Forbidden Fruit

A dramatic love story by LJ Kundananji. Comes in Three Parts

Based on a true story.

Disclaimer: Apart from a few alterations and distortions, this story depicts places and events from real life. The names of the participants have been changed to protect their identities. However, if anyone out there believes that his or her privacy has been invaded by my recollecting these events and amalgamating them into a seemingly indistinguishable cocktail, he is free to file a lawsuit. The pronoun ‘he’ is inclusive of the female gender.

Jump to Part One

Jump to Part Two

Jump to part Three

The Forbidden Fruit - Part One

Charlotte. That name makes me cringe. However, I have nothing against the name. It is a beautiful name, really. But the person the name belongs to? Well, as usual, it is a long story. But I will try to cut it short: I know you don’t like long stories, especially ones you think you’ve heard before. And already, this may sound like something you’ve heard before. But believe me when I say it isn’t. It’s a bit different. It always is: always the same but always different.

Let me cut to the chase. I won’t bore you with introductory remarks and long, boring character developments. Let’s delve right into the action. Right now.

There I was, seated on the carpet, legs splayed, a speaker box in front of me. Sister Mpapeni was staring at me with wide eyes and a smile on her face. She appeared amazed by what I was doing. It was hard to work with her staring down at me in that manner, seated on the sofa in front of me, her hands buried in the fold of the chitenge wrapped around her waist, just above her crotch. It is an odd posture and most women who wear chitenges, no matter what age, do it. It not only puzzles me but also embarrasses me, because it makes me think rather ill of them. Why do they place their hands in such an awkward position? An imbecile would think it’s a masturbating posture. Thank God I am not an imbecile. And that day, that posture did not needlessly embarrass me.

Sister Mpapeni was a sister in the congregation. She was a Jehovah’s Witness just like me, so I did not have to needlessly worry. In fact, I felt terribly safe around her. She was like a mom to me and I greatly respected her. Jovial, gregarious, she was a beautiful woman in her mid-twenties. She was not a large woman, just like I was not a large man, being in my early twenties. She was petite, and had a curvaceous body. Her complexion was a smooth light brown. She was a beauty. But considering that she was married with about four children, I did not see it fit to overly look at her. There were no prospects for me there. Therefore, no matter how beautiful she was, it did not bother me, or even move me one bit.

“So what is wrong with it?” she asked curiously.

“Um… I am yet to find out.” I said, my eyes lingering at the bulge on her chitenge, underneath which her hands were buried. “But I guess the wires are cut inside.”

“Okay.” She got up, her smile broadening. “Can I make you some tea?”

“Sure.” I did not need to think twice. She would be terribly hurt if I did not take her offer. Last time she hand nearly shade tears. She was an intriguing sister—one of the most intriguing I had ever come across. She was very hospital, just like Lydia in the Bible who had extended her hospitality to the disciples of Jesus. I watched her from the corner of my eye as she made her way to the kitchen. She walked with an elegant swag that made her behind sway perceptibly. I chuckled.

The tea turned out to be a cup of coffee and some scones. I did not complain. I have learnt that most people in Zambia call breakfast tea, even if they are saving you boiled sweet potatoes and a single glass of water.

It was early in the morning, about 7 AM. I was here this early because Sister Mpapeni was leaving for Lusaka, and she hoped I would get her speaker box fixed by 10AM—the time she planned to start off.

There was no one else in the two bedroom house. The rest of her family, including her husband, had moved to Lusaka. After being laid off by ZESCO, Brother Mpapeni had found another job in Lusaka. Therefore, he gathered his family and left Namalundu. Sister Mpapeni had left earlier with him, but at the moment, she had returned to pack a few things she had left behind. Considering that most of the furniture was intact, I knew they had yet to come back and pick up what things remained.

Yesterday, she personally asked me to come to her home to fix her sound box. After my preaching expeditions, I found her at home, conversing with my mom. She had looked very hot. Pardon my colloquialism, but it is true. She had looked as hot as a sixteen year old. But considering that she was married and had kids, I was not moved at all. Not a single bit. But who can say no to a sister, especially a hot one, when she makes a request?

So here I was, taking a look at her sound box, and trying to look like a professional repairman. It was not as easy as I had assumed it would be, and deep down my heart, I was cursing myself for being so bloody willing to help. The delicious scones, the great-tasting coffee and Sister Mpapeni’s confidence in me, however, were beginning to make me feel as if I was something of such a professional.

