The pillar of love

The Pillar of love Chapter 6

Mubaraka’s office became a hiding place for me, but when it was time to take my medication, Irere would come to check on me and help me take it. I realized Mubaraka hadn’t changed—he was still doing his job diligently and efficiently. He even helped me with my tasks, always on time. He monitored the construction of houses we were building in different places and actively sought new contracts. I truly appreciated him. When the work pressure eased, I told him, “You deserve a drink,” and he smiled, replying, “I’ve missed drinking with you too.” I scheduled that evening and told him I’d treat him and cover anything he wanted. He said it wouldn’t be possible because I’d be with my wife. I told him Irere would understand if I asked her to give us some time.

We returned to the office and found Irere asleep from waiting too long. Mubaraka gently woke her, and we took her home. Afterward, Mubaraka and I headed to the hotel where we used to enjoy traditional sorghum beer. I had deeply missed it, and so had he. He told me the last time he had been there was the night before my wedding, when we were together for my bachelor send-off. But two months had passed, and I was still a virgin, even though I had a wife.

When we arrived at the hotel, everyone there was surprised to see me. They had heard about my accident. The staff welcomed me warmly and said they had missed me. Jokingly, I told them they probably missed my money more than me. One of the staff told me he had come to visit me in the hospital, which surprised me. He said the hotel manager had sent him. I thanked him politely. Without even asking what had brought us there, they immediately brought us drinks. We started drinking, though I was struggling with heavy thoughts.

Mubaraka tried to comfort me, reminding me that I used to be strong and healthy, and told me everything would be okay. But I had no hope. The beer continued flowing through our systems until Mubaraka came up with a foolish idea. He asked, “Or do you not desire your wife?” I didn’t understand him. He continued, “Let’s find another girl and see what happens.” I firmly told him I wouldn’t cheat on my wife. He then asked, “But isn’t she still your fiancée technically? And healing means trying different solutions.” I calmed myself and repeated that I wouldn’t do such a thing. I had vowed my virginity would be taken only by my wife.

He persisted and said, “Kalisa, such problems have many causes. Maybe you don’t really enjoy your wife.” I cut him off and told him, “I love Irere and I truly enjoy being with her.” He replied, “Loving someone is different from living with them.” I told him there was no reason that would justify cheating on my wife. Just then, Irere called me, reminding me it was time for my medication. I told her we were almost done and would be heading home. She asked me not to take long.

After finishing our drinks, we headed toward the car. A hotel staff member asked us to spend the night there because we were drunk, and it wouldn’t be safe to drive. I suddenly remembered how, on my wedding night, I had taken the wheel instead of letting Mubaraka drive because he was drunk—and then I ended up in a terrible accident. I replied to the staff, “Those meant to die will die.” The staff warned, “Prevention is better than cure.” I told him, “Even if you lock your door, death will still find its way in.”

Mubaraka escorted me to the car, helped me inside, and started driving. He played a song we both loved: Ibyo ubona by Jay Polly. It was a song that used to restore hope in our lives. While driving, the car came to a stop. Mubaraka helped me out of the car, but I sensed we weren’t at my house. I asked him where he had taken me. He said, “Relax, you're with me. We'll head home soon.” Holding my hand, he led me step by step into a building.

He opened a room, and when I asked what was happening, he said, “I have a client here. He wants us to build a house worth millions. Let’s handle this deal before heading home.” I smiled and said, “That’s what I love about you.” His phone rang, and he told me, “Give me a moment. Let me go see him,” then locked the room behind him and stepped out.

As I waited, I suddenly sensed other people in the room, though I hadn’t heard the door open. Alarmed, I reached toward the bed and touched a person. I was about to scream when I heard a girl’s voice say, “Don’t worry, you’re safe.” I turned toward the sound, only to hear another voice say, “Mubaraka told us to bring you joy.” I was stunned. As I tried to speak, one of the girls sat on me. I tried to push her off, but another whispered in my ear, “He told us you’re still a virgin, but don’t worry—you’ll say goodbye to virginity tonight.”

