MUTALE

Mutale had insisted on handling every detail of the surprise herself.

“This time, Shem, you’re not lifting a finger,” she said, eyes sparkling with the thrill of a plan. “I’m picking the location, and I’m paying for it.”

Shem chuckled. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to stress you financially or otherwise.”

Mutale waved him off. “Please. I have more than enough. Ham still sends me money every week, and honestly, what’s the point of money if you can’t spend it? This is a special day.”

Shem folded his arms, giving her a mock-serious look. “And by special, you mean extravagant?”

Mutale’s grin widened. “Have you met Malaika? She lives for extravagance. This is her birthday and her proposal, we’re going all out. I’ve booked an entire floor at one of the top hotels in Lusaka. We are hiring actual decorators this time. We are not breaking our backs hanging fairy lights until midnight.”

Shem shook his head, still smiling. “You’re really going all in.”

“You’re like a brother to me,” she said, softer now. “You deserve to have this done right.”

“It’s nice… having a sister like you,” he admitted.

Mutale smirked. “Well, even if I’m trying to leave your actual brother?”

That earned her a raised eyebrow from Shem. “So you’d walk away from all that luxury?”

“I’ve decided to follow Jesus,” she said simply. “No turning back. Not for wealth, not even for love. If Ham won’t turn his life around and accept Christ, I can’t stay with him. It’s hard, but I think God has a plan. I am learning to trust it.”

Shem sighed, a shadow crossing his expression. “That’s… a hard line.”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging. “But today’s not about me. Today is about Malaika’s big day, and how we’re making it unforgettable.”

Shem laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, Boss Lady.” He disappeared into his room to get ready, leaving Mutale to continue making plans in her list.

Several Hours Later

The hotel’s private ballroom glowed under soft golden lights, the polished floor reflecting the shimmer of the chandeliers. There was a small orchestra in the corner playing a gentle, romantic melody.

At the far end, the words “Will You Marry Me?” stood in giant letters, dressed in white roses and twinkling fairy lights.

Shem waited under the sign, adjusting his cufflinks. Somewhere off to the side, Mutale lingered in the shadows, her heart swelling at how perfectly it had all come together.

The doors opened. Kaweme stepped in, guiding Malaika by the hand.

The moment Malaika’s eyes landed on the sign, and on Shem, her hands flew to her mouth.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Kaweme, you should have told me! You know I hate surprises!” The tears came instantly, spilling down her cheeks as she half-laughed, half-sobbed. “And today? My birthday? This is… oh my God…”

Before Shem could even drop to one knee, she rushed forward, throwing her arms around him. “Yes, yes, yes, I’ll marry you!”

Shem laughed, still crouched awkwardly between kneeling and standing. “You haven’t even let me ask the question.”

“Ask or not, it’s yes,” she said through laughter.

“Well,” he smiled, sliding the ring onto her finger, “I guess she’s going to marry me.”

The room erupted in applause. Malaika clung to him, whispering, “Thank you for coming into my life. For bringing order, for bringing peace. I love you.”

Kaweme sighed happily. “This is so beautiful. Now I’m missing my husband.”

“You don’t have to miss him, he’s here,” came Japheth’s warm voice from behind her.

Kaweme whirled around with a squeal, flinging herself into his arms. He caught her easily, laughing.

Ham stepped forward, grinning at Shem. “Congratulations, brother.”

They embraced, the kind of hug that spoke of shared history and quiet pride.

Meanwhile, Mutale began edging toward the door, not wanting to linger in the spotlight, but Ham’s gaze caught her movement, and without even looking away from Shem, he reached out and caught her hand.

“Mutale,” he said quietly, “I’m here for you.”

She shook her head. “No, Ham. This is Shem and Malaika’s day. Let’s not make it about us.”

He released her hand, and the music swelled again. People were clapping, dancing, the orchestra now playing something brighter.

