Tianga always knew what Mama was cooking before he got home. The dry air and wispy breeze meant that smells travelled far. The clay pot on his head felt considerably lighter than when he had filled it up at the stream. His shirt was stuck to his torso in awkward places and the faded green colour looked a rich azure where his sweat had moistened it. Bingo, one of the few goats remaining,lay on a little grass patch beside the enormous oak tree. Tianga trod carefully through a few dry shrubs as Bingo bleated lazily to announce his arrival.
"Tianga!", Mama's voiced called out from somewhere behind the small brick house.
He lay the pot down next to a considerably smaller one his sister had brought home a few minutes earlier. He was the eldest and, accordingly, he had the biggest pot to carry.
"I have returned, Mama", he greeted in the native dialect as he rounded the building to join his mother.
He found her bent over some graying firewood, fanning frantically at the pot of fresh meat atop it. Her pockmarked wrapper was coming loose slowly and threatened to leave her body bare. Her breasts were already exposed. She payed no attention to the wrapper however, as she was transfixed on the food, as if stopping to redress herself for a second would give the food opportunity to escape. Tianga always thought she was most beautiful when she was cooking; her dark coal-hued skin with a reflective layer of sweat giving her the sheen of newly polished mahogany. Her brow furrowed over her lithe East African nose, shadowing cat-like eyes similar to those of the lions that ran wild in the savannah; focused and sincere. Her graceful lean legs bearing dust from the hard clay ground. Her motherly instinct shone through her expression whenever she was with her family or doing something for them.
"Papa said you should join him on the corn farm when you return", she instructed without facing him.
"He will be angry that you returned so late. What kept you?"
Now she looked up at him, concern burdening her brow.
Tianga stared at his feet meekly. He felt his cheeks burning up. Mama looked at him with a knowing smile.
He had stopped downhill to see Sasilka. She was the first child of the Maputu household, the closest family to Tianga's. Tales of Sasilka's beauty had spread far and wide, and at 17, she had already received suits from men older than her own father. There was just something about her that was captivating. Her radiant dark skin glowed in the sunshine, smoother than the bark on the native wooden flute. She had the long graceful limbs of the wild antelope and shockingly robust red lips. Her eyes looked deep into the hearts of men and caused a stirring deep within their loins. Her torso entailed of mouth-watering contours in the right places. She sported a buxom bosom and her thighs seemed fit to serve as pillows for the king. And then her straight dark hair cascaded around her almond face. And the innocent little gold chain on her left ankle was downright erotic. She was born during the festivities for the goddess of beauty and so rumours circulated about how she was the goddess's incarnate, sent from above as a blessing to whichever man would get to marry her.
"It is allowed" Mama said, breaking Tianga's daydream bubble.
"Now hurry. You know your father's anger well. We do not want to awaken it over something so trivial"
She didn't need to tell him twice. A quick look at the scar on his left arm reminded him that he never again wanted to be subject to the fury of Papa's cane.
Wordlessly, he spun and took off, his feet pounding dust into the air.
* ... to be continued ... *
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