CHAPTER NINETEEN A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

 

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

From the Mountain to the City Lights

It felt like my heart had shattered into a million pieces — pieces that could never be put back together again.

Tjipaa had turned her back on us again, and Ondjona-Top was crying. I kept asking myself the same question over and over again: what was happening to us? Why was all of this happening?

Deep inside, I began to feel as if this was our punishment.

Perhaps it was punishment for covering up the death of Cota Ma-Cups.

First Kenaa had died in a terrible way at the hands of a jealous ex-lover. Then Tjipaa had fallen into a relationship with her own stepfather and used his money. And now my cousin Ondjona-Top was also caught in this complicated web of money and secrets.

I still did not know whether Ondjona-Top truly owed Papa Kille money. After all, he had given it to her willingly. He never clearly said whether she had to return it or keep it. But the truth was that Papa Kille had a reputation for beating women who “ate his money.”

My thoughts were racing.

I had come to Windhoek with a dream.

All I wanted was to live a simple but exciting life in the city and study hard for my Bachelor of Laws degree. Instead, I felt like I was giving too much of myself and receiving nothing but pain and disappointment in return.

Tjipaa finally spoke.

“Guys, I think you should leave now,” she said quietly. “Ndjona-Top, I am sorry for what you did, but Papa Kille has a history of beating women who spend his money. I do not know if I will ever forgive you if it turns out that you are the reason he comes after me.”

She turned her back on us again.

Ondjona-Top wanted to say something, but before she could speak, Tjipaa’s mother walked into the room. When she saw the tears in our eyes, she asked what was wrong. None of us answered.

Tjipaa quickly told us to leave and let her stay alone with her mother.

So we left.

As we walked down the hospital corridor, Ondjona-Top suddenly grabbed my hand.

“Muuaa,” she said nervously, “please come with me to the police station. I need to know whether I have to pay this man’s money back. I have spent money from men before, and I need to know whether I am guilty or not. Please come with me.”

Despite everything, she was still my cousin.

Even though I felt ashamed of the life she had lived with Tjipaa’s stepfather, I could not abandon her.

So I agreed.

At the police station, the policewoman who attended to Ondjona-Top was very kind. She asked gently whether this was her first time visiting the police station and how many times men had given her money like that.

My cousin’s answers were shocking.

Still, the officer did not judge her. She listened carefully, gave her some counselling, and took a statement.

Then she said something that surprised us.

“I do not think you are guilty,” she explained. “You did not force anyone to give you money. But tomorrow you must come back and speak to Detective Officer Mbaa. He might give you further advice.”

Ondjona-Top looked relieved.

As we left the station, she started bragging again.

“Oh ami,” she said proudly.
(Ami means “me.”)

“I always knew I worked smarter. I am a big girl in the capital city of the Republic of Namibia.”

Then she added confidently, “That means I do not owe Papa Kille anything, and he does not owe me anything either. Our situation happened more than a year ago. If I had done something wrong, I would already know.”

She took a tiny mirror from her handbag and started fixing her makeup.

I asked her where she was going.

She answered casually, “I am going to see Mr Kiswahili.”

That was the moment I lost my patience.

“Do you even understand what is happening?” I said angrily. “Tjipaa is lying in a hospital bed because she tried to kill herself. We just discovered that she spent Papa Kille’s money. And all you can think about is running to another man?”

We started arguing.

“Muuaa,” she snapped, “do not act like you are perfect. Because of me you have a fancy phone, an iPhone, and you look hot just like me. Did you not always say you wanted to look like me?”

She continued coldly, “Besides, Kenaa was my real friend. Tjipaa has always been like this. She is spoiled and loves attention. You saw how she turned her back on us. She does not want our help.”

I could not believe what I was hearing.

Ondjona-Top had always been the leader of the group, the one who encouraged the others into the lifestyle they were living. Now she was acting as if none of it mattered anymore.

This was not the time for us to turn against each other.

She asked if we could go to the Hilton for breakfast with Mr Kiswahili before going to school.