Later, when the crowd was distracted, Mutale made a second attempt to slip away. This time, Ham appeared beside her like a shadow.

“I’ll help you disappear,” he murmured with a crooked smile. “Promise I won’t overstep.”

She gave him a suspicious glance, but didn’t pull away. He took her hand gently, and together they stepped out into the cool night air of the garden, leaving the warmth and music behind.

HAM/MUTALE

They slipped quietly through the hotel’s brightly lit hallway, the sound of music and laughter fading behind them. Ham’s hand closed gently but firmly around Mutale’s wrist.

“Babe,” he murmured, leaning closer, “I could book us a room. Just the two of us. We can talk in private.”

Mutale shot him a sharp look. “Not a chance, Ham. I’m not stepping into a room alone with you.”

“I’m your husband,” Ham said, half incredulous.

“Ham!” she replied, pulling her hand free. “Please, leave me alone.”

She strode away, her heels clicking against the polished floor, pushing through the doors into the cool night air of the garden. Ham followed, lengthening his stride to keep up.

“You know,” he panted slightly, “you could try for athletics. I’m a professional sportsman and I’m still losing my breath trying to catch you.”

Mutale didn’t slow. “When I’m angry, I walk fast.”

“And what are you angry about?” Ham asked. “If anything, I should be the one angry, you abandoned me at the party. The party that was for you.”

She stopped abruptly and turned on him. “For me? Ham, do you even hear yourself? You got drunk at that party, my party, and surrounded yourself with girls. Your ex-girlfriend, who might as well still be your current girlfriend, was right there too. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”

Ham’s voice softened. “I’m sorry. David is an idiot. He planned that whole party to keep us apart. I see it now. And if we stay apart, we’re letting him win.”

“I don’t care about your manager,” Mutale shot back. “Yes, he has his agendas, but that night opened my eyes. You and I are oil and water, Ham. We don’t mix. I will not be unequally yoked with an unbeliever.”

“Are you judging me?” Ham asked, his tone darkening. “You’re my wife already. I’m not signing divorce papers. Ever. If you won’t be with me, fine, but I’ll never release you to marry someone else. You’re mine, Mutale. Forever.”

She sighed, her voice trembling. “Do you think I don’t love you? I’ve been by your side for years, through every girlfriend you’ve had from high school to university. I can endure a lot, Ham, but not public disrespect, not as your wife.”

“I won’t disrespect you again,” Ham promised. “I’m changing. Japheth has been talking to me.”

Mutale’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, so now I should believe you? You, who swore you’d hate Japheth forever?”

“I’m different now,” Ham said. “I’m reading the Bible. I’m trying to learn about Jesus, because of you.”

“Don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself.”

“Does the reason matter?” Ham’s voice cracked. “You’ve motivated me to find out about God. And it’s not just Japheth I reconciled with, I agreed to see my mother too. I want you to come with me. I can’t face her alone. I can’t face life alone. I need you.”

Mutale cupped his face in her hands, her touch both tender and guarded. “Ham… don’t charm me with redemption. It won’t work.”

“What will work, then?” Ham asked softly, moving closer to her. “Because I’m not just changing for you. I want what my brothers have. Joy and Peace. Money isn’t everything.”

She gave a sad smile. “Oh, so you finally know that?”

“I want you back,” Ham said. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

Mutale hesitated, then said quietly, “I think I’m pregnant.”

Ham blinked. “What?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s just… symptoms. I haven’t confirmed it.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Even the universe agrees with us. Every time I touch you, you get pregnant. We should just prepare for a whole football team.”

“Ham,” she tried to suppress a laugh, “don’t make me laugh. This isn’t funny.”

“I’m serious. Let’s confirm the pregnancy, let’s start afresh. Move to Spain with me. Forget London. Real Madrid wants me. Big paycheck, clean slate. Just me and you in a new country.”

“Real Madrid?” she asked, despite herself.