“This is delicious.” I said with my mouth full.

She beamed. “Thank you.” She had an enchanting smile, sister Mpapeni.

After the luscious meal, I continued working on the frustrating sound box. After a while, I got used to sister Mpapeni’s presence and soon got so engrossed with the work at hand that I forgot that she was around. That was, until she asked me the question.

“Do you like Charlotte?”

“Pardon?” I goggled at her in disbelief, my mind refusing vehemently what my ears had just heard.

“Do you like Charlotte?” she repeated, and my mind finally believed my ears.

I gawked at her for a while, saying nothing, wondering if she had a sudden bout of insanity. Charlotte was her niece. She was a tall, dark and pretty-looking girl. We had spent about an hour at most together about two weeks ago when Sister Mpapeni had invited me to have supper with them, and all I had gathered from what little conversation we had had was that she found Namalundu boring, that she liked singing (she’d been whispering some song into my ear the whole time), and that she liked me. Nothing out of the ordinary. I barely knew her. Not a single bit. Yet, here, Sister Mpapeni was asking me if I liked her.

“Am I obliged to answer that question?” I asked, staring critically at her, my eyes narrowed, a frown on my face.

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I did not spend enough time with her for anything substantial to happen in the direction of liking her.”

“You still have not answered the question.” She said persistently.

I was speechless. What kind of a sister was this? How could she barge in into my most private emotions like this, demanding an answer to an issue which, at the moment was better kept to myself? Why did she not respect my privacy?

“As I said,” I said, fighting hard to hold back the wrath I was beginning to feel, “I have not spent enough time to develop distinct feelings for her.”

“So do you like her?” she asked stubbornly.

“I cannot say I do, and I cannot say I don’t.” I said, my breathing quickening.

“Maliko, you have not answered the question.”

“Why is it important that I answer the question?” I was staring directly into her face, demanding an answer to my own question.

“Because there is something else I need to find out from you; but it has to be based on your answer to this question.”

“What’s that?”

“Answer my question first.”

Never in my life had I come across such stubborn persistence. I suddenly lost the respect I felt for her and saw in her an immature little girl instead of the mature sister I usually thought resided there.

“I’ll repeat what I have said: I do not like her and I do not hate her.”

She appeared annoyed at this juncture and gave up. She got to her feet, a slightly red fieriness in her eyes.

“I am going to take a bath,” she announced.

The bathroom was in her bedroom. From where I was seated on the carpet, I could see the double bed and the white, clean sheets thereupon. I found it odd that she could leave the door open, but I assumed that the shower, the sound of which I was hearing, had some kind of enclosure to ensure privacy, and so I did not think much about it.

About ten minutes later, sister Mpapeni stepped out of the bedroom door, the chitenge wrapped loosely around her, covering nearly all of her body except her feet, the upper part of her chest, her shoulders and her head. She had fairly long, brownish hair which seemed to match with her complexion.

I don’t know why, but this scene did not move me much. Maybe it was because she was a married woman, with four kids. Or more importantly, maybe it’s because she was a Sister. And it did not cross my mind that a sister could do anything unsavory. Not in the very least.

“So tell me,” I found myself asking, my head turned away, a smile on my face, as I fought with a screw. “Why do you want to find out so bad if I like Charlotte?”

The words rolled of her tongue as easily as balls rolling down a hill. “It’s because I like you. And right now, I want to do something to you that will make you love me.”

Forbidden Fruit - Part Two

Hear what they say:
A coward dies twice
Before his actual death.
Now hear what I say:
A man sins twice
Before he actually sins.

The words rolling off the woman’s tongue did more than waft through the air, strike against my eardrum, vibrate down my ossicles, swirl through the cochlea, and spark down the auditory nerve to the brain for a mere interpretation. No they did more than that. They shocked me, horrified me, and excited me at the same time. They had a mystical magic to them that made me rise to my feet, take tentative steps forward and stand next to and before the woman, staring at her with wide eyes.

“What did… you say?” Of course, I had heard what she had said, but I wanted her to repeat it for two reasons: firstly, my brain was finding it hard to believe what it had just received from the auditory nerve; and secondly, for some reason, I derived great pleasure from hearing those words, so I wanted to hear them again.

She did not hesitate: “I want to do something to you that will make you love me.”