It felt like I was in a dream, but I was living it. Their soft hands touched every part of my body. They kissed me, but nothing in me responded. They undressed me and did what they wanted for a long time, but I was useless to them. Eventually, one of them said, “This one is no man at all,” and the other added, “Anyone seeing him upright would think he's a real man, but it’s just empty trousers walking around.” One of them picked up the phone and called Mubaraka, asking him to come pay. I asked them to give me my clothes. They threw them at me. As I tried to figure out what was what, one girl said to the other, “Let’s dress him for Mubaraka’s sake; he pays well.” They dressed me. I felt humiliated. Even though I was blindfolded, I felt such deep shame. Every time they touched my manhood, they laughed and mocked, saying, “Men are many, but real ones are few.”

When they were done dressing me, a few minutes passed and Mubaraka entered. One girl looked at him and said, “Your friend needs medical help.” He gave them the agreed amount, and they left.

Mubaraka suggested we go home. I refused and told him I wasn’t a man anymore, just like those girls had said. I didn’t want to return to my house. He tried to comfort me as I sobbed. I asked him why he wanted to humiliate me in front of strangers. He said, “Kalisa, those were prostitutes. You’ll never see them again. Even if you do, it won’t matter.” I lashed out, “They’ll tell others they met a useless man—and it’s all your fault.”

I remembered every word they had said and imagined Irere saying the same things once she found out I was impotent. The grief was overwhelming. My phone kept ringing—Irere was calling, worried. I had no strength to answer. Mubaraka’s phone had died, and that’s what had kept me distracted while I was with those girls.

He asked me, “What did you expect me to do?” Then added, “I just wanted to find out the truth.” I asked, “And did you?” He sighed and replied, “Kalisa, you’re my best friend—we’ve grown up together. Now I finally understand you’re dealing with something very serious.” I told him, “You wouldn’t understand, Mubaraka.” He answered, “I’m also a man. I understand.”

I said I would spend the night in that room. He refused, saying he didn’t want my wife worrying. My phone kept ringing. Mubaraka asked me to answer and just tell her a believable lie. I picked up and told her we were still in a meeting with investors and would be done soon. She sounded relieved, saying she had feared I’d been in another accident. I assured her that wouldn’t happen and joked that even our ancestors wouldn’t allow it. She signed off saying she loved me and missed me, asking me to promise I’d come home. I didn’t want to answer, but Mubaraka made me promise her I’d return within an hour.

As I hung up, I broke down completely and wept. Mubaraka stood there, unable to do anything. He softly said, “I promise I’ll help you find a doctor. You’ll be healed.” He hugged me, and I hugged him back. He asked me to let us go home so my wife wouldn’t spend the night waiting.

As the tires rolled down the road, my mind was spinning with heavy thoughts. I reflected on the wealth we had as a family, yet they couldn’t even help me in my suffering. I remembered my youth—how I stayed away from girls, saving up money, only for that money to give me not even a drop of happiness. My life was falling apart, and so was my family’s future, especially since we had no children and no clear future.

We drove in silence. I could tell Mubaraka was driving slowly—he, too, was drunk but didn’t want to cause an accident. He told me, “Stopping is worse than moving forward. Even if you crawl, you’ll eventually get there.” I still felt angry at him, but I knew everything he had done was because he cared. When we reached home, he said, “We’re here.” I sighed and asked, “What do I tell Irere? She’s waiting.” He asked me, “What answer do you want from me, brother?” Then said, “The best thing is to tell her the truth.”

I remembered the girls' cruel words and said, “If I do, I’ll lose all respect as the head of this house.” Then added, “I think I’ll ask her that we start sleeping in separate rooms.” Mubaraka was shocked. “She’ll never agree to that,” he said. “There’s no reason strong enough for a married couple to sleep apart. Even sleeping in different beds in the same room is hard to explain. Don’t destroy your home.”

I replied, “This house is built on sand. Any wind could bring it down.” We sat in the car. Then we heard Irere’s voice at the door, calling, “Honey, why are you still in the car?” Mubaraka raised his voice, replying, “He’s coming.” He turned to me and said gently, “Brother, go see your wife. Tomorrow we’ll look for a specialist.” He got out, came around, and held my hand as he walked me to my door. Though my feet walked toward Irere, my heart was walking far away from her. There were no fights in our home, but there was no peace either.