I refused.

Instead, I walked away and went to sit alone at Zoo Park.

When I reached the park, I felt like I needed to talk to someone.

Before I could think of anyone to call, my phone rang.

It was my mother.

I suddenly realised that I had not spoken to her in a long time.

The moment I heard her voice, I began crying. I told her I was homesick.

She comforted me with gentle words. She encouraged me to focus on my studies and reminded me why I had come to Windhoek in the first place.

For more than thirty minutes we talked.

By the time we ended the call, I felt stronger again.

So I went to campus determined to focus on being a student.

My first class at 10:30 went well.

Between classes I sat on the lawn reading my books. While I was studying, Tusu appeared.

“Hey Muuaa,” he said. “I see you have been avoiding me these past days. I am glad I caught you.”

“Well, you are disturbing me,” I said jokingly. “But it has been a while.”

This was the first time I had seen him since he left my house the day he took my virginity. I wanted to ask why he had not called me afterwards, but I did not want to look desperate.

Instead, I told him I was busy and had to go.

He was holding posters in his hands, and one of them caught my attention.

It was a picture of Kenaa.

“The Office of the Dean of Students is holding a memorial service for Kenaa this Friday,” he explained. “She won the Miss UNAM contest last year and was the reigning queen. She was loved by many people here.”

Then he added softly, “It is a shame you did not know her for long. You would have liked her.”

With that, he walked away.

Later I went to the library, where I studied with Kapee.

Kapee was from my village, Ehomba. We had gone to different schools growing up and had only seen each other during holidays. She was a typical bookworm,  always wearing glasses and always serious about her studies.

Looking at her felt like looking at my old self.

She helped me understand the course material and catch up on what I had missed.

I did not see Ondjona-Top anywhere on campus that day, and honestly I was not in the mood to talk to her.

After classes I was exhausted and ready to go home.

Kapax called me and invited me out for a drink and a snack. I really liked him, but I decided to follow Ondjona-Top’s advice and play hard to get.

So I politely refused and told him I had too much homework.

Still, I hinted that I might spend Valentine’s Day with him.

He sounded very happy about that.

Just as I finished the call, I saw Tusu waiting near the lecture halls.

“I was waiting for you,” he said. “How was class?”

“How did you know I had class now?” I asked suspiciously.

“I am your senior,” he laughed. “I know the faculty timetable.”

Then he added gently, “I know I should have called you earlier. Let me make it up to you. Let me buy you something to eat.”

I tried to refuse, but he kept insisting.

Finally, I agreed.

“You can buy me chicken curry,” I said. “After that I am going home.”

After dinner we talked about school.

I asked him many questions about law, and surprisingly he had answers for everything. He was actually very intelligent.

He suggested I join the Law Society, which was planning a study tour to South Africa. I signed up immediately and paid the N$30 membership fee.

Since he was the chairman, he promised to include me in the tour group.

I was thrilled.

Later we went to his SRC office.

The building was quiet, and we seemed to be the only ones there.

He switched on the fan, went to get some cool drinks, and returned. My feet were sore, so I took off my shoes. Tusu offered to massage them.

I allowed him.

His hands were strong and warm.

Slowly my body relaxed. I closed my eyes as his hands moved across my feet, then up my legs.

I felt his touch move higher.

His fingers brushed across my chest, and I felt his lips against my neck.

My body reacted without thinking.

Just as his hands reached for the zip of my jeans—

I suddenly woke up.

It had all been a dream.

The End of Chapter Nineteen

Watch out for Part Twenty as A Girl from Ehomba Mountain Who Wants to Achieve Something continues…

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

 

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

Continue Reading…

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

From the Mountain to the City Lights

After reading the note, my lips began to tremble. I felt as if I wanted to call out the Lord’s name, but no words could come out properly. I cried so hard that it felt like my soul was bleeding. My stomach burned inside me as if I had swallowed a whole bottle of acid. I felt sick. I felt like vomiting.

Oh God, why did this have to happen to Tjipaa?