‘I want do something to you that will make you love me.’ The words echoed throughout my mind. I shuddered. I had heard it clearly. She did not say, ‘I want to make love to you’, no, rather, she said ‘I want to do something to you that will make you love me.’ Never had I heard a woman utter such words to a man before, not even in the movies nor the few books I had read. I know I was naïve, but I am sure you can agree with me: women hardly utter such words to a man unless they really mean business. These were the words of a sophisticated woman seducing a man. But this situation was slightly worse: the said man was barely a man. I was a mere boy, with no prior experience of being seduced and wooed, and no idea whatsoever of how to resist such seduction.

Suddenly, my eyes were opened, and I saw all that I had not being seeing prior to this revelation. Here, standing before me was a beautiful woman, barely dressed. I knew there was no other piece of clothing underneath the chitenge that was loosely wrapped around her; the chitenge that was covering her lovely, mature body. I examined her from head to toe with only quick, darting movements of my eyes. It is an art and takes years to perfect. Without so much as moving my head, and in only a few, brief sweeps, I took in a lot of details. She had lovely and large, brown eyes. The cornea of these eyes was remarkably white, giving them a rather childlike innocence. Her nose was one of those nice, round and pointed small ones that made one wonder if she was born in Africa where broad, flat and stubby noses were the irrevocable fashion. She had thin lips that were smeared with lipstick the colour of honey. Her skin was spotless, without a single blemish, or at least the part of it that was not covered. Her dimples looked like little dents in her cheeks. Her neck was long and attractive; her shoulders narrow, like those of a typical lady, and her collar bones hardly perceptible, being hidden by a generous amount of flesh. Her breasts were large and had been squeezed together and pushed up by the chitenge she had tightly wrapped around them, drawing all the more attention to the cleavage. The chitenge extended just below her knees, and although it covered the pertinent areas of her body, it did not really manage to conceal her shapely body. Her hips were conspicuously large, giving her body the curvature of an upturned glass of wine. The chitenge seemed to stick to her legs, enabling me to make out their comely roundness. She was my exact height. If I lurched forward and wrapped my arms around her, we would fit perfectly, like two gears in a machine meant for each other. It was hard to imagine that this was the woman with four children; and I now wondered why I had not been seeing all this radiant beauty she possessed all this while.

I swallowed hard. My throat suddenly felt parched.

“What… do you want to do to me?” I asked, my heart thumping loud enough for me to hear it. My eyes kept darting about her body, not knowing where exactly I could place them. But eventually, I locked gazes with her; trying to figure out if she was just pulling my leg.

“Just something.” Her tongue slowly slid across her lips. Boy, she was good. The mere sight of it made me feel butterflies in my stomach.

“What is it? Tell me?”

“No. I want to show you.” Her eyes roved my whole body, and for a while, rested on the area just below my belt.

At the juncture, the alarms in my mind started sounding. I knew I had to run. At the congregation meetings, we had been warned so many times about such situations, the example of Joseph being quoted so many times to show us the course of action to take: flee without thinking twice. But, my feet could not move. They did not want to.

Okay, the heck with it. Let me admit the truth. I was terribly curious. I wanted to find out where this was going. And I wanted to find out that which she had to offer that would make me love her.

“Show me.” I swallowed again, staring intensely into her eyes. They were no longer looking childlike and innocent. They now seemed red with fiery desire, and I imagined that any second, they would emit lasers and burn my clothes away to ash, leaving me totally nude.

I think now, after a lot of wise reflection, I would like to shoot myself in the leg for saying those two words: “Show me.” I should have said what a wise Brother once told me: “Get away from me Satan!” But believe me; those words were furthest from my lips that day. In fact, I wished to say: “Come to me!” When confronted with such a situation, especially when you are taken totally by surprise, the last thing you think of is saying ‘Get away from me.’ And the last thing you want to do is run away.

So there I was, leering at her; and there she was, about to show me. I watched her every move as she walked to the window and drew the red curtains closed. The room became filled with a reddish darkness. She walked back to me and held my hand. Her palm was soft and warm.

“Come this way sweetie.” She was whispering in my ear. Her voice was alluring. I clumsily stumbled after her.

‘Run away you idiot. Now!’ a voice was screaming in my head. ‘Run away! This is the death of you. Remember that foolish young man Solomon described in the seventh chapter of Proverbs? The one who went after that whore like a bull to the slaughter? The one who was shot by an arrow that cleaved his liver? Yeah, that’s you. Run away before you die.’