“They want me,” Ham said. “And I want you with me. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to play till right now. Please Mutale, let’s do it all over again.”

Mutale was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”

His eyes lit. “Okay? You’re coming with me?”

“I’m coming with you to see your mother,” she clarified. “Let’s start there. Then… we’ll see about the rest.”

Ham’s voice dipped to a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

“No.”

His head dropped in defeat, until she added, “But… you can hug me. I miss you too.”

A slow, disbelieving smile broke across his face as he pulled her into his arms, holding her like he never wanted to let go.

—————————————————————————————————————————-

The Next Day

Mutale’s car turned off the busy Lusaka road onto a quiet, tree-lined street.

Ham barely glanced up from where his hand rested over his mouth until Mutale slowed in front of a double-story cream villa.

She put the car in park and stared. “Ham… are we sure this is it?”

Ham unfolded the note on his lap. The numbers matched.

“This is the address she sent.”

“This doesn’t look like a woman struggling for her next meal,” Mutale said softly.

Ham didn’t answer. His jaw worked like he was chewing on something bitter.

A uniformed guard stepped out, smiled politely, and opened the black wrought-iron gate as though he’d been expecting them. Inside, the driveway curved toward a wide porch. Standing there, framed by polished wooden doors, was a tall woman in a bold African-print dress and gold earrings.

The moment she saw him, her eyes went wide. “Ham…” she whispered, and then she was coming down the steps, arms opening.

Ham didn’t move, didn’t smile. Her perfume enveloped him as she wrapped him in a warm and desperate hug. He stood rigid in her arms.

“This is my wife, Mutale,” he said, his voice clipped.

His mother turned to Mutale, her smile bright but wobbly. “Welcome, my daughter. You are most welcome.” She stepped aside and ushered them into a living room with gleaming tile floors and heavy, carved furniture.

On a cream rug in front of the TV, two boys sat playing a football video game. Their laughter stopped when they noticed the visitors.

Mutale leaned closer to Ham. “They look like you.”

Ham’s eyes narrowed. “Are these your children?”

“Yes,” his mother said, pride flickering in her tone. “Your stepbrothers. They were the ones who made me find you. In school, everyone kept telling them they looked like a famous footballer. They told me, I saw your picture, and… I knew.” She looked down for a moment. “And the guilt hasn’t let me sleep since.”

Ham’s mouth was a thin, hard line. “You abandoned me, and now you show up when you think it’s convenient.”

Her eyes shone. “I was young, Ham. They gave me to your father. I didn’t love him. He—” her voice faltered— “he used me. I ran away because I couldn’t do it anymore. I had nothing, and suddenly I was responsible for three boys. I didn’t have food for myself, let alone for you.”

“You could’ve come back when you had money,” Ham said, voice low but sharp.

“I couldn’t. My husband… I didn’t want to make him angry. I had to protect the little ones, they are grown now and in university, but these boys were not even born then. Those early days were a bit tough. Yes, Ham. You also have two other half-sisters. Anyway, all of these don’t matter again. Now, I have my own money, and that is why I came for you,” she responded, tearing up now.

He gave a small, humourless laugh. “Newsflash: I don’t need you.”

Her tears spilled over. “I know. But I need you. I’m sorry, Ham. I’m sorry for every night you wondered why I didn’t want you.”

The boys’ game music chirped in the background, absurdly cheerful. Mutale sat still, her hands clasped, letting them speak.

Ham stared at his mother for a long moment before looking away. “I forgive you.”

Her sob caught in her throat. She reached for his hand, and he didn’t pull away completely. It wasn’t an embrace of joy, more like a cautious truce, but it was something.

Ham called the boys over, signed the jerseys they brought shyly, and said, “If you ever need anything, call me.” He pressed his card into their small hands before saying goodbye to his mother and walking out.

For a while, the only sound was the hum of the road.

Then Ham’s voice broke. “It’s over. I’m done holding on to all that. I’m letting her go.”