She was such an innocent soul. She did not deserve this.

Tjipaa had not chosen this life with her stepfather. She had been pushed into it. And now, on top of everything, she had used up his money. I still did not fully understand how all that money was spent, but one thing was clear, she was carrying a burden that was too heavy for her.

I lay down and put my head on the pillow. I called my cousin, but her phone was still off. I sent her a message telling her to call me back as soon as she got it.

That night, I was completely broken. I do not even know what time I fell asleep or how I managed to sleep at all. The next thing I knew, it was morning, and my aunt was standing over me, looking at me with pity in her eyes.

She opened the curtains to let more light into the room.

I needed that light.

My soul felt as if it had been covered by darkness.

My aunt told me to get ready for school. She also told me not to let what had happened to Tjipaa destroy me.

“Life goes on, Muuaa,” she said. “You must be strong and hope that your friend gets better soon.”

Only if she knew what was really troubling me.

My aunt was always early, and she seemed to have made it her habit to drop me off at school before going to work, even though my first class did not start until 10:30. So I told her I wanted to go to the hospital first and see Tjipaa before going to school.

“Okay,” she said. “But do not forget to buy her flowers. Flowers always help bring life back into a person lying in a hospital bed.”

Then she left for work.

I tried calling Ndjona-Top again, but her number was still unreachable.

Never mind Ndjona-Top, I thought. She was probably having the best time of her life.

So I took Tjipaa’s note, went into town, bought flowers, and went to the hospital.

When I arrived, I found Tjipaa’s mother in the room. She was leaning over the bed where Tjipaa was sleeping.

“Good morning, ma’am,” I said. “I hope Tjipaa is feeling better today. I brought her some flowers.”

Now that I knew what was really hurting Tjipaa, I tried not to talk too much to her mother. Her heart was too soft, and the way she looked straight into my eyes made me feel like she would eventually pull the truth out of me.

Still, I wanted to show her the note, even if Tjipaa might hate me for it afterwards. All I knew was that Tjipaa needed help, and more than anything, she needed her mother to know the truth so she could stand by her.

Just as I was reaching into my handbag for the note, Tjipaa woke up.

Her mother held her hand and asked gently how she was feeling.

“I’m fine, Mommy,” Tjipaa said. “I feel much better this morning. You look like you have not slept at all. I want you to go and rest.”

Then Tjipaa started crying.

“And I’m sorry for what I put you through. I just wish I had been a better person. I know I have not made you proud, Mommy. I failed my classes, and I was close to giving up on life. I am so sorry.”

Her mother hugged her and said, “It’s okay, my child. Get some rest now. You have not disappointed me. I am just happy you are still here with me. Soon I will be able to take you home.”

At that very moment, my phone rang.

It was Ndjona-Top.

I quickly stepped outside to answer.

“Og couzy hapo, what is going on? What emergency were you talking about?” she asked.

“Vemuu, Tjipaa is in hospital,” I said. “She was admitted last night. I tried reaching you all night, but your phone was off.”

My cousin sounded shocked.

“Text me the hospital, the floor, and the room number. Meya nambano,” she said.
(Meya nambano means “I am coming now.”)

After we ended the call, I went back inside.

Soon after that, the doctor came in.

“Mrs Tjaa,” he said, “your daughter has responded well to the treatment. You will be able to take her home today. Please pass by my office later. There are a few things I want to discuss with you.”

Then he left.

Tjipaa’s mother was so relieved. She hugged her daughter and said she was going to sign some papers and would be back soon.

That gave Tjipaa and me a little time alone.

“So, did you find it?” she asked quickly. “Do you have it?”

I gave her the note.

But I think she could already tell that something was wrong with me. My face had changed, and I could not hide my guilt.

“Muuaa, you are acting strange,” she said. “What is wrong? You have been so quiet.”

I tried to say I was fine, but tears began rolling down my face.

Then she looked at the note in her hands and asked, “Did you read it?”

I told her the truth.

