Lusaka, Zambia – Sixteen Years Ago

The thing Ham remembered most was her smell.

His mum always smelled like coconut oil and fried plantain, warm and sweet. Even now, a week after she left, the smell still lingered in the corners of the kitchen, like maybe she was hiding behind the cupboard or just outside the bath tub. Maybe she would come in if he waited long enough.

He was ten years old. Too old to cry at night, but sometimes he still did, not loud, just little leaks from his eyes as his back touched the wall and he stared at the empty space where her handbag used to hang.

Nobody said where she went. Nobody said why.

He kept asking.

“Where’s Mummy?”

“Why hasn’t she called?”

“When is she coming back?”

Nobody answered. And he wondered why this was the case.

Japheth would just rub the back of his neck and look at the floor like it hurt to say anything. Shem always made a face like the questions were stupid. Their father… he didn’t really speak at all. He just sat, slouched on the couch, sometimes humming tunelessly, sometimes yelling at nothing. He hadn’t worked in months. He didn’t move unless it was to slap the radio or scream at footballers on the TV.

Ham tried not to be annoying. He would kick his football against the side of the house for hours without making too much noise. But today, he had already punctured it on a nail behind the school latrines. That was where he was when Japheth came to get him from school. He took the deflated ball home anyway. He kept it tucked under his arm like it could still be useful. That made him feel sadder than it should have.

Still, something good happened.

“Mutale!” he shouted, spotting her under the jacaranda tree.

She looked up like she wasn’t sure he was real. She always looked like that now, nervous and quiet, since they sent her home. Her school fees hadn’t been paid again. Her uniform was too short and her shoes flapped when she walked, but Ham didn’t care. He liked her anyway, because she was always ready to listen to him and hold his bag while he played ball.

He ran to her and took her hand.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Come home with us. Mummy might be back.”

Then he told Japheth. 

“She’s not back,” Japheth said quietly.

“She might be,” Ham shrugged, urging Mutale to come with them.

Japheth’s mouth moved like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He just opened the gate.

Their house didn’t feel like a house anymore. It smelled like sweat and beer. Their sitting room was dark even during the day. His father didn’t greet them. Japheth just looked tired. Always tired.

Ham dragged Mutale with him.

Then hee peeked into the kitchen. Nothing.

No pots on the stove. No slippers by the door.

No voice calling him “my baby.”

His chest went tight.

“Where’s Mummy?” he asked, turning.

“She’s gone,” Shem said flatly.

“Shem,” Japheth snapped.

“Gone where?” Ham asked. Not angry. Just confused.

Nobody answered.

A few minutes later, Shem left. Mutale whispered that she wanted to go too. She started backing toward the door.

“No, wait,” Ham begged. “I’ll check the kitchen again. Maybe something’s there.”

He went back to the kitchen and there wasn’t anything to eat. When he came out, Mutale was gone.

“Where’s Mutale?” he asked.

Japheth didn’t answer right away. Then he pointed at their father.

“Ask your father.”

Ham stared at Noah, who was humming to himself on the porch. One slipper on. Mouth stained with nshima and nothing in his hands but an empty bottle.

The pit ofin Ham’s stomach twisted.

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

Thirty minutes passed.

Mutale didn’t come back.

Ham paced in circles in front of the house, kicking little stones into the weeds. Pretending they were footballs. Whispering player names under his breath. Mutale would laugh when he did that.

“I’m going to look for her,” he muttered for the fifth time.

“No, you’re not,” Japheth said from the doorway. “Sit down. You’re a small boy.”

Ham turned on him. “If I’m small, then Mutale is even smaller. And she’s alone.”

He saw Japheth wince at that, but his brother didn’t say anything, he just walked away.

Ham followed him into the bedroom. He stood there quietly, watching Japheth stare at nothing.

“I only came in here because you’re here,” Ham whispered. “Daddy is outside. I don’t want to be near him.”

Still nothing.