Mutale glanced sideways at him, the weight of his words settling between them. “I’m proud of you, Ham.”

He turned to her, eyes wet. “Mutale… I love you. Please don’t leave me.”

“You know I don’t want to,” she said softly. “I just feel like we’re… different.”

“I’m different. You’re different. What if we meet in the middle and build something new? Something called us.”

Before she could answer, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “Your manager. Why is David calling me?”

Ham snorted. “Thinking of sacking him.”

Her head whipped toward him. “Sacking him? Ham, the man has your best interests at heart.”

“Until he decides you’re not the best for me. Then he’s not the best for me either.”

She put the call on the speaker.

“Mutale, it’s David. I’m sorry,” came the voice, slightly breathless. “I interfered between you and Ham. I thought I was doing what was best for his career. I wanted him to win. Yes, I tried to push Madrid because it gave me leverage with Chelsea. But… I was wrong about you. If you’re the one he wants, then I should have stayed out of it.”

Ham’s lips twisted, interrupting the call to shock David. “And you think I’m picking up your calls after that?”

“You probably shouldn’t,” David admitted, adjusting well to hearing Ham’s voice unplanned. “I deserve whatever’s coming. I just… needed to apologize. I’ll take some time off, maybe travel.”

“Don’t you dare leave,” Ham said flatly, panicking. He was only making mouth, he wasn’t ready to be without David too.

There was a pause. “You’re in Zambia?”

Ham smirked faintly. “Where else would I be? Went to look for my wife. I’ll forgive you, if she comes back to me.”

David chuckled, sounding relieved. “Mutale, please go back to Ham.”

Mutale rolled her eyes. “He’s just using you to get me. That’s not going to work.”

“Actually,” Ham cut in, “I’ve made my decision.”

David’s voice sharpened. “And?”

“I’m going to Madrid. Starting a new life with Mutale, if she’ll have me.”

There was a beat of silence, then David said, “Then I guess I’m going to Madrid too.”

“Good. We’re back,” Ham said.

When the call ended, Mutale looked at him and smiled. “It’s you, forgiving everyone.”

“It means nothing if you don’t forgive me.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I forgive you.”

Ham’s grin flashed. “Then let’s go confirm this pregnancy.”

Her smile faded. “That’s the thing, I don’t want to know for sure. If I confirm it, I’ll feel like I have to come back to you. I want to come back because we’ve figured ourselves out, not just because of a baby.”

Ham’s smile dimmed. The road stretched ahead, golden in the afternoon light. He didn’t press her, just reached over, resting his hand lightly on hers as the car rolled on.

—————————————————————————————————————————-

HAM  – Three Days Later

Ever since Mutale had dropped him at the penthouse that afternoon, after they’d gone to see his mother and had that long conversation with David, Ham had decided to give her the space she asked for.

And he kept his word.

He stayed alone. No training sessions, no media interviews, no football-related chatter. Just him, the steady hum of the fridge, and the city skyline glowing in the distance. The silence was so thick, he could hear the elevator cables moving when someone in the building went up or down.

He read. A lot.

He had finished the Gospel of Matthew, and now he was in Mark. Mark felt faster, less like a history book and more like a reel of short, urgent stories. Jesus was constantly moving, constantly touching lives, constantly speaking in parables that slipped under your skin: the lost sheep, the lost coin, the Good Samaritan. Ham found himself reading them twice, sometimes three times, almost suspicious of how something so simple could feel so piercing.

That evening, after another aimless dinner alone, he pushed his laptop open. He stared at the blinking cursor in the AI box. His fingers hovered for a moment before he typed:

“Tell me about Jesus. How do I let Him into my heart? My wife says I shouldn’t accept Jesus because of her. That I should accept Him for me. What does that mean?”

AI’s reply:

“Jesus is more than a set of teachings or a religious symbol, He is the Son of God who came to reconcile humanity to God through His death and resurrection. Letting Him into your heart means acknowledging that you cannot save yourself, believing in Him as your Savior, and choosing to follow Him in your daily life.