“The maid said something serious was going on with you,” I said. “She found the note, and she told me to read it. She said I should help you and your mother come closer. She said you needed help.”

Tjipaa did not take it well.

She burst out at me.

“Muuaa, you promised not to read it. You lied to me. How am I supposed to trust you if you cannot even keep a simple promise? So now you know. Is this how you find out private things about your friends, by going behind their backs?”

I stood there crying.

I had wanted to be a hero, someone trying to help her. But now, in Tjipaa’s eyes, I was the villain.

“I only wanted to help you,” I said. “And I think you need to talk to your mother about it.”

That made her even more angry.

“Stop trying to run my life for me,” she shouted. “Stop telling me what I should do, what I should not do, what I need, and what I do not need. I already have a mother doing that. I do not expect it from you.”

She was crying and shouting, and the more I tried to calm her, the worse it became.

Then the door opened.

Ndjona-Top walked in.

She looked surprised to find both of us crying.

“Hey, I came as soon as I heard. Tjipaa, are you okay? Why are you both crying? Tjipaa will be fine,” she said.

There was silence.

Tjipaa and I could not even look at each other.

Ndjona-Top immediately knew something was wrong.

“Tjipaa… Muuaa… you are scaring me. What is going on? Please, tell me.”

I was not in a position to explain anything. It was Tjipaa’s story, not mine.

So after pulling herself together, Tjipaa told Ndjona-Top everything, from the suicide attempt, to the reason behind it, to what was written in the note.

For more than five minutes, none of us said a word.

It felt like we were three strangers sitting on a bus, each one lost in thoughts about a terrible life.

Then Ndjona-Top asked her, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Tjipaa answered sharply.

“Vemuu, you are never available when a person really needs you. You are too busy chasing men. Where were you last night when I needed you? You were nowhere. Besides, Muuaa knew. She was the one helping me through all this. When I found out I was in serious trouble, she was the one talking to me. I did not tell her not to say it to you, but she understood it was personal. I thought of telling you, but you are never emotionally available, Vemuu.”

Then she pulled her hand away from Ndjona-Top.

That hurt my cousin deeply.

She stood up and walked outside.

I could see that she was broken, and I understood why. She had lost touch with her friend a long time ago. She had been too busy with her own life, her own men, and her own troubles to notice what Tjipaa was going through.

I turned back to Tjipaa and apologised again.

“It was not my intention to read the note,” I said. “The maid made me do it. She said you were going through something no one knew about, and that is why I became so worried and curious.”

Tjipaa looked away.

“Of course the maid knows about my affair with my stepfather,” she said. “The first time she found out, Papa Kille threatened to fire her. And because I did not want my mother to know, I begged her not to say anything. But Muuaa, you betrayed my trust. There is nothing I can do about it now, so please just leave me alone.”

Then I asked, “And your mother? Is she okay? How do you know this is not affecting her too? Shouldn’t she know the truth?”

Tjipaa answered quietly, still facing away from me.

“I was the one sleeping with her husband. My mother has not been close to my stepfather for years because of the way he treated her. Besides, she is no longer interested in him, and she is already on treatment for high blood pressure because of him.”

Her message was clear.

She wanted nothing more from me.

Just as I was about to leave, Ndjona-Top came back into the room and sat down where I had been sitting.

She was crying badly.

At first, I thought she was simply hurt by what Tjipaa had said. But there was something more.

I asked her, “What is wrong?”

She told me to close the door.

Then she turned to Tjipaa and said, “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh my God,” she cried. “Maybe this is God punishing me. I deserve everything happening to me. Sometimes I think I am bewitched, because I cannot control myself.”

She took a tissue and continued.

“I am so sorry, Tjipaa. Please forgive me.”

Tjipaa looked at her in shock.

“Forgive you for what?”

Ndjona-Top struggled to explain.

She went in circles, almost unable to say it clearly.

Finally, Tjipaa snapped, “Muuaa, just get to the point. What happened?”

Then Ndjona-Top said it.