Such a wise voice that one. I should have listened to it. But rather, I chose to listen to the one which said: ‘Come on, go on. You just have to see this. There will be time enough to run away when things become too broiling.’

She led me to the sofa and pushed me down onto it. I sat down with a slump, taking deep, quick breaths. She knelt down in front of me, between my splayed legs and held my hands. She moved up and forward. She embraced me tightly, her hands stroking my back, her lips against my ear. It felt terribly good being in her arms; the goodness of which I cannot begin to explain. My skin quivered as I felt one of her hands slip under my shirt and move up my bare back. Ever since then, I have learnt that there is something magical about the touch of a woman’s hand. And I have also learnt one vital lesson: if you do not want it, run away before she touches you; because if she does, you will not want her to stop.

I found my nose buried in her bosom, in her cleavage to be precise. Her breasts felt soft and silky against my nose; and she smelt of a mixture of sweat and perfume that nearly sent me swooning with a mad desire for her. I recall wondering if she had really taken that shower. I closed my eyes as I reveled in the feel of her breasts against my nose.

“Maliko,” she whispered into my ear. Her breath was warm—nearly hot, and wet. “I am a married woman.”

“So?” I barked, my lips brushing against her breasts and slowly working their way towards the nipples, pushing the chitenge down with my chin. I had forgotten she was married, and I did not want to be reminded.

“Have you ever slept with a girl before?”

“No.”

“You are a virgin?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you. The way you are handling me.” She was beginning to sound breathless. I don’t know why. By now, my lips had found the nipple of her left breast. It felt hard and pointed, like the tip of my little finger. I found it strange, but fascinating.

“Believe me.” My breathing was becoming irregular: I was forgetting to breathe with each stroke of her hand. I could feel her other hand fiddling with the buttons on my shirt.

“Wow. Okay. But you know I am a married woman.”

“So what?” I was beginning to get angry.

“I know certain things… things that I can show you… things that will make you love me.”

“Oh,” my heart settled down a bit. I was grappling at the nipple with my lips. I felt her tremble. “Show me, baby.”

I now find it hard to believe I uttered those words. It was even harder to believe that the woman in my arms was a Sister, a fellow Jehovah’s Witness. But I did not feel an ounce of remorse. All my moral sense seemed to have been switched off.

“You will seriously love me… my darling. You won’t want to ret me go.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I felt the chitenge pull away—she was taking it off. I shifted to allow her to completely remove it. I opened one eye, and then the other, and saw her naked breasts and belly. My heart was pumping like a hammer against my rib cage. With the chitenge completely pulled off and thrown to the floor, I found myself holding a totally naked woman in my arms. I ran my hands down her smooth back down towards her buttocks.

“O… Maliko. I love you.” She breathed.

“I love—”

There was sudden, rattling sound on the pane of the door.

“Mpapeni! Ulimo!” A woman’s voice shouted. “Open the door. Segulako!”

We froze, trying hard not to move, not to breath, clinging to each other tightly. I goggled fearfully into her eyes, but she stared back at me reassuringly. Her stare said: ‘Don’t move. Don’t talk. She’ll go away.’

We heard the handle of the door turn. “Oh! It’s not locked. Mpapeni! I am coming in! Nangena. Ulimo?”

The door creaked and whined as it opened. The room filled with bright sunshine, and from the corner of my eyes, I saw a dark form appear in the doorway…

Forbidden Fruit - part three

Denomination is just a tag,
A label that can be stripped off
When we choose to.
And locked deep within our souls
Are ranting, raving lunatics
Crying to be set free
From the brittle chains of hypocrisy.

My heart was literally in my ears, my eyes fixed on the figure that was advancing into the room.

“Blast!” I cursed under my breath. “This can’t be happening! God! I’m so screwed.”

“Shhhhh.” She whispered gently into my ear, a surprisingly placid eye on the woman.

“Mpapeni!” the woman called on top of her voice. She had moved two steps into the room and was threateningly staring in our direction.

The sofa we were huddled in was on one end of the room, on the right hand side of the door and the raucous lady, so my back was turned to her. I was staring at her at an angle. It was only a matter of time before she saw us.

