The Beginning

Behind the scenes, there should be no room for regrets, only happiness. After all, I did make the decision to love him.

Sometimes, though, frustration overwhelms me, and I find myself yearning for his absence. It would be easier if he just left me alone. Why? Because I lack the courage to leave him. Every time an opportunity arises for me to escape, I squander it, trying to make him happy, attempting once again.

“But, I don't understand why it is so difficult for you to leave him? Making the decision should be as simple as the decision to love him. How did the two of you even meet?”

A smile crosses my face as I ponder the question. Sometimes, the thought of him alone is enough to make me smile.

“It was a chilly Wednesday morning, and I ventured to the river to fetch some water. That's when I saw him on the other side, shrouded in fog, exuding an air of mystery and awareness of his surroundings. I couldn't see him clearly, but I could feel his presence. It made me uneasy and yet excited at the same time. I dipped my jerrican into the river, its waters steadily filling the container.

Lost in the memory, I drift away for a moment. 

“Did he say anything? Did you say anything?”

No, we didn't exchange words. We simply sat there, acutely aware of each other's presence. I couldn't bring myself to speak to him; my dignity forbade it. Besides, he made me uneasy. I couldn't find the words.

When the jerrican was full, I lifted it from the river, ready to make my way back home and prepare breakfast. But as I climbed the muddy path, I slipped and fell, my heart leaping out of my chest. It was the rainy season, and the river flowed forcefully. I had feared this would happen. Closing my eyes, I braced myself to be swept away by the powerful current, aptly named Father River.

As I reminisce, I recall what occurred next. 

When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on the grass, my clothes miraculously dry. The grass was cool against my skin, and there he was, sitting beside me, a machete in hand and a blade of grass between his teeth. He appeared like a true warrior, his physique awe-inspiring. I couldn't help but gaze at him.

“Wait a minute, did he intend to harm you?” I inquire, caught off guard by the thought.

“What? The question takes me by surprise. Why would he want to harm me?”

“You mentioned he was holding a machete.”

“Ah, this is the village. Everyone carries a machete. I laugh, not having thought of it in that perspective. No, he had no such intention. I rose from the ground and bowed before him.

"Thank you for saving me," I said.

He looked at me, his eyes holding an indescribable allure. When I met his gaze, something stirred within me. I couldn't explain it, but I was undeniably drawn to him. Why did I have to fall for him?

What did he say then? I inquire.

Nothing. He simply looked at me and nodded. Then he turned his attention back to the river. I thought it was rather rude, I reflect.

“You mean he didn't utter a single word? Nothing? “

I avert my gaze momentarily, trying to imagine how he disappeared.

That's right. We remained silent, and then I started looking for my Jerrican. It was there, with the lid securely fastened and the string for carrying attached. As I reached to pick it up and prepare to head home, he sprang to his feet with lightning speed. Taking the jerrican, he gestured for me to turn around so he could place it on my back. I complied, and when I looked at him again, he was gone.

“Just like that?! How is that even possible? Or maybe you had just imagined you saw him? Right?”.

Exactly. His exit was swift and enigmatic.

“So, how did the two of you end up together?” I inquire eagerly.

In our village, families choose your marriage partner for you. I didn't see him for the next three seasons. When the time for my arranged marriage arrived during the short rainy season, I was brimming with excitement, ready to embark on the journey of building a family.

“Wait, an arranged marriage? So, you couldn't have a boyfriend or go on dates?” I ask, astonished.

No, that was not permitted. If you happened to fall in love with someone outside of your betrothal, you were required to inform your parents immediately. So, on my wedding day, a sunny Saturday filled with joy and the azure sky, the entire village buzzed with anticipation. Being the only educated girl in the village, everyone was eager to know who I would be betrothed to. We prepared diligently, and as was customary, the ceremony would span a few weeks. The groom and his family arrived at our home, greeted with songs and ululations. But when I saw his face, my heart sank. We were given an opportunity to become acquainted, left alone in a room. And there he was, the man from the river.

