Dawn dragged its arrival. Neither Masikonde nor Sinta had hadmuch sleep even after delaying getting to bed to long past midnight.  After the talk, they had attempted to watch amovie, tensely curled together on the sofa, Masikonde sipping on whisky andSinta on red wine. Neither had paid attention to the movie. Neither hadattempted a conversation. They had drunk too much but the alcohol had helpedneither to fall asleep.

Sinta had taken a shower and by the time she got out,Masikonde was already pretending to be asleep. She had joined in the pretence.The two naked figures slept, separated by five deliberate inches, both staredinto the darkness, afraid of tossing or turning, afraid of drawing attention totheir insomnia to the other.

Sinta’s pillow was soaked in silent tears. Determined not to wake Masikonde, she did not get up to change it. At some point, the warm then cold wetness of her tears became part of her, warmed to her body temperatures. Five inches away,

Masikonde’s muscles were tight and painful from being still,and he kept fighting muscle pulls.

He was the first to leave the bed at five in the morning.With zero enthusiasm for the day, he engaged in autopilot. What he reallywanted was to sleep in, but he needed to be away from his wife, just for a fewwaking hours. So he got ready for work.

Sinta heard him get out of bed and continued feigning sleep.When she heard the car tyres crunch over the gravel, she got up, brushed herteeth and dabbed cold tap water on her face to wash off the night and the saltytears. Too lazy to have a shower, she slipped into her gym clothes and drove tothe gym a couple of kilometres away.

On her last birthday, Masikonde had bought her dream car; abrand new Mercedes-Benz C-class, silver in colour. As she turned on theignition, she wondered what car her co-wife would be driving. Would she want asimilar car? What would she look like? Would Masikonde look for a woman wholooked like her, or would he prefer someone who looked totally different? Shedid not know what the women he slept with looked like; she had made adeliberate decision to never want to find out but, for her own sanity, shehoped he would get a woman who had no similarity to her. A version of herselfwould be awkward.

Would she, like she had proposed in her moment of blubbering,be part of the vetting process? Traditionally, the wife got actively involvedin selecting co-wives. Sometimes, the man just sat back and let the women dotheir thing. But that was there, this was here where traditions took abackseat.

For no particular reason, she laughed. Laughter so hystericalthat she pulled over and started crying.

****

Masikonde’s work commitments kept him from the constructionsite for over a week. Every one of those days he thought less and less ofTerian.

What he did not know was how badly his absence affectedTerian.

Day in day out, Terian stepped into the construction siteholding her breath, and when she did not find him, her mood would nosedive deepenough for Rasta and his crew to be concerned.

“I think the cold is getting to me,” She answered Rasta whenhe asked if she was okay as she continued serving the food in silence.

“You need to get a real man to take care of you”

Rasta’s attempt at a joke earned him a light slap

****

Terian was fourteen years old when she was engaged to a manold enough to be her grandfather. Her bride price had been settled, and theonly reason she had not moved in with the senior citizen was because with thehelp of her mother, she had begged to be allowed to complete her high schooleducation.

She had every intention to go ahead with what was expected ofher as culture dictated, but that was before she fell in love with Saitoti insecondary school. For two years, the two carried on a secret affair. Saitotiwould accompany Terian to the river, miles away, to fetch water. He would sneakhis way to her when she was looking after her father’s goats. It was during thesecret rendezvous that the two planned to elope.

She was twenty, and he was twenty-three.

Terian and Saitoti had run away just before the cow-bells andshepherds’ whistles came alive, before the sun peeped through the hills in thehorizon. With each of them carrying a stick to fend away potential earlypredators, and Saitoti holding his moran sword on the ready, they walked, handin hand, away from the sunrise in silence, until the savannah birds startedchirping. Only then had they felt safe to speak.

They walked for hours before seeing the first sign of life, asingle shop that was closed, a bored dog sleeping outside the door. By the timethe sun was directly above their heads, they realised how ill-prepared theywere for a long walk.