“Remember your 21st birthday, when Papa Kille bought you the Mercedes-Benz? I was so drunk that I passed out in one of the guest rooms. You and Kenaa went to test-drive the car and later went to sleep. I was still there. That night Papa Kille came into the room. Before I knew it, he gave me a lot of money so that I would keep quiet and not tell your mother that you were involved with him.”

The room went silent.

Then she added another painful truth.

“That money… I gave it to someone who promised to trade it for me. I thought I could grow it. I wanted to use it to buy a house in Dubai and leave this country without him knowing. But I got scammed. I lost all of it.”

Muuaa and I both stared at her.

Ndjona-Top wiped her tears and said in a trembling voice,

“He also once gave me N$150,000 to keep for him. I lost that too.”

We were all frozen.

Then the thought hit me like a rock:

Did this mean all of us now owed Papa Kille money?

How much more could life become like this?

I thought.

And I cried.

The End of Chapter Eighteen

Watch out for Part Nineteen as A Girl from Ehomba Mountain Who Wants to Achieve Something continues…

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

 

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

Continue Reading…

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

From the Mountain to the City Lights

As soon as I heard what had happened to Tjipaa, I jumped out of bed and started dressing quickly. It was already late, so I had to ask my aunt to allow me to go to the hospital. I went to her room and woke her up.

I was sure she would scold me for disturbing her, but after I explained the call from Tjipaa’s mother, she surprised me.

She offered to drive me there herself.

When we arrived at the hospital, my aunt told me she would wait in the car. She did not really know Tjipaa or her mother well, but she asked me to let her know if Tjipaa’s condition improved.

That night, I saw another side of my aunt.

I had always thought she was hard and selfish, a woman who only cared about herself. That was the image my family back home had created for me. But the way she cared that night made me question everything I had been told about her.

I went inside the hospital and searched for Tjipaa’s room.

When I reached the first floor, I found Tjipaa’s mother standing in the corridor.

“I am sorry to hear about Tjipaa, ma’am,” I said. “How is she doing?”

“Muuaa, I am so glad you came,” she said. “Tjipaa is in critical condition. The doctors are with her right now.”

Then she started crying so badly that I had to comfort her, even though I myself did not know what to do.

“This is all my fault,” she said. “I know she is a good girl, but today I pushed her too hard. When we got home, we argued. She locked herself in her room. Later, when the maid went to call her for dinner, she found her lying on the floor. My daughter tried to kill herself. She overdosed on pills.”

My heart sank.

What could have pushed Tjipaa so far that she wanted to end her life?

After a while, the doctor came out and spoke to Tjipaa’s mother.

Her face changed immediately.

Then he said words that brought both of us relief.

“Her condition is stable now,” he said. “We managed to pump out the pills and give her medicine to restore her strength. You may see her, but only briefly. She needs to rest.”

Tjipaa’s mother went in first.

I stayed outside for a little while because I knew she needed a mother-and-daughter moment before I could enter.

While I waited, I took out my phone and tried calling Ndjona-Top.

Of course, her phone was off.

She had already told me she would switch it off so she could “please her man.”

By now, my cousin no longer shocked me, but I was still disturbed by many things she did. Really, who sleeps with a man on the first day they meet him, no matter how well he treats her?

Still, I expected nothing less from her anymore.

After some time, Tjipaa’s mother came out and said, “She is asking for you.”

I went inside.

As soon as I entered, Tjipaa asked me to close the door and come sit next to her. She looked weak, fragile, and frightened. Her hands were shaking, and her voice was soft.

“Muuaa,” she whispered, “please do something for me. Go to my house and into my room. I left a note there. Please get it before my mother finds it. It will break her heart if she reads it. And Muuaa, under no circumstances must you read that note. Please just bring it back to me.”

I was not sure whether I wanted to involve myself in another family secret.

But how could I refuse her?

She was in such a vulnerable state, and after all, I had promised to stand by my Diva sisters whenever they needed me.

