Are you marrying for love or money?

Pages: 274
ISBN: Nil
THE number of women marrying for the love of money is more than that of those who do it for genuine purposes, a novelist says in his latest book.
“For some, it’s (for) marriage,” said Kawengo Samachai of Harare, “for most it’s money, but for others it’s just for sex”.
He said young men starting income generating projects should not rush into marriage when they become rich.
The chances of them reaping handsome profits from the fruits of their labour will multiply when they gain confidence in running their enterprises.
Their chances of becoming the most eligible bachelors will also soar and girls will use all sorts of tricks which are in the book to win their love.
The last thing that they should do is to marry the first woman who tells them that she loves them before they have known whether she has honourable intentions.
The artist gives the example of Rodrick Matapi who had been living with his parents in the Borrowdale suburb in Harare who fell foul of a love cheat.
Rodrick was single when he inherited a thriving business empire from his parents who had died in a traffic accident.
The young man had not been known to have a steady girlfriend. His new status had girls swooning at his feet in a bid to trap his love.
Rodrick wooed one of the girls – Josephine – assiduously and won her outright. The wedding of the two them turned the whole neighbourhood upside down.
The early days were quite enchanting for the pair who could no longer do without each other. Most of the time, they had to be alone – just the two of them.
Josephine would sit on the knee of her husband and whisper into his ear, say: “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”
Half closing his eyes, Rodrick would open his mouth willingly.
Josephine would give him a long, tender kiss which sent shivers down his back. Rodrick Matapi had married Josephine on the spur of the moment before he had known why she had chosen to marry him.
Miriam Mugoni told police who were making inquiries into the mysterious death of her friend why she had married the rich young man.
“Every woman has a price, you know,” she said.
“For some, it’s marriage, for most, it’s money, but for others it’s just for sex. For Josephine, it couldn’t have been for the first two.”
Kawengo Samachai reads like Bissett Chitsike in that he takes his time to go into the heart of the matter. He goes too far back in the story.
Artists like Aaron Chiundura Moyo and Oliver P Nyika would have started off straightaway with police making inquiries into the death of Josephine.
However, when he gets into his stride, Kawengo Samachai uses his rich vocabulary of the Queen’s language to mesmerise the reader.
The artist doesn’t present characters that are forceful, but he creates plausible sceneries with characters blending in very well.
His strong point is in giving detailed descriptions of scenes, which are as diverse as heaven and earth. He is at home in any type of environment.
The reader wanting to savour the delights of sleazy life in a shebeen won’t be disappointed. The people who hog the limelight in the corridors of power will delight in Samachai.
The reader wanting to get lost in the charm of exotic life will find Promises on the Wind, the book to read.
The poor woman who has never known the meaning of happiness all her life will meet her boorish husband ready to scare the wits out of her.
That makes Kawengo Samachai a writer with a difference in more ways than one. He earns that honour from his diligent work.
Like all artists writing their first full novel, he can’t resist the temptation to write the story of his own life. The author of the Job that Never Was and other stories gives himself away in the incident which took place at a mine in the Midlands.
“The roof of the tunnel that gang had been working in had collapsed . . . and buried them. That was the grave of his father and seven others.
“It is painful enough to lose a father, but it is more painful not to know where his remains are.
“Before mother had grieved, she was called to the office of the mine. The compound officers told her, with grim faces, to leave the house in two days.
“She has been compensated, but the amount is an insult, a pathetic token of appreciation for her husband’s toil.”
The widow, in her reduced circumstances, sought solace in her second husband. He turned out to be a compulsive gambler and chronic alcoholic into the bargain.
The artist points out to the need for a sociological study into how miners live in independent Zimbabwe. The probe should reveal how dependants are treated when the breadwinner dies.
The account of what happened at this mine has a ring of truth, which is all too familiar with reports that have been coming from other mining concerns in Zimbabwe.
The owners should put in place measures which stop panners from losing their lives in abandoned mines when they try to eke out a living for their families.
The miner’s wife might have had her own woes, but she lived with a clear conscience. Rodrick Matapi had a good reason for wanting to be in her position.