Just before sundown, delirious from fatigue and hunger, theyhad walked into an old woman’s house and begged for food and water. She hadgiven them a place to sleep for the night and a job for Saitoti. She knew aman, she said, who owned land nearby, and he was looking for a caretaker. Onher cheap, weather-beaten mobile phone, the old woman had called the landowner.

Money was scarce, much less than their grand plans, plans ofbuying land and building a house and starting a large family, but neither ofthem had ever had a lot of money – it did not feel like a squalid lifestyle. Ifthey ate and slept soundly, they woke up happy and faced another day.

The landowner had allowed them to live on his land for free,and to use it to improve themselves for as long as they lived within it, untila time when he needed it.

****

It was the first day of the second week since Terian last sawMasikonde.

Dejected, she had returned home, Lemaiyan trailing slowlybehind her. She was too preoccupied to notice Lemaiyan had also gone quietafter she failed to respond to his usual chatter. He kicked his new ball, theone Kokoi had made for him out of plastic papers tightly tied together with amanila string, kicking it all the way home, occasionally stopping to throwstones at birds.

“How was your day?” She asked Saitoti as she off-loaded herbag and buckets, dropping them on the earthen floor a little too roughly.

Saitoti smirked with an eye-roll. “The same. You?” “Fine.”She continued with her duties, quietly, lost in thought. Saitoti followed herwith his eyes without a word. He watched her as she lit pieces of paper heapedwith dry kindling, as she blew into the fire, as she placed larger pieces ofwood when the fire caught. He watched her as she warmed up the food, serve iton one big plastic plate and started feeding everyone from the same plate withthe same spoon. She filled a sufuria with water – the water would be used forbathing them all. All through, she did not make eye contact with him. In thedim light, sunset barely illuminating the shack, Saitoti’s eyes never left herface.

“I want to talk to you,” he finally said, after she finishedgiving him water.

Terian looked at him with a start, then looked at Lemaiyan.“But I need to clean you and Lemaiyan, and myself…”

“It can wait. This will not take long,” he turned his face tohis son who was studying his new toy keenly.

“Lemaiyan, go outside and collect a lot of firewood…”Lemaiyan ran off. “Sit…” Terian stood, feet shifting one to the next, puzzled.

He watched her awkward pose, her agitated face. He exhaled.“What’s wrong with you? You look all stressed-up.”

She shrugged, looking away. “It was too cold today, and Ithink I may be coming down with a cold.”

Saitoti sighed. “I have been meaning to talk to you.” “Whatabout?”

“A lot. First, I would like to thank you for all that you dofor me…” She gave him a lazy smile. “Every day, I have watched you work to nearcollapse. I have watched you keep a brave face, pretending that everything isalright…”

“Everything is fine!” she squeaked, the first signs of panicin her voice.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Terian. It is taking atoll on you, and I hate it. Look at you!”

“I am fine.”

“You are not.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “Rememberall those big plans we had? Well, it is too late for me, but you can still makeit happen.”

“What?”

“I am saying you still have a chance to achieve everything wehad planned to achieve. You can do it for both of us, but that will not happenif you stay around.”

“What are you talking about?” She managed to squeak as shequickly looked towards the door for Lemaiyan.

“I think you should leave and make a better life for yourselfand Lemaiyan.”

****

Masikonde exhaled. “Rasta, I know something is wrong. I alsoknow you know something. It does not matter if you are right, but let me hearit all the same. What do you somehow suspect is the problem?”

Rasta took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his eyes towardsthe gate. “Well, boss, she is married…” Rasta started. Masikonde swallowedhard. “And her husband is very sick.”

“Where is he sick?”

“He had a motorbike accident, and cannot feel anything fromneck to legs…”

“You mean he is paralysed from the neck down?”

“Yes, yes. Paralysed. So she has to do everything. So maybeshe is very tired from looking after him, maybe he is getting worse. She hasbeen very quiet the whole week.”