When your wife says you shouldn’t accept Him because of her, she means faith should be personal. If it’s only for her sake, it may fade when challenges come. Accepting Jesus ‘for you’ means surrendering your life to Him because you recognize your own need for His forgiveness, love, and guidance, whether or not it changes your marriage immediately.

It’s an invitation to build a relationship with God for who He is, not for what you think it might get you.”

Ham sat back in his chair, the words lingering in the air. It was simple. Too simple, maybe. But it felt… different from the interviews, the debates, and the religious arguments he’d seen before. This wasn’t about rules, it was about building a relationship.

He closed his eyes and prayed.

“Teach me… how to be Yours. Show me what it means to live for You. I don’t want to fake it. I want it to be real.”

When he opened his eyes, the apartment felt heavier somehow. Quiet, but not empty. He didn’t even realise it was Saturday night until his phone buzzed.

Shem had sent a dinner invite.

He almost said no, until Shem casually mentioned Mutale would be there. And so he went.

Dinner was… beautiful.

The long table was alive with voices. Japheth leaned back in his chair, telling a story that had Kaweme laughing so hard she covered her face with both hands. Shem and Malaika were teasing each other in that way only couples in love could get away with. Mutale sat between Kaweme and himself.

They didn’t touch. They didn’t even talk much. But every now and then, her eyes met his, and for those moments, Ham let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could heal.

That night, back home, Ham knelt beside his bed.

“Jesus, I’m sure You gave me Mutale as a gift since we were just children. Please… help her see we need each other. Help me keep her.”

And then, in the quiet, he heard a whisper.

“I need you.”

Ham’s head snapped up. “Need me? Who needs me?” He gave a nervous laugh. “I’m hearing voices now? I need to sleep.”

But he couldn’t.

He remembered Japheth telling him to read the Gospel of John. He opened to chapter one: 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 

By the time he reached chapter three, he was whispering: “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son…” 

He was still reading when his eyes finally closed.

The next morning, Japheth’s call jolted him awake.

“What are you doing today?” Japheth’s voice was already awake and bright.

“Nothing much. Flying back on Tuesday. Just… taking it easy. Reading the Bible.”

“That is awesome Ham. Reading the Bible is the way to know God, another way is fellowshipping with believers. Today is Sunday, thanksgiving service. Come to church with us.”

Ham rubbed his face. “Japheth, I’m… different. I won’t fit in”

“You’re not different. You’re our brother, and if you’re looking for Christ, why not be in a place where He’s the centre of the conversation?”

Ham hesitated, glancing at the open Bible on his nightstand. “Alright… I’ll be there.”

—————————————————————————————————————————-

The church was alive with color and music, a swell of voices rising with the choir. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, catching flecks of dust in the air like tiny sparks. Many people recognised him and didn’t hesitate to greet or take selfies, but as soon as the service started properly, most people focused.

Ham spotted Mutale as soon as he walked in. She was dressed in soft pastels, her hair swept neatly back, the kind of effortless elegance that made his chest ache. She didn’t sit with him, she was across the hall beside Kaweme, her Bible open on her lap. Shem and Malaika were farther up front.

Ham tried to focus, but his mind kept drifting, until the preacher stepped up to the pulpit.

“Today, I’ll be teaching on what I’ve titled…,” he announced, “Shut the Door.”

He spoke about shutting the door to distractions, about closing off the noise that pulls your heart away from God. He told the story of the prodigal son, not like a fable, but like something happening right now, in the pews, in the streets outside. His voice cracked when he reached the part where the father ran to meet his boy, arms open wide.

Ham felt it, like something deep inside him had been touched without warning. His throat closed. Tears blurred his vision. He didn’t care who saw.

“If you’re here,” the preacher said gently, “and you want to start a relationship with Jesus, come forward. Don’t wait. Don’t bargain. Just come.”

