03/03/2026
I never thought that one day I would become the “Na Musonda” character in PK Chishala’s song.
I come from a humble background. We are three daughters, and I am the firstborn. I am the only one who is married; my two younger sisters have not been fortunate in marriage.
Both of them have children with married men who do not support their children. My father retired many years ago, and his retirement package was used to build our only house in George Compound, where my parents still live.
Now, his main occupation seems to be drinking and stealing money from my mother’s business.
My mother is a businesswoman at Lilanda Market, where she sells vegetables. She is the pillar of our family. She is Bana KBBK at UCZ and also a traditional Bana Chibusa, highly respected in the community. She has prepared and married off many young women in the compound. However, her biggest struggle has been trying to control my two sisters, who are fond of dating married men.
As for me, I was privileged to marry the man of my dreams. He is caring and very supportive. Together we have a four-year-old son. My mother loves him so much that whenever he complains about me, I find myself in serious trouble — with long lectures about life.
However, my husband is a workaholic. He is constantly in and out of town attending or facilitating workshops. He barely gives me attention.
I began admiring my friends whose husbands create time for them and post them on social media. Meanwhile, I felt like my husband married me simply to bear his children, look after the house, and cook for him.
Because of that loneliness, I started seeing a young and handsome man in his late twenties whom I met through an online taxi service. He was caring and gave me the attention my husband did not. He was intelligent and claimed to own a fleet of taxis.
My best friend became my ally, fully supporting my relationship with this young man — especially because she was also doing the same, claiming her husband was lazy.
When my mother found out about this relationship with the taxi driver, she rebuked me and vowed to inform my husband. I promised her I would end it, but it was very hard. The young man was just too nice to leave. He showed me the world and made me feel like a woman again.
My feelings toward my husband grew cold. He noticed and begged to know if there was a problem. I told him nothing was wrong. Physically, I was with him — but emotionally, I was with the taxi driver.
My husband involved the pastor, bashibukombe, and bana Chibusa to help resolve our marital problems. But I hardened my heart because the taxi driver had promised to marry me once I left my husband.
Eventually, I told my husband that I was pregnant. He celebrated, thinking it was his second child. Then I told him the truth — that the child was not his, but for someone I loved deeply.
He was confused and devastated. Yet he was man enough not to lay a finger on me. Instead, he packed my belongings and took me back to my parents’ house in George Compound.
When my two sisters saw me, they celebrated, saying we were now equal. My mother, however, cried the whole night because she knew we had lost a good man.
As for me, I was not worried. I was confident that my taxi driver would soon come and get me. The next day, I even mocked my sisters for laughing at me. I told them I was not like them, dating married men. I proudly declared that the man I truly loved would soon come for me.
Two days passed without hearing from him. I decided to look for him at the taxi rank.
There, I received the shock of my life.
I was told he had not been seen for over a week because the vehicle owner had repossessed the car for failing to remit money for over a month. I was confused.
“Isn’t he the owner of the vehicle?” I asked.
“Doesn’t he own several cars?”
The man replied, “No, madam. He works for someone.”
I then asked to be directed to his house.
When I arrived, I could not believe my eyes. He lived in a one-roomed house, with a toilet in the corner. I felt like I was dreaming. This was not the house he had taken me to a month ago.
I knocked.
A heavily pregnant young woman opened the door. I tried to calm myself — “This is not his house,” I told myself.
I asked for the taxi driver. She looked at me strangely and called him.
At that moment, my stomach began to run.
So he lives here? I asked myself.
Moments later, he came out while the pregnant woman stood beside him.
“Yes, ba customer, how can I help you?” he said.
“Ba customer?” I repeated. “We have been dating. You advised me to leave my husband because you promised me marriage. As I speak, I am carrying your child. And now you call me customer?”
The pregnant woman cut in angrily, “Who promised you marriage, madam?”
The taxi driver tried to calm her, saying he would handle the situation.
Then he laughed and said, “You don’t joke with people, ai? This young lady you see here is my wife.”
I became weak, almost collapsing.
“So you have been married all along?”
His response? “That does not matter.”
That is when reality hit me.
I was in deep trouble.
How would I return to my parents?
Where would I even begin to beg my husband to take me back — knowing very well he knew the child I was carrying was not his?
Ku mulu kwalepa, napanshi pakosa… ala nasebana. 😭
Note: This is pure fiction written for entertainment and educational purposes.
Tondolo the Comedian
Lottie Tondolo Siame