Masikonde nodded. “Okay, Rasta, thank you. Just go and checkif she is okay.”

It was Rasta who served the workmen as Terian sat on a stonenearby, head buried between her knees. It was Rasta who brought Masikonde hisplate of githeri.

“What’s going on with her?” he pointed at Terian’s directionwith his mouth, using both his hands to accept the food.

Rasta glanced at Terian and shook his head slowly. “It islike I suspected, but she will not tell me what is exactly wrong.”

“You mean about her husband?” Rasta nodded. “You said she isthe only one who looks after him?” he nodded again.

“Do you know if he is on medication? Surely the money shemakes here is not enough.”

“They get herbs from the Oloibon.”

“Right. Do you think she would agree to talk to me?”

Rasta shook his head. “I don’t know, boss. She would not talkto me – she kept crying.”

Being in the world of cut throat business had taught Masikonde one important lesson, that one could not know potential success unless they had a go at it. Chances of failure always outweighed those of success, but if there was a chance, it was worth trying. With that in mind, he looked at Rasta squarely in the eye. “Tell her I want to talk to her. Tell her I will drive her home.”

Rasta gasped, taking a step back to look at the car as if hewas seeing it for the first time. “In your car?”

Despite the situation, Masikonde smiled. “Rasta, do you seeanother car here?”

Eventually, Rasta shrugged and continued shaking his head andruffling his hair. “Okay. When she is ready to leave, I will ask her to pass byhere.”

“You do that. Tell her I am paying for all your food. Thatway, she has no choice but to come to me.”

Rasta smiled. “Thank you, boss.”

Half an hour later, through his side mirror, he watchedTerian approach, each step looking like a painful one. Each step appearingmeasured. She paused several times to look back at the workmen. Masikondeopened the car door when she appeared at his window.

“Terian, how are you?”

“I am fine,” she lied, hunching her shoulders and looking atthe ground. She cleared her throat and started to lift her head but changed hermind halfway.

“Rasta told me you are paying…” She croaked.

“I am. Only oneproblem, I do not have money here with me.” She gasped. “Do not worry, I willpay you. But I need to get to a money shop nearby and withdraw some.”

When he pulled out of the gate, he turned to Terian andstifled a chuckle. She sat so straight, so tense and motionless that he thoughtof a mannequin. He bent across to help fasten her seat belt, she pulled backand yelped.

“Sorry. Sorry… I just want to help with the belt. Is thatokay?” she looked at him blankly.

“What belt?” she demanded in squeaky panic. “Seatbelt.” Whenhe got the same blank look, he pulled

his own seat belt to demonstrate. “Here. Just pull at itgently, then click it in here…”

She secured the belt effortlessly, letting her thumb restbetween her chest and the belt, and continued staring ahead, shoulders sohunched that her long neck appeared much shorter.

For half a kilometre, they drove in silence. She staredahead, he stared ahead, a half-smile on his face.

“Which way do you live?” he asked when they got to a T-junction.

“Why?” she asked, looking at him in panic.

“Why? Because I am taking you home. Which way do you live?”

After a long moment, she pointed to the right. “Right. Youdirect me. How far away is it?”

She scratched her head. “I walk for about an hour, orforty-five minutes.”

****

Ten years had passed after Masikonde graduated from universitywith a bachelor’s degree in education. It was a piece of paper he was doomednot to be proud of right

from the moment he joined college under duress. His highschool grades were lower than what was required to study what he wanted,mechanical engineering. When he had failed to get the pass mark, he had beenwilling to start from a diploma and study his way up to a degree in mechanicalengineering, but not if Olpaiyan had anything to do with it. And he did.

“You will go to university as you decide what you want todo.” Olpaiyan had delivered the judgment as he sat on his three legged stool,watching some birds of prey noisily circling above.

“Papa, I just told you what I want to do.”

“If it doesn’t have adegree in it, it does not count.” He had spat phlegm on the ground then stumpedon it with his foot. That had been the end of that particular discussion.