She asked where Ndjona-Top was, and I told her she was with Mr Kiswahili. Just as I was about to ask how I would get into the house, her mother came back in.

At once, Tjipaa pretended to be asleep.

I stood up to leave and told her mother, “Tjipaa said she is fine. I think she just wanted a friend near her. She is a strong young woman, just like the doctor said. She is a fighter.”

As I was leaving, Tjipaa’s mother held my hand and walked me outside the room.

“Are you sure that is all she said?” she asked. “For a long time now, I have felt that something was wrong with my daughter, but I could never understand what it was. Tonight has confirmed my suspicions. Please, if you know anything, tell me. I need to know what is hurting my daughter.”

I was in no position to betray Tjipaa’s trust.

So I lied.

Again.

“No, ma’am,” I said. “I really do not know anything. I have only known Tjipaa for a short time. As far as I know, she is a good person. I do not know what could be troubling her.”

Then she asked, “Okasena yoye iri pi?”
(Okasena yoye iri pi? means “Where is your cousin?”)

I told her Ndjona-Top was probably sleeping because she was studying for a test and had switched off her phone.

Then I asked, “Why not speak to Tjipaa yourself? Maybe she will open up to you.”

Her mother sighed.

“My daughter has been emotionally distant from me for a long time,” she said. “I think because we had money, we spent too much time enjoying it and not enough time with each other.”

I felt bad for her.

She was clearly hurting, and I was doing very little to help. But I could not betray Tjipaa.

I tried calling Ndjona-Top again, but her phone was still off. At that moment, Tjipaa needed her, and I did not think anything else should matter. Yet there she was, somewhere out there, milking another man with her body.

My aunt came to check on me and found me saying goodbye to Tjipaa’s mother. She greeted her politely and introduced herself as my aunt. They had a short conversation about Tjipaa’s condition, and then my aunt and I left.

On the way home, my aunt spoke gently.

“Muuaa, what your friend tried to do is very sad,” she said. “Her mother says they argued, and she lost control. I want you to know something. You are a good child. If you are honest with me and behave yourself, I will take care of you.”

Again, I saw another side of my aunt, a kind and protective side that was completely different from the woman my family had described.

She went to her room, and I stood there thinking.

How was I supposed to go to Tjipaa’s house now?

It was already after midnight, and I did not want to sneak out again. But did I really have a choice?

I could not ask my aunt.

Tjipaa needed that note before her mother found it.

So I waited until my aunt had fallen asleep.

Then, using the same ninja tactics Ndjona-Top had taught me on my very first day in Windhoek, I quietly slipped out of the house.

Since there were no taxis around, I had to call someone.

So I called Mbaa.

He came in less than ten minutes.

He did not ask many questions, which made me feel grateful.

On the drive, he could tell something was wrong, but he remained calm.

“I just hope you will be okay, Vemuu,” he said. “Whatever is troubling you, know that I will be here for you.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “It really means a lot.”

When we arrived at Tjipaa’s house, I asked Mbaa to wait in the car.

The house had a very high wall and a huge gate, and I had no idea how I was going to get inside.

So I threw small stones onto the roof of one of the guest rooms where the maids sometimes slept.

Luckily, the maid was there.

“What is going on, my child?” she asked. “Why are you throwing stones on the roof?”

I had to lie.

I told her Tjipaa needed some clothes and her toothbrush from home.

She was a gentle old woman, so she let me in.

“Oh, I just hope that poor child is alright,” she said. “Okanatje ngo kamuna ouzeu okuza rukuru.”
(Okanatje ngo kamuna ouzeu okuza rukuru means “That child has been suffering for a long time.”)

Then she added, “If only her mother knew what was really going on. I pray to God she survives, because she deserves another chance to live a better life.”

Those words stayed with me.

What did she know that I did not?

That question stayed at the back of my mind.

I rushed upstairs to Tjipaa’s room, hoping to find the note quickly and leave before her mother returned from the hospital.

But when I entered the room, I froze.

Tjipaa’s mother was sitting there on the bed, holding Tjipaa’s teddy bear and some clothes she had packed for her.