“Please go and look for her,” Ham said. “It’s been thirty minutes.”

“She’ll be back soon,” Japheth replied, eyes closed. “Maybe there’s a queue at Kwacha Shop.”

Ham took a step forward. “But please. She’s my friend.”

“I’m trying to think!” Japheth suddenly snapped. “A way to make money. To buy food. That’s what I’m trying to do. You’re stressing me, Ham.”

Ham stepped back slowly, heart thudding.

Then Japheth stood up.

Ham’s eyes lit up. “You’re going to find her?”

“No,” Japheth said. “I’ll see what I can cook for you.”

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

Then the scream came.

It sliced through the walls.

“I WILL KILL SOMEONE TODAY!”

Shem’s voice.

Ham ran outside, then stopped.

Mutale.

She had blood down her legs, her uniform was ripped and her body was shaking like paper in the wind.

Shem held her like she might shatter.

Ham rushed to her, with his breath frozen. “What happened? Mutale, what happened?”

She couldn’t speak. Her mouth just opened and closed like a broken hinge.

“Ham, take her inside,” Shem said.

“But what—”

“Just take her.”

He did. Slowly. Carefully. Whispering her name. She didn’t stop crying.

He helped her to the bathroom, gave her a towel, then stood outside the door and waited. He didn’t know what else to do. He clutched his flat football tight against his chest like it could protect her. Like it meant something. Like anything could still make sense.

When he came back into the hallway, the yelling had started.

Japheth is screaming.

Shem is answering with equal fervor.

Then silence.

Then footsteps.

Japheth started walking away. Past the dead flowerpot. Past the gate.

Ham watched from the doorway.

“I’m going,” Japheth said. “And I’m not coming back.”

Ham didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

“But you’re my team,” he whispered, barely louder than breath, his heart breaking. “You’re all I’ve got left.”

He stood there, staring at the place where his brother had been, wondering why everyone he loved kept disappearing.

The hunger in Ham’s belly was gone now, not because he had eaten, but because something else had taken its place, a sick, twisting ache, deep in the pit of his stomach, like the world inside him had cracked and started to leak.

His football lay forgotten in the corner, half-deflated, dirt smudged across the stitches. He didn’t even look at it as he stepped toward the bathroom door.

It creaked open.

Mutale stood there, eyes low, his towel wrapped around her small frame. Her legs were bare, her knees knocked together, her lip swollen from where she had bitten it too hard. She didn’t look up.

“Mutale?” he said softly.

She flinched at the sound of her name.

“What happened?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her eyes went to the floor, then to his face, then back again. Her fingers clutched the towel tighter.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, voice thin and trembling. “Your dad sent me to buy something… But when I got near the market, those men, those uncles, grabbed me. They took me to a corner. I told them to let me go. I did. But… they didn’t listen. They just…” Her voice cracked. “They fell on me, one by one.”

Ham’s hands curled into fists without him noticing. He couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Mutale,” he said gently. “You don’t have to say more.”

Mutale nodded, quick and small, like a bird trying not to be seen. She started crying again, no sound, just tears dripping one after another, soaking the top of his towel.

Ham stepped closer. “Where… where did they hurt you?”

She hesitated, then pointed downward, toward her thighs, her hips, the space between.

He looked at her face. That was all he looked at. His voice came out dry. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffled.

“I’m never leaving you again, okay?” Ham said, the words pouring out before he could think. “From now on, it’s me and you. I’ll protect you. I’ll fight the big guys. Anyone touches you, I’ll fight them.”

Mutale’s eyes lifted slowly to meet his.

“Promise?” she asked.

“Promise,” he said.

“Just the two of us now, no one else is worth trusting.”

She nodded. Not a big nod, just enough to mean it.

Ham didn’t reach for her. He didn’t move, he just stood there, as still as he could, and watched her cry in his towel, wishing he could be a grown-up, or had a knife, and that the world was small enough to pierce through.