On our immediate right was the door to the kitchen, but it was closed. The partly open bedroom door was located on the left side of the room and the woman was ambling towards it. The lamp in the bedroom was on, casting a long, thin streak of yellow light onto the polished red floor and part of the brown, woolen carpet that covered the rest of it. The sores of my shoes were completely sunk into the carpet, and right now, I was wishing I could sink into the carpet too and get hidden from this obnoxious intruder. I sank further into my seat, and pulling Sister Mpapeni’s body closer to mine, I tried hide under her.

“She’s yet to get used to the dark: she’s very nearly blind at the moment,” Sister Mpapeni said. “I got to move very a fast.”

The room was dark, enshrouded in a mystical reddish darkness, the curtains having been drawn and the light switched off. Earlier, while I had been working on the sound box, the light from outside had been sufficient.

Suddenly I felt Sister Mpapeni rip out of my arms. She darted across the room like an arrow shot from a bow.

“Mpapeni, is that you?” The woman inquired, moving towards the bedroom door.

“I’m in here, ba neighbor.” Sister Mpapeni’s voice echoed from the bedroom. Amazed, I stared at the floor and noticed that the chitenge was gone. She was really good.

“Uchita chiyani?”

“I’m dressing up. Just from taking a bath.”

The woman walked down the room and stood in the bedroom doorway, arms akimbo, her back facing me. Through the half open door, I could see Sister Mpapeni applying lotion to her smooth, brown legs.

“Why is it so dark in here?” The woman hissed, groping for the switch. She pulled at the string that was dangling from the ceiling near her head and the room became filled with light. She looked around with a frown on her face, and saw me. I cringed, and nearly fainted.

“Muli muntu! There’s a person in here!” She was a huge woman with a body that looked round and inflated. She had a large, round head with a few, spiky hairs sticking out of it. She appeared not to have a neck, as if her head was a large pumpkin placed unattached on her shoulders, and if she stooped, it would fall right off and smash to the floor. She had a puffy face, and small, sank-in eyes. She was remarkably black, as if she deliberately smeared herself with polish; I thought so because some of the areas on her face that projected out were darker than those that sank in. For example, the area around her eyes was lighter in colour than the rest of her face.

She made her way laboriously towards me, struggling and squeezing past the small space in between the sofas. She stood before me, toweringly tall, and glared down. I felt weak, puny and useless. She was a giant of a woman. She wore a sleeveless little yellow blouse that exposed huge, round arms, the flesh of which was wobbling with each movement of her body. Tied around her huge abdomen and extending all the way to her feet was a chitenge, blue and white with pictures of crosses and hands held in a praying stance. It covered all the features of her lower body except her feet. Big, with large toes, I thought the little straps that held the white, flat, little sandals to them were going to snap apart.

“Ndiwe ndani?” she asked, glaring down at me. Her little eyes were surprisingly penetrative.

I tried to speak, but only air gushed out of my mouth.

“Why are you staring at me like that little kid I caught yesterday in my garden stealing some fruit?”

I tried to speak again, but this time, my saliva found its way into my windpipe and I coughed desperately. The woman eyed me contemptuously. When she noticed that a goodly number of buttons on my shirt were undone, her eyes lit up and an evil little grin spread across her protuberant lips, which appeared as though they had uttered a million lies and rumours in their lifetime.

“Mpapeni!” she screeched, waving her arm about fervently. “What were you two doing? Mwenzochita chiyani! Nizaminenera! I will tell!”

I actually heard my heart stop at that juncture and felt my blood freeze. I struggled to breathe.

“Calm down you mad cow.” Sister Mpapeni emerged from the bedroom, rubbing at her hair with a towel. She appeared terribly calm; and I wondered how she could be so placid when it was clear that we had been busted. She was dressed in skintight, checked, grey trousers that emphasized her comely legs, hips and buttocks. A skimpy white little blouse with a very low neckline covered the upper part of her body. I could clearly see the cleavage of her breasts. “What are you bubbling about?”

“Who is this young man and what were you doing with him?” She pointed at me with her thick finger. I felt as if it was the barrel of a gun aimed for my forehead.

“What do you mean?” She slumped onto the sofa and continued rubbing at her hair. She stared at me, giving me a sly little smile. She appeared totally unperturbed. I on the other hand, was seated on the edge of my seat, ready to run away. “This is Maliko—son of Mr. Kankoyo.”

‘Stupid woman!’ I thought. ‘Now you’ve given me totally away. My dad’s gonna kill me.’

“Oh! The pastor!” The women bellowed.