We sat there, gazing at each other, waiting for the other to speak. I longed for him to initiate a conversation, but I couldn't bring myself to address him. He signaled for me to share something about myself, and reluctantly, I obliged. My speech was brief, offering only the essential details and everything I believed he should know about me. He listened attentively, his silence profound. I revealed my penchant for walks and watching sunsets, and I confessed that I had a short temper and was sensitive to words, urging him to choose them wisely. I concluded by emphasizing the importance of understanding.

“And what about him? What did he say?” I inquire.

He stared at me, smiled, and then departed.

What an insolent man! How could he be so rude? Why couldn't he say anything? The questions flooded my mind.

The women came to inform me that our union had been approved and that he seemed particularly smitten with me.

That's an unexpected turn, I remark. The ceremony concluded later on. I recall seeing him conversing with others, but he wouldn't talk to me. That's all I could think about.

Later that evening, I approached my mother, seeking answers. "Why doesn't Iniht talk?" I asked. That was his name, Iniht. Apparently, everyone in the village knew him except for me.

My mother smiled and said, "Don't concern yourself with it, Iren. Trust your mother. But more importantly, do you like him?"

I couldn't discern whether she sought an honest response or simply the answer she desired. "I will marry him," I replied. She smiled and left.

I wondered why everything about him remained shrouded in mystery. Would this decision come back to haunt me? Did I genuinely want to spend the rest of my life with him?

“So, what happened next?” I ask, eager to know the continuation of her tale.

We got married, and throughout our marriage, he never spoke a word, yet I always understood him. He displayed kindness and love in his own unique way. He understood me.

Life seemed perfect, and I reveled in the happiness I thought was eternal. But then, after eight seasons, he finally spoke to me. The sound of my name on his lips sent shivers down my spine. The first words he uttered were my name.

It transpired on a bright day outside our home, basking in the warm sunshine and beneath the cerulean sky. He called out to me, and at first, I wondered if I had imagined it. He called again, gesturing for me to join him, as he had something to say. So, I did. Countless questions danced in my mind, but I couldn't find the words to ask them.

Sitting beside him, I waited for him to speak. He began, "There are so many things I wish to say to you, starting from the first day I saw you at the river, but I couldn't. I had never seen a more beautiful creature in my life. Until I saw you by the river on that day. I couldn't help but stare at you. When you almost fell into the river, I felt like my heart would die. I kept hoping that you would wake up. And when you did, the heavens granted me a miracle. I knew that day, that you were the one for me."

I interrupted him, cutting him short. "I don't want to know," I said abruptly. "I don't want to know why you couldn't speak to me. I'm just glad that now I can hear your voice."

I don't know why those words escaped my lips. Perhaps they were what I was supposed to say. But deep within my heart, I knew they didn't reflect my true feelings. He smiled at that, and I sensed that he really did not want to share the reason. Rather, he felt obliged to. We embraced and fell back into silence, just as we always did. Eventually, I left him to tend to my daily chores. In the beginning, things felt strange, with the newfound voice, it was as if an entire season had passed in confusion. But soon, everything returned to normal, and we were blissfully happy. I don't believe there was anyone happier than me in the world. For several seasons, we nurtured our land, and our family grew. Before I knew it, we were the parents of five beautiful children. Life was splendid.

However, as time passed, things became challenging. I'm not sure when it began, but his words started to grate on my nerves. Remember how I mentioned my sensitivity to words? I take them personally, involuntarily. Every utterance he made infuriated me, striking a nerve. I could no longer tolerate his words. I found myself longing for one of us to return to silence.

“And what happened then?” I probe, eager to unravel the remainder of her story.

I'm not sure. That's where I find myself now. I simply want him to leave me alone. He's driving me mad, making me question why I married him.

Yet, I am a coward, unable to leave him. Doing so would mean accepting defeat, giving up on my marriage, and turning my back on my family. What kind of woman would I be remembered as if I were to do that?

“I don't have all the answers, my sister. I'm on my own journey of discovery as well,” I confess, offering a sympathetic smile.

She returns my smile, looking deep in thought. "Well, life has its way of surprising us," she remarks.

As the bus comes to a stop, I disembark, feeling as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I can hardly believe that I just shared my entire life story with a stranger during a bus ride.

Life truly is full of surprises, I reflect, hoping that this newfound encounter in our beautiful country will offer me the answers I seek.