Lusaka, Zambia – Fifteen Years Ago

Japheth Mwansa was sixteen the year everything collapsed.

He was the first son in a house of three boys, and the only one still trying to keep the walls from crumbling. Shem, his younger brother by two years, had fists for hands and fury in his eyes. And Ham… Ham was the baby. Ten years old. Same father, different mothers. He didn’t really understand why everything felt so broken, he just wanted to know when his mum was coming back.

All Japheth could think about was food, but he knew there would be none at home that evening.

There hadn’t been any in the morning either. The kitchen was quiet, the pots empty. Their father, Noah, wasn’t going to lift a finger. And the woman who used to try, Ham’s mother, had disappeared again. Gone a week now, and Japheth could tell this time was different. This time, she wasn’t coming back.

If he could conjure the dead, Japheth would have brought his mother back instead. But she’d died long ago, trying to give birth to Shem, and with her went every trace of tenderness their father ever had. The man they now lived with was a ghost soaked in alcohol. People in the compound sometimes say that Noah was a responsible man once. A good man. That grief had turned him into what he was now.

Japheth wouldn’t know. He never met the good version.

After their mother’s death, Noah unraveled. The drinking began. Then smoking. Then the rage. At some point, the family held a meeting and decided the problem was loneliness. “If he remarries,” they said, “he will be whole again.”

He didn’t get whole. But he got a woman.

Two years later, he married Ham’s mother. She came with energy, effort, and good intentions. But even she couldn’t stay. The man was too far gone. And now, twelve years after his first wife’s death, both women were gone, one buried, the other vanished, and Japheth was left raising the wreckage of their mess.

Ham didn’t ask for much. As long as you gave him a football, he was okay. But now he was asking hard questions. Questions like: ‘Where’s my mum?’ ‘Why hasn’t she called?’ ‘When is she coming back?’ Japheth didn’t have answers.

That afternoon, he had just finished breaking up a fight between Shem and one of their classmates behind the school compound. Japheth had pulled Shem off the boy’s shirt, shoved him toward the fence, and ignored the cuss words flying behind him. Then he found Ham, barefoot, smiling, dusty, chasing a punctured ball behind the school latrines.

He’d dragged both of them home, his stomach tight with hunger, his heart even tighter with dread.

As they neared the compound gate, Ham perked up.

“Mutale!”

She was standing under a jacaranda tree, cradling her books like something fragile. Her uniform was old, her shoes nearly split at the seams. She had been Ham’s best friend for years, since before either of them knew what friendship even meant. Her family had nothing. And today, she was sent home from school.

“They couldn’t pay her fees,” Ham whispered to Japheth.

Japheth didn’t respond.

“I told her to come home with us,” Ham added. “Mummy should be back now. She can eat with us.”

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

“She might be,” Ham shrugged. “Mutale, let’s go!”

She looked uncertain, but she didn’t resist when Ham took her hand. Japheth sighed and opened the gate.

Their father was on the couch, slouched, shirt unbuttoned, eyes glassy. Not drunk, but not quite sober either. He didn’t answer when they greeted him.

The boys headed toward the back room. Ham pulled Mutale with him.

“Where’s Mummy?” he asked, searching the kitchen.

“She’s gone,” Shem muttered. “She’s not coming back.”

“Shem,” Japheth warned sharply.

“Gone where?” Ham asked, blinking at them both.

Japheth shot Shem a glare. Shem rolled his eyes, picked up his slippers, and walked toward the door.

“I’m out of here. There’s no food in this house anyway, he said.”

Mutale took a step back. “I think I should go too…”

“No, wait,” Ham said quickly. “Let me check the kitchen again. I’m sure there’s something.”

Japheth turned away and walked to the sitting room. Mutale followed quietly.

“Daddy,” Japheth began, trying to keep his voice even, “we need food. Maybe if you give me some money, I can make us something.”

Noah reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled note.