Masikonde endured four years of university. An elatedOlpaiyan and Yeyo, his step-mother, had attended his graduation ceremony – hewould be the first amongst his friends to have all his children attenduniversity as Masikonde’s younger siblings were already in university abroad,or doing bridge courses.

Masikonde had smiled dutifully at the cameras, even feltproud of himself for making his father so happy as he kept telling anunbothered cameraman how he was the father of graduates. The following day ashe bid Olpaiyan and Yeyo goodbye, he gave them his degree certificate, forsafekeeping, he said, but Masikonde had no intention of looking at it everagain.

“Will you not need it to look for a job?” Olpaiyan had asked.

“I already made enough copies,” he had lied.

That evening, he had moved in with his best friend, Orido,who was still in medical school. It was a tiny, single room in congested areaof Githurai, with hardly enough space for one tall man, let alone two, but theysurvived. When either brought a girlfriend, the other one would have to findsomewhere else to spend the night, usually a cheap lodging down River Roadwhere the likelihood of leaving with bedbugs was always very high.

Masikonde had then applied for a diploma course in mechanicalengineering at the Kiambu Institute of Science and Technology, and only toldOlpaiyan after applying. I cannot pay for a degree and then pay for somethinglower, Olpaiyan had said with finality. Masikonde had walked the city lookingfor a job. The casual jobs were far and wide. Permanent jobs were unlikely ashe was unwilling to make use of his degree.

Enough times as he walked around the university sellingsecond hand clothes and anything else they needed, including drugs to hisformer college mates, he was tempted to get his degree certificate from hisfather, and use it to look for a job. One hot afternoon as he aimlessly walkedaround the city, his nerves at wit’s end with dejection, and a pressingbladder, he walked into a five-star hotel with the intention of using theirtoilets.

As he walked through the lobby, he observed the doorman welcome foreign tourists into the hotel, and an idea hit him. After using the toilets and drinking the tap water, he had walked to the reception and asked to see the manager with more confidence than he felt. By the time he was done selling his idea, he had secured a job as a doorman. His idea was simple, and brilliant, and would cost the hotel no money. Unlike the one he had watched earlier, wearing a suit, he would be in his traditional moran regalia. There would be no salary; he would have to rely on tips from generous tourists.

Masikonde was a master of squeezing tips out of tourists. Inhis younger days in the Maasai Mara, he and his moran friends walked around thepark looking for lions to throw stones at, and hyenas or jackals to spar with,or play hide and seek with elephants. During those recreational excursions theyoften bumped into tourist vans. They would spot the vans from a great distanceand position themselves on rocks by the roadside. The vans would stop to allowthe tourists to marvel at the young morans standing on one leg like statues, orstoically sitting on rocks, chewing on sticks of dry grass, looking into thedistance like the world around them did not exist.

The young morans had long learned to play English-deaf. Theyhad worked out that the more backward they looked, the more the money flowed. Thetour drivers, usually in on the game, would eventually persuade the morans todance for the tourists, and to allow for photos.

Now, whenever Masikonde accompanied tourists on safaris andsaw younger morans do the same thing he and his friends had done years ago, hewould smile and tip them more. To date, whenever he travelled abroad and sawpictures of morans on display, he looked closer to try and spot his young self.

Masikonde did not just get more money than he had hoped for,he got the women too. He joked to Orido that in the five months he had workedat the hotel, he had slept with more women than he had slept with in all his universitylife, and that was saying a lot.

Five months into his hotel gig and he accidentally foundhimself deep in the tourism business. Ole Ndeka, a fellow moran he had grown upwith and who had gone to university in America, emailed him asking for a favour.He and some of his classmates wanted to visit Kenya, and he wanted Masikonde toorganise the tour. That was when Masikonde discovered that one could get hugediscounts everywhere, especially hotels, for groups; there was a ten per centcommission from all the hotels on top of the offered discount. he could alsoinflate the cost by just ten per cent and still be more affordable than manytour firms for the same services, and he could sleep in the same hotels and eatfor free.