‘I’m no pastor! Or at least not anymore.’ I miserably thought.

“Ba Pastor!” She said mockingly. “Mwenzochita chiyani na mukazi wa bene? What were you doing with another man’s wife?”

“Arrr.”

“Kambani! Say it!”

Sister Mpapeni stared at me, a sickly look on her face, as if enjoying every moment of it.

“Keep quite you mad cow,” she said throwing the towel on the seat. “Do you want to rouse the whole neighbourhood?”

“Oh Yes! They got to know about this.”

“Know what?”

“That you were sleeping with this young man!”

Sister Mpapeni let out a long, loud laugh. She sat upright and had her chest held out, her hands placed one on each knee. She laughed so hard tears came out of her eyes.

“Ba neighbour. Don’t be funny. Maliko came to help me out with a few things ‘round the house that need fixing.” She pointed to the open sound box on the floor.

Ba neighbor did not appear convinced. She glared at my partly unbuttoned shirt. “Why is he naked?”

‘God, woman you can exaggerate! You are more naked than I am right now!’ I hoped she could hear my thoughts.

“One of the cables got caught in his vest and he had unbutton to remove it.”

“Why did you kill out the light?” She was persistent. “How can you work in the dark, huh young man?” The question was targeted at me. A look of triumph spread across her face when she noticed the stupid expression on my face.

Sister Mpapeni reached out for the small side table that stood nearby and picked out a light bulb and tossed it at the woman. She caught it in her hand in one clean swing. She glared at it.

“What’s this?” she snarled.

“Maliko was changing the bulb. He had just finished when you walked in and was just about to switch it on. But you did. Look at that Maliko, it works!”

I cleared my throat nervously, staring upwards at the glowing blub. “Ye… ye… yes it works.”

“Oh?” the woman appeared puzzled.

“What’s up with you, ba neighbor? Why do you want to embarrass this honorable young man? After all, you said he is a pastor.”

“It’s just that... I thought…” An apologetic look stretched across her face.

‘She’s good.’ I thought. ‘She has done this before.’

“Don’t think.” Sister Mpapeni said warmly. “Have a seat. I can serve you some tea.”

“Awe. I just wanted to say hello. I am on my way to the market. Ntchito yatu ndiyovuta. My job is difficult, you know.”

She turned and began to advance towards the door. I felt a great relief and breathed in deeply. Sister Mpapeni got up to her feet and walked the woman to the door.

The woman suddenly turned and looked at me. “Maliko, sorry. Never mind me. Greet your father for me.”

I just nodded, too stupefied to talk. I watched with a sinking feeling in my heart as Sister Mpapeni led her out of the door.

The women talked and laughed outside, and I heard Sister Mpapeni bid her farewell. Five minutes later, she walked in and closed the door behind her. I heard her turn the key. There was a naughty grin on her face. With a growing sense of alarm, I watched her as she walked to the switch and pulled at it. Once more the room became enshrouded in darkness. She walked to me and sat next to me on the sofa, her arm around me.

“No more disturbances from now on.” She said, leaning forward and gently kissing me on the cheek.

I gulped as I stared down at her cleavage.

“You see, Maliko. I like you a rot.” She whispered. I watched her hands as they moved to her trousers. She wriggled in her seat and began to pull it down. A white pair of undies appeared. The hair on my body stood on end. I had had enough of this drama.

“Stop!” I said firmly, startling her. She froze, her eyes bulging out. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“But Mariko… do you not like me?”

“Of course I like you. But you belong to another man. You are married for crying out loud, and you’ve got four children. Pull up your pants!”

Her eyes reddened, but she made no effort to pull up her trousers.

“Maliko. Please. I really, really want you.” She moved to kiss me, but I pushed her head aside.

“I don’t understand. I thought you are interested in me.”

“I am interested in you. Not in that manner. You are married, belonging to someone else.”

“But I am… I like you.”

“So?” I barked.

“Don’t you like me too? You must have feelings for me because I have feelings for you.”

‘She must be insane. She is definitely insane.’ I concluded. “Just because you have feelings for me does not mean I have the same for you.”

I held her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Sister Mpaneni, you are a very attractive woman. Go back to your husband.”

“He does not satisfy me.” She said bluntly, biting her lip.

I gapped at her in awe. This woman was shameless. “So… you think I can satisfy you?”

“Yes.”

“But I am just a boy… I do not know half about woman.”