His wife, Josephine, died under a cloud. Rodrick raised eyebrows when he married Edith in haste. He should have spent a year in mourning.
His wife came to him in his dreams, telling him to revenge her death. He was afraid to tell Edith what was what is happening to him.
Police spent a year trying to unravel the mystery surrounding the death of Josephine. Their probe was hampered by the fact that Rodrick Matapi was a rich man.
Potential witnesses were afraid to come forward and tell police what they knew about what had been going on in a seedy house in the Avenues.
Miriam Mugoni was alarmed when the bouncer at the bawdy house died in the way which Josephine had died. That brothel had been her love nest.
Miriam told Detective Superintendent Devlin Muroyi about the double life which Josephine had been leading before she died.
That secret led the artist to warn young people starting income generating projects not to marry at the spur of the moment when they become rich.
“Look, I don’t want to rush you, Miriam,” said the detective.
“I think we should get the interview moving.”
“Josephine Matapi and Peter Rondai were deeply in love,” she said.
“I thought you should know that. It may help you to find the person who killed her. Josephine and I knew each other for a long time. We were friends before she married Rod.
“We both worked in the same ministry. She was private secretary to the permanent secretary and I was private secretary to the under secretary.
“Josephine met Rod and they were married eight months later. Rod was rumoured to have a lot of money which he was unable to count.
“They met at some sort of party or charity benefit fete or something like that. The permanent secretary had asked Josephine to go with him.”
A moment of silence swept through the room. The bell of the ice-cream vendor filled the air. And the clock in the spire of the Cathedral pealed at the stroke of the hour.
“Where were we by the way?” asked Miriam.
“I’ve many things on my mind. I want to help you if I can.”
“You were on the part about Josephine being ecstatic for having landed a very big one,” he said.
“Yes, yes,” said Miriam.
“She was floating on cloud nine. Rod loved her very much. His eyes lit up every time when he looked at her.
“I don’t know whether Josephine loved him or not. They had two children and were one happy family. That much I know.
“Then Peter entered into Josephine’s life. He had been moved to our ministry in a reshuffle. He was the worst thing to have happened to Josephine’s life.
“If I’d been uncertain about whether she loved Rod, then I was certain she loved Peter,” said Miriam.
“He was head over heels.”
“But why, Miriam?” asked Detective Superintendent Devlin Muroyi.
“Why do you think Josephine did this when she had married a rich man?”
“Every woman has a price, you know,” said Miriam.
“For some it’s marriage, for most it’s money but for others it’s just for sex. For Josephine it couldn’t have been for the first two.
“She said lovemaking with Peter was something out of this world. She met him twice a week in a bawdy house in the Avenues.”
“Why have you decided to tell me all this?” asked the detective.
“I want to know as a formality. You don’t have to tell me if you feel apprehensive about it.”
“I didn’t want Josephine’s death to sit on my conscience,” said Miriam.
“I reached the conclusion that Josephine’s death was linked to the death of David Asani. (He was the bouncer at this bawdy house.)”
“Who do you think murdered the two of them?” asks the detective.
“You should have somebody that you suspect.”
“I wouldn’t know the answer to your question,” said Miriam.
“I know that Rod and Peter’s wife came to know about the affair.”
Police called in Peter Rondai to their office and asked him to give them his side of the story. He confesses how much he and Josephine Matapi loved each other.
“To love Josephine was to live,” he said.
“I loved Josephine. I loved her and wanted her more than the way I’ve loved any other woman. I still do.
“She was my day, she was my night, she was my noon and she was my stars. She was the ninth wonder of my world. She was the embodiment of everything that makes a woman.
“I loved her plain and simple. Even in death my love for her won’t diminish. I’ll always be faithful to her memory. Can you understand all this?” asked Peter, shaking his head.
Peter and his wife, Merjury, wanted people to believe that Rodrick Matapi killed Josephine in a fit of jealousy. But there was a lot more to it than met the eye.
That is how Kawengo Samachai arrests the interest of the reader in his book Promises on the Wind.
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