His letter of acceptance to Kiambu Institute of Science andTechnology arrived on the same day that he drove Ole Ndeka and his classmatesto the airport to fly back to America. At the tour’s end, Masikonde and OleNdeka had decided to become business partners. Ole Ndeka would get the clientsin America, Masikonde would organise the tours.

A month after, a letter to accept him to Technical University arrived. He never opened either of the letters. His journey as a businessman had kicked off on a high note, and being an engineer was no longer that appealing.

Masikonde was the CEO of Ole Mara Tours & Travels Limited. Even with a big title, he travelled the country as a co- driver fortwo years. It was an opportunity for him to learn the nitty-gritties. Besides, he still could not afford to employ a tour guide. As a child of the Mara, being a guide came naturally. He knew his way, he knew his flora and fauna like the back of his hand. Within two years, he had opened an office in Westlands, owned ten vans, employed Moraa and thirty other permanent employees and many seasonal ones. With a minute-long phone call, he could book himself into a presidential suite room almost anywhere in Kenya, for free and at a short notice.

Within five years, the company portfolio was no longerexclusively American.

****

Masikonde stopped outside his gate and let himself sink backto the seat, stretching his body and releasing a long yawn. He rubbed his eyesvigorously,

shook his head and twisted his neck, emitting a crackling jawsound. The drive home had involved mostly trying to keep his eyes open, and theeffort had taken the last ounce of energy. He hooted once and a few secondslater, the security man opened the gate.

The house smelled of garlic and celery. He checked thekitchen but his wife was not there. He opened the study door and found her busyon the computer with her back to him, headphones on. With another yawn, he shutthe door softly and headed to the shower.

She was in the bedroom, sitting on the bed and scrolling onher phone when he walked out of the bathroom, naked, towel hang around hisneck. “Hey!” She looked up with a smile. “That was a very long shower...”

“I needed it,” heanswered, walking to her for a kiss. “Long day then?”

“Too long,” he said in a neutral voice, rubbing his head withthe towel as he walked to the wardrobe, dropping the towel on the floor.

“Food? I made some pork chops with roast potatoes.”

He shook his head as he selected a pair of boxer shorts, one she did not wear but walked to the bed carrying, dropping them on the side ofhis bed. The githeri he had shared with Kokoi earlier was still sitting heavily in his stomach. “Sorry, I had late lunch and I am still full. I could, however, kill for two shots of whisky.” He slid into the duvet and rested his back on the headboard and shut his eyes.

“Coming right up.”

When Sinta brought the whisky, he downed it in one gulp, shut his eyes as the liquid fire grazed his throat, a pained look on his face beforehe grimaced. Sinta left to make her nightcap and he lay on his back and shut his eyes.

When Sinta returned carrying a glass of red wine, she foundhim snoring softly. That’s a new one, she thought with a shrug. Masikondealways struggled to fall asleep.

His phones were lying next to the empty glass on the bedsidetable. She hesitated for a second before poking his exposed arm, ever solightly. He changed the rhythm of his snoring but remained still. She walked tohis side of the bed, picked up one phone and keyed in the password.

She scrolled the call log. There were many in and outgoingcalls, none of the names familiar except Orido’s. She scrolled through themessages and shook her head slowly before putting the phone down and pickingthe other one.

With a deep sigh, she shook her head after going through itfor a few moments then went back to her side of the bed. How can there benothing, yet I know something is going on? She sipped her drink and shrugged.

“What are you hiding, Masii?” she whispered.

She reached for a notebook that she always kept on herbedside table. The notebook was initially meant for jotting down ideas for hershow when inspiration struck, but had ended up being a diary. She opened a newpage, caressing it for a moment before writing.