Japheth looked at it. “This won’t be enough to cook for us.”

“Who said anything about food?” Noah snapped. “I need Mosi and cigarettes. Go to Kwacha Shop. Get it quick.”

Japheth tightened his jaw. “I won’t.”

“Call me Shem,” Noah spat. “That one has sense. Not like you.”

“Well, your favorite son is gone,” Japheth replied, quiet but sharp. “He’s not around. Just like everyone else.”

Noah glared, then turned to Mutale. “You. Girl. Come here.”

She flinched.

“Take the money. Go to Kwacha Shop. Bring back my things.”

Mutale hesitated. Japheth stepped forward. “No.”

Noah stood up fast. “I will slap you. Move out of my way.”

Mutale, shaking, reached out and took the money.

She stepped out of the house, clutching the note like it burned her.

Moments later, Ham came out of the kitchen. “Where’s Mutale?”

Japheth’s throat tightened.

He pointed at Noah.

“Ask your father.”

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

Thirty minutes had passed.

Mutale hadn’t come back.

Ham was pacing the front of the house, kicking pebbles and muttering. “I’m going to look for her,” he said again.

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

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

Japheth didn’t respond. He walked away, jaw clenched, the guilt building in his chest like smoke in a locked room.

A few minutes later, Ham came to the bedroom where Japheth sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall.

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

Japheth said nothing.

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

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

“But please,” Ham insisted. “She’s my friend.”

“I’m trying to think,” Japheth sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Of something. A way to make money. To buy food for all of us. That’s what I’m trying to do. You’re stressing me, Ham.”

Ham stepped back, disappointed, and Japheth stood suddenly. Ham’s eyes lit up, hope returning.

But instead of heading for the door, Japheth turned toward the kitchen.

“I’ll see what I can cook for you,” he said.

Then…

A scream.

“I will kill someone today!”

It was Shem’s voice.

Japheth and Ham ran outside.

And there she was.

Mutale.

Her uniform was torn. Blood running down her legs. Her body was shaking. Her cries choking the air.

Shem held her by the arm like she was made of glass.

Ham rushed to her. “What happened? Mutale, what happened?”

She couldn’t speak. She was sobbing, her breath ragged.

Japheth stood frozen. Then he looked at Shem.

Shem’s face was hard, unreadable. “Ham, take her inside,” he said.

Ham looked confused. “But what happened to her?”

“Just take her,” Shem repeated. “Let her bathe.”

Ham helped Mutale, holding her gently, whispering her name over and over as they disappeared inside.

And then…

“Noah!” Japheth shouted.

Their father looked up lazily from the porch. “Where’s my drink?”

Japheth’s fists clenched.

Shem walked closer, eyes dark. “The Kasonde Brothers,” he muttered. “They’re the ones. They always hang around the corner near the shop. They were just finishing when I got there. I saw them take her in.”

“You saw?” Japheth’s voice was rising. “You saw them?”

“I waited outside for her to come out. Then I brought her home.”

Japheth turned, storming toward Noah.

“You shouldn’t have sent her!” he shouted. “You should never have sent that girl!”

Noah squinted. “Then you should’ve gone yourself.”

Shem shrugged. “The man’s right.”

Japheth spun to face him. “You’re saying this is my fault?”

Shem didn’t flinch. “I’m saying we all let it happen.”

And that was it.

Japheth snapped. He pulled back his fist, fury pulsing through him like fire.

But before the blow could land, Shem grabbed his arm.

“Don’t,” Shem warned. “He’s not worth it.”

Japheth froze.

His hand dropped.

His chest heaved.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

He turned and walked to the gate, past the peeling fence, past the dead flowerpot by the door.

“I’m going,” he said, without looking back. “And I’m not coming back.”

Shem watched him leave.

Then, without a word, he helped Noah to sit properly, brushed the dust off his own trousers, and turned away.

Japheth didn’t stop walking.