“You are not a boy. You are a man.”

I laughed. This was beginning to sound ridiculous. “Stop being funny, Sister.”

“It’s not funny. I really… I just want to be satisfied. My husband does not satisfy me.” She said it so plaintively that I felt sorry for her.

“He doesn’t?” I gulped.

“No… I can’t remember the last time he slept with me. We usually don’t have sex.”

“So you want to get from me what you can’t get from your husband?”

“Yes. I am certain he is having an affair with another woman. I found condoms in pocket. So I just want to have my own. In fact, when I said I was going to have an affair, she said it was okay, he did not care. So he actually gave me the go ahead.”

I shook my head and chuckled, not out of amusement but out of shock. This woman was nuts, and so was her husband. But in that instance, I believe I understood her insanity.

“Sister Mpapeni, I understand your desire to be satisfied. It must be overpowering, making you lose your sense. You are not okay. You are not thinking straight. God, I wish I could help you, but I can’t. You just have to go back to your husband.”

“No. Maliko. I want you.”

“No. I am sorry.” I shook my head. “Aren’t you afraid of Jehovah? Don’t you fear God?”

“Maliko. I know… but it’s hard.”

“But Sister Mpapeni, you are a baptized Sister, a baptized Witness!”

She kept quiet for a while, then she said: “I… actually became a Witness just for the sake of marriage. I just wanted to get married.”

I sniggered. It hit me in that moment that she was not a real Jehovah’s Witness, and no matter what I said about fearing Jehovah, she was not going to buy it, because Jehovah did not mean anything to her. I suddenly felt a great strength, and inwardly, I uttered a little prayer, thanking Jehovah for having sent the burly woman my way; for having saved me. I rose to my feet.

“Maliko! Don’t go!” she was visibly crying. She grasped my hand.

“I am sorry, Sister. I can’t do anything for you. Trust in God. He will take care of you.”

“No… I want you to be my friend.”

“I am already your friend.”

“No… I want a deep kind of friendship from you.”

I got curious again. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Okay,” I was suddenly interested in more details. “Suppose I agree, how are we going to achieve it? This deep friendship you speak of?”

“You are not pulling my leg? I want to know whether you are really interested.”

“I am.” I actually was.

“I don’t know. But we could achieve it, somehow. We can easily find a way. We could be meeting secretly.”

I goggled at her, speechless; convinced she was really out of her mind. What made her think I could risk my place in the congregation for a little hide-and-seek with her in the bushes? What made her think I was willing to damage my relationship with God for just a little sex? How would I even live with myself afterward? This wasn’t just a little fornication being offered on the table; but full-blown adultery.

“So… tell me: do you want Charlotte? If you want her I can leave you for her.”

I looked at her pitiable being. She was beautiful, I must admit, especially when she was weeping, her long hair sweeping across part of her face.

“Come on! Don’t be a woman. Be a man and make up your mind.” She hissed.

I glared at her. She had just done something she was going to regret. She had dared me.

“I don’t think like a man. And I don’t think like a woman. I think like myself.” I loosed my hand from her grip. “Goodbye Sister Mpapeni.”

Imagine yourself in the following situation: a woman is seated before you, half naked, her pants pulled down, and she’s pleading, begging for you to have sex with her. Would you walk away from that? Would you have the guts to walk away?

I am not saying I was unusually brave. I would not want to boast about that. In my own perspective, I did fall that day. I had touched the woman, and that was enough. I had committed fornication, and I was not proud of myself. The good elders had to know the truth: I had sunk my teeth into the proverbial forbidden fruit. It was succulent quite alright, but it left my mouth with a sour bitter taste. It has always been that way, and it will always be that way.

“Did you fix her sound box?” Mother asked as I walked into the kitchen, where she sat at the table, sewing some clothes.

I stared at her for a good moment and then said. “It is beyond repair; just like a lot of things she owns.”

Suddenly, my phone rang. I placed it against my ear without caring to note who was calling.

“Maliko! Hi! This is Charlotte! Listen, I love you very, very much. I don’t know why but I can’t stop thinking about you. I just had to let it out of my chest. So… do you feel the same?”

My hand suddenly went limp, and the phone went clattering to the floor.

“Are you okay?” My mother asked alarm.

“Not really mom.” I said as I bent to pick up the phone. “It seems the drama never ends in my life.”

© 2011 Kundananji Creations. All Rights Reserved.

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