwangu’s leave to South Africa, marriage progressions were commencing between Mwaka and Nsolo. A bride price of one million kwacha was agreed upon. That was minus a hundred herds of cattle and eight goats. Mukotwe, Mwangu’s younger brother, as the law permitted, in the death or mere absence of the bride’s father, took up the charge. Mwangu would not leave his job until the next week of industrial break.

The next day the preparations were in place for a wedding ceremony. Chickens had already started to mourn their beloved that had queued up for death by knife. After which some were boiled while others were fried. Those that were luck were roasted.

When all had fully fed, their bellies abounding in meat, juice and cake and all such delicacies that a wedding of a village beauty would call for. Soon a lull had belt up, and later Sena the preacher man broke it. As he walked to the front of the hall in which the wedding ceremony would occur, everyone stood up and burst into Mozart’s wedding match. Soon the lovers appeared, each hooked into the others had.

“As we have spoken much about this love, its need to be applied in a home as husband and wife and also in prayer that your eyes become blind to others that may mushroom as being better in beauty and handsomeness than your spouse. It is now time to tie a bond of two flesh bodies as one flesh. Rings shall be worn and a marriage knot tied and also the marriage certificate signed. But before we can do so, may I ask the two lovers to walk upfront.”

With the help of the other two, Mwaka and Nsolo stood on their feet to the front.

“Now,” he continued, “is it your desire, Mwaka and Nsolo, that you be bonded together as husband and wife? If it is your desire, please, answer with an audible yes before God and the congregation as witnesses.”

The answer was obviously yes. But exactly before they could answer, the door of the hall bunged loudly behind some angry man. He ran straight to the altar and pushed Sena away like a feather. His name was Mwangu. He had come running from South Africa after hearing the news.

“What are you fools doing here?” he asked.

Everyone looked at him and was taken aback. They had never seen such a wedding.
“Are you ready to marry my daughter?” he asked the groom.

“Yes, I am more than ready and even prepared to die for her love. I love her.”

“What is love?” Mwangu asked, “how many children are you planning to have? What successful plans do you have for my daughter’s future? How much have you saved for your children’s school? What will you leave my wife and my grandchildren if you died?”

When Nsolo had failed to answer, Mwaka said, “as everyone here today has witnessed the failure in readiness by Nsolo to marry my daughter, I therefore with the powers vested in me, Mwangu, as the father of the world beauty, Mwaka. I officially declare the marriage cancelled and illegal. And also declare a crime of defilement on Nsolo, if at any time to be found with my daughter. He is very stupid!”

He was still speaking when Mwaka cried loudly and ran out of the hall. Everyone knew that she had been taken aback and had lost her temper, but would soon be back after she has settled.

Little did anyone know that it was seeing her for the last time. Her mother that had followed her latter burst into tears as she came in to announce that Mwaka had killed herself. That was the end of her.

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