Ham didn’t glance at Mutale. He didn’t check if anyone was watching. He stood, walked to the front, and knelt at the altar. Others joined him. The pastor led them in prayer:

“Lord Jesus, I surrender my life to You.

Life has more meaning with You in it.

Please lead my life. Save me from sin.

I commit myself to live in Your ways.

Amen.”

The church erupted, clapping, singing, voices raised in joy.

After the service, Ham stepped out to leave his details for discipleship. That’s when he caught sight of Mutale slipping out towards the restrooms. Without thinking, he waited.

When she emerged, she was smiling, bright, almost shy.

“Ham… I’m so happy, I saw you at the altar call,” she said. “but I need to ask… I hope you’re not doing this just to win me back.”

He shook his head, his voice steady. “No. I’m doing this for me. For my own life. For my soul.”

Her eyes softened, and something unspoken passed between them.

“You okay?” he asked. “I saw you leave the building too quickly after the service.”

“Yeah, I felt some pain earlier. Thought—” She hesitated, then exhaled. “I’m on my period. I’m not pregnant.”

“Oh.” He tried to mask it, but disappointment flickered across his face.

She tilted her head, studying him. “Why are you sad? Did you want me to be pregnant?”

“If you were pregnant,” he admitted quietly, “there’d be no question. You’d be with me. You’d be my wife.”

Mutale’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Ham… I’m not pregnant but I still want to be your wife. I don’t want to lose you either. I have been praying for you, waiting for you to surrender to Jesus.”

He blinked, almost afraid to believe her. “You prayed for me?”

“Every day,” she said, her eyes glistening. “That my husband would give his life to Christ. Because when you do… our life belongs to Him too. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Ham’s laugh came out shaky, like he was trying to hold back too many emotions at once. “So… you’re coming with me to Spain?”

She smiled, the kind of smile that carried both relief and promise. “Yes. To Spain.”

Ham didn’t care who watched, he carried Mutale and spinned her, both of them laughing.

They were still laughing softly when Japheth, Shem, Kaweme, and Malaika began walking towards them.

Mutale glanced around at the small gathering, her voice thick with emotion. “What a redemption,” she whispered. “When the damaged sons of Noah gave their lives to Christ… it made their lives beautiful.”

Ham’s hand closed over hers, and together as though rehearsed, they breathed the same words, almost under their breath:

“Thank You, Jesus.”

Author’s Note

When I began writing Ham, I instantly knew it would be the hardest to write, because it wasn’t just his story, it was the conclusion of the trilogy, a full circle of DAMAGE TO REPAIR.

Ham’s journey is loud in its setting, the bright lights of stadiums, the hushed tension of strained love, but quiet in its transformation. It’s the story of a man who seemed to have everything except the one thing that mattered most: a surrendered heart.

I’ve always believed that salvation stories don’t have to be told solemnly. They can be set in busy cities, across dining tables, in the tension between two people who love each other but can’t yet walk in the same direction.

Ham’s redemption wasn’t instant. It wasn’t because of romance. It was because, in the stillness, he finally heard Jesus calling his name.

And that’s my prayer for you too, that wherever you are in your own story, you will hear God’s call, and you will answer.

This closes the Damaged Sons of Noah trilogy. From Japheth’s hard-won forgiveness, to Shem’s deepening prayer life, to Ham’s life-changing surrender,  I’ve watched God take three fractured lives and weave them into a beautiful testimony. I’m grateful to have been allowed to tell it.

If these books have blessed you, encouraged you, or stirred something in you, I invite you to share them with others. Support this work by telling someone about it, gifting a copy, or leaving a review. Every share, every recommendation, helps keep these stories alive and helps us keep telling them.

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Thank you for walking this journey with me. Thank you for loving these characters as if they were real. And thank You, Jesus, for making all things new.

With Jesus’s Love In Every Line,

Bolanle O-Jenrola.