‘A modern woman, that’swhat I believe I am. Yet, by default, I am a Maasai woman before all else. CanI be a proper Maasai woman, and claim to be modern? What is a real Maasaiwoman? Just by virtue of being Maasai? Must I be bound by traditions? Whatabout my desires? My choices? Are my choices moulded by my community’sexpectations, or personal desires? I am a modern woman through and through,until my community needs me to do what it needs me to do.

‘My husband is about toget me a co-wife and it is tearing me apart. I have given him permission.Sometimes I think I am okay with it because I cannot give him children, othertimes I am not so sure, and I start wondering if I was not a Maasai, would Iencourage him to marry another wife? I would like to believe that he does notwant to, that he is doing this because he is also bound by traditions, that heneeds an heir, but I cannot fight this niggling thought that he actually doeswant to have another wife. It’s tearing me apart …’

A sudden surge of tears made her wince. She shut the notebook, placing it back on the table and stopped fighting tears.

While in the office, answering calls for Masikonde was often a robotic act because he did it while he was either looking at the computer or giving instructions to Moraa, his personal assistant. Moraa was with him when the call came in.

“Hello sir…” Terian. With feigned calm, he told her to holdthe line for a moment. Only when Moraa shut the door softly behind her, did hereply. “Terian?” he said, hoping his voice sounded calm.

****

Masikonde later met with Orido after a hard day at work.

“So, who do you want to know about first; the husband, or thewife?” Orido asked teasingly. They were at K’osewe’s. Orido was eating tilapiawith ugali and terere, traditional greens, doused in milk, while Masikonde atefried liver with ugali and the same greens.

“Stupid question,” he answered, digging into his food. “Howis she?”

“She is good - at least she looks good physically. I wasaround when she visited him yesterday. I can tell you one thing; if you do notmove fast, some faster dude is going to grab that girl ...”

“What? Why? Did she come with a man?” He paused chewing, holding his breath.

Orido chuckled with amusement. “You should see your faceright about now. You look like a teenager in love. Relax, she was on her ownbut let me tell you my friend, I think she may just turn out to be one of themost beautiful women I have ever seen. How the hell do you have such an eye?You are like a cat, seeing in the dark and all.” There was admiration in hisvoice.

Masikonde smiled with relief. “What can I say? I have goodtaste. Look at Sinta...”

“Rubbish! We all know your father picked her.”

Masikonde laughed. He was in high spirits. “But how is shereally?”

“Hard to tell. She looks more relaxed, for obvious reasons.But she has this look on her face - like, guarded? Yeah, that’s it. Like she isafraid of relaxing. I think a part of her feels that people expect her to besad for her husband, like she is guilty for being happy, whatever happy meansin her case. I hope she can sort that out soon.”

“Right…”

“Oh, and she had new clothes. Was that your doing?” Hesmiled. “Maybe. How are they?”

Orido chuckled. “Well, I am not a fashion expert, but I thinkshe needs help in that department. A lot of help.”

“That bad, huh?”

The concern on Orido’s face was funnier than what he wassaying.

“Cut the girl some slack! She was born in the depths of Kajiado, got married there and spent five prime years of her life caring for an invalid and a toddler. How would she know about clothes, except that they are supposed to cover essentials? In fact, I am surprised that she did not wear the Maasai regalia.” He was laughing.

“I wish she wore that! At least it is sexy.”

****

Moraa’s lips, covered in black lipstick, made Terian lick herchapped ones.

Moraa suddenly turned and caught Terian staring. She smiled reassuringly. Terian was struggling with a throat as dry as her lips, and when Moraa asked if she was okay, she simply said yes.

As Moraa expertly negotiated through the traffic, Terian allowed herself to wonder who Moraa was to Masikonde.

“Did he tell you that I am his personal assistant?” Moraa asked. Terian sat up with a start, wondering if Moraa could read minds.

She shook her head. “No. What do personal assistants do?”

“It just means that if I am not there, he cannot operate, because I am the one he relies on to keep things moving smoothly.” Moraa laughed. Terian smiled. “I am the one who reminds him to eat, or call; I run the office, he makes the decisions and signs the cheques.” Moraa let out a happy laugh. Terian smiled again.