I had not expected that at all.

I was caught off guard and had no proper explanation for why I was there so late.

So I said the first thing that came to my mind:

“Tjipaa asked me to come get her teddy bear.”

Even as I said it, I knew it sounded foolish.

She looked at me and asked me to sit down.

“Vemuu,” she said, “I know you have not known my daughter for very long, but I also know the two of you have become close. Tjinangara una tji motjiwa tji mumonu okutja meso okutjiwa okutja Tjipaa wanu ozopera…”
(It means: “If you know anything that you think I should know — for example that Tjipaa takes pills, please tell me.”)

She was desperate.

Her soul was in pain.

I almost broke.

I almost told her everything.

But then the Ozondjona-ozo-Top vow came back to me. I had promised never to betray my sisters.

So instead of telling her the full truth, I told her a lie mixed with a little truth.

“Aunty,” I said, “I do not really know what is troubling Tjipaa. But I know she was dating a student called Nashi, and they broke up. That may be why she was drinking today. But I do not think that is why she tried to kill herself. She is stronger than that, and she is too smart to take her life over a boy.”

I do not know whether she truly believed me, but she accepted it.

Then she said she was going to freshen up and later take Tjipaa’s clothes and the teddy bear to the hospital. She told me she would drop me home afterwards.

As soon as she left the room, I started searching.

I looked everywhere for the note.

I searched drawers, shelves, books, under the mattress, everywhere.

But I could not find it.

After several minutes, I gave up.

Then the maid came into the room and quietly closed the door behind her.

“I overheard what you and my boss were saying,” she said. “And I know you lied. Tjipaa is not heartbroken because of some boy. That poor girl’s soul is hurting.”

Then she added,

“Ovanatje vanambano ma mu teza ozondjira ozombi…”
(Ovanatje vanambano ma mu teza ozondjira ozombi means “Nowadays children are taking the wrong path.”)

“I hope one day you will tell the truth. The truth will always set you free.”

Then she pulled out a folded paper and handed it to me.

“This is what you are looking for. Tjipaa asked you to find it. But before you return it to her, you must read it. I found her unconscious in her room. After her mother took her to the hospital, I found this note. What is written in it is serious. You do not know what your friend is really going through. Please, talk to her and help her open up to her mother. Both of these women are suffering because of one man. Vevatera veye pamwe muatje wandje.”
(Vevatera veye pamwe muatje wandje means “Help them come together, my child.”)

Her words filled me with shame.

She was right.

I had no idea how deep Tjipaa’s pain really was.

I thanked her quietly, slipped the note into my hand, and left.

I told Tjipaa’s mother that I was going home because my cousin had come to collect me. By “cousin,” I meant Mbaa, who was waiting outside in the car.

She said it was fine, as long as I got home safely.

As soon as I got into Mbaa’s car, my hands began itching to open the note.

After what the maid had said, I could not stop thinking about it.

Mbaa was speaking to me, but I was not even listening properly.

Since Friday was Valentine’s Day, he asked whether I would be his partner.

I told him I would give him an answer before Friday.

When he dropped me off, I sneaked back into the house, silent as a mouse, and went straight to my room.

There I sat on the bed with Tjipaa’s note in my hands.

I opened it.

And I read.

It began:

“I am so sorry for doing what I had to do, but I could not take it anymore. I have failed my mother, and I am ashamed of what I did. I had an affair with my stepfather for five years…”

The note went on.

But it was the last part that completely broke my heart:

“…because of the affair with Papa Kille, I used up his money, the money he was supposed to use to pay the rent for the farm where he keeps his cattle. I never told anyone about it, but I spent all of it. Now I do not know what to do.
I am just so tired of all the drama in my life., Tjipaa”

My heart sank.

Everything suddenly made sense.

And at the same time, everything became heavier.

The End of Chapter Seventeen

Watch out for Part Eighteen as A Girl from Ehomba Mountain Who Wants to Achieve Something continues…