Moraa did not ask personal questions, preferring to stick to matters traffic and interesting people they saw by the road. Terian hardly spoke, and her tension and nervousness dissipated with every minute she spent with Moraa.

When they got to the hospital, Moraa nodded at Terian. “Findme here when you are done.”

For the two hours Terian spent in the ward, Moraa paced up and down the reception area as she talked to herself. She still could not come up with a plausible explanation as to why Terian had been put under her care. Who was she? Surely she could not be of romantic interest to her boss? She, more than anyone, knew Masikonde and his taste of women.

Masikonde had been cagey about Terian, and it had piqued hercuriosity. Could her boss really pick a village woman as a lover? Granted, hewas from the village, but that was a long time ago. Of all the glamorous womenat his disposal?

When she looked at Terian walking from the hospital wards, itall started making sense. If one looked beyond the frumpy looks, beyond thecringe-worthy sense of fashion, she was startlingly beautiful.

“Ready?”

They drove to Valley Arcade to meet Kawira, a top fashion designer. Kawira, with excitement, studied Terian like she was a discovery. “Wow, you are beautiful, perfect body.” Kawira, standing inches shorter than Terian, circled the nervous woman, a tape measure in her hands. “This is going to be fun. Is there something you are looking for in particular?”

Terian looked at Moraa blankly, shaking her head.

“She is open to suggestions,” Moraa answered, winking atKawira.

****

Masikonde timed his visit to Kokoi when Terian was in KajiadoTown, with Lemaiyan. She had taken Lemaiyan to fit his school uniform. Kokoiwas sitting outside her smoky hut doing her beadwork when he drove in, in frontof her, a plate of boiled githeri.

“Olaiyioo lai supa?”

“Epa, Kokoi! How are you?” He sat next to her on the reed mat.

“I am well.”

They talked. Masikonde poured out his heart to Kokoi, like he had never done to anyone else. He spoke about his days in the Maasai Mara, about his mother’s death in the jaws of lions. About his beautiful wife, Sinta ,their childless marriage. About the pressure from his family, and wife to get a second wife.

“It seems to me that everyone has given their blessings. Whatis stopping you?” Kokoi challenged, stopping her beadwork to study Masikondethrough squinted eyes.

He sighed, looking into the distance. The simple answer washe did not know. He considered telling Kokoi that it was because he did notwant to hurt Sinta, then he remembered he did that every time he had an extramarital affair.

“I really do not know. I guess I am afraid of starting something I may be unable to handle. I am also afraid that she and Sinta may not get along.”

Kokoi’s sarcastic laugh caught him off guard.

“What kind of a moran are you?” She demanded, shaking herhead and returning to her beads. “You set the rules; that is what you do.Either of them breaks them, she is out.”

“I will tell you a secret about women; they want somebody totake charge. If you treat her right, she will go along with whatever you say.You better hear this, supa.” He nodded. “Terian would be your perfect woman.She knows her place because she is not corrupted by modern life.”

****

Masikonde found them sitting on sacks outside the hut. His eyes were drawn to an old mattress, so old and used that it had lost all its cover material, and was like an inch thick. He cringed. Terian stood up when he drove in, nervously rubbing her wet palms against her skirt, smiling back at him when he walked towards them.

“I see you are ready,” he said jovially, blessing Lemaiyan who ran to meet him, by placing his right palm on the boy’s head. Terian smiled shyly.

“We have been ready since morning,” Kokoi said, finally getting off her sack. “We decided to carry a mattress, in case there are none in the new house.” Kokoi had noticed Masikonde looking at the mattress.

“You will not need anything but your clothes and the clay pots. The house has everything you need.” He turned to Terian who was following him with her eyes. “How are you, Terian?”

“I am fine...”

“Excited?” she nodded with a smile. “Very well. I will put the bags in the car, then we can leave right away...”

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