The Chief's Wife by Jones M (best motivational books for students .txt) 📕

A.N: I would appreciate it if you share your opinions and thoughts on the book or any of the chapters. 

The photo below represents the area that I imagined the village would be. Anyway, enjoy!

The sun had risen over the hill. Birds that were perched on the branches of the surrounding trees chirped before taking flight, resuming their search for food. A small gust of wind blew around the land, causing the leaves and grass to rustle.

"You stupid little ingrate!" a woman had shouted loud enough to scare away the nearby birds before she backhanded her child. The young boy cried out, and every eye that was nearby turned to face the ongoing spectacle.

"How many times have I told you not to go into the forest without my permission?" the mother asked as she reached for a long, dried stick that was lying on the ground.

"Mother--" the child said in tears, but he was cut off.

"How many times?" the mother asked before raising the stick and hitting the boy on his back. A loud cry filled the air as the woman kept disciplining her child.

Mwamba and a couple of people winced as they stared in pity at the child being punished.

"He had it coming," Mwamba's father commented with a chuckle. "That child has been giving the village a lot of trouble ever since he was born."

Indeed, he had. It was the second time that he had made his mother worry about his whereabouts.

"But father, he is just a child," Mwamba stated with a frown. "I believe one hit would have been enough as a punishment. Or maybe, none at all!"

His father stared at him with a bored look.

"What?" Mwamba asked, confused. His father said nothing as he shook his head at him.

"What, father?" his son persisted.

"I am worried about you, my son. How can you become the future leader if the mere sight of a child being canned has you twisting in your seat?"

'Here we go again,' Mwamba thought with a sigh. He had recently turned nineteen years old, and his father had started reminding him of what he was to become in a couple of months. More so than usual.

He was nervous about it, especially since he feared he would become a disappointment to the people. He and his father had different opinions on matters that concerned the village, and they often found themselves contradicting each other.

The village people had looked up to his father for the past two decades, and Mwamba worried people wouldn't look at him the same way.

"...you should be a strong, confident man..." Mwamba zoned out again on what his father was saying as he observed his surroundings.

Mwamba and his father were sitting on a sisal carpet under a tree. The sun was on its way to setting. The ground around them was bare due to an unexpectedly long season of drought, and the heat it had gotten from the sun could still be felt under the carpet, although in small quantities.

"Mwamba!" the chief boomed in front of him, breaking his reverie.

"Yes, father?" he questioned, his heart still thudding from the voice his father had used.

"What have I said?"

Mwamba opened and closed his mouth like a fish, not sure of what to say.

Before his father could sigh in disappointment, he answered: "You told me I should be a strong and confident man."

"Yes," the chief replied with raised eyebrows, and Mwamba's form relaxed. "You should exhume those qualities. Also, the people won't respect you if you don't respect them."

"Dad, I know that," he spoke just as a loud cry filled the air. He turned, noticing that the small boy was still being canned by his mother.

The chief's son considered himself a lucky person. He had been raised in a family that had cared for him. Also, the instances that he had been canned were few, proving he had not been quite a troublesome child.

"Sire!" a couple of men from the village made their presence known as they approached the chief. Mwamba shifted on the sisal carpet, trying to hide the fact that their unexpected appearance had slightly frightened him.

"Yes?" the chief questioned as he stood up from the carpet.

"We have looked for miles, but we have not found any water."

Mwamba's eyes had widened at the news.

"What?" the chief exclaimed.

There was a dry spell that had struck the village, and it was close to peaking five months. The heavy rains were expected to make an appearance about a month ago, but so far, nothing had happened. Even though it rained at times, it would usually last a few minutes, and that water would not be enough.

"What are we to do, your Highness?" one of the men asked the chief. "We've looked around for rivers and lakes, but they are all close to drying up."

The chief stood silent, his lips moving as he tried to find the words to speak to them.

The chief always had something to say. When he had no words, the village would set off in a panic.

"Gentlemen, we are grateful for the news. Let my father, the chief, have a moment to think about it. I am sure he will come up with a solution later," Mwamba jumped in.

'Maybe this way, I can show him I can be relayed on,' he thought.

The men did not question his request. They just bowed before they left to tend to their own duties.

Mwamba turned to look at his father with a smile, but the chief was still in shock. He looked worried as he quickly turned.

"Father!" Mwamba called out, rushing to follow him.

A day later

"He had nothing to say?" the woman spoke in shock.

"Nope. It has me worried," Mwamba told her as he scratched the back of his head. The chief's son was in one of the cooking huts with his female friend, Wanjala. She was in the process of preparing an afternoon meal for herself and her family. She had placed some maize and beans in a pot to boil over the fire.

Wanjala was a year younger than Mwamba, and they had been friends since childhood. Even though she looked young with her creamy brown skin and beautiful features, she was wise when it came to it; especially during situations like the current one the village was facing.

The rains had still not come. Everyone was worried about what would happen, more so because the food stored in the granaries would barely be enough for the next two months. No word had been given from the chief, bringing up a slight tension in the village.

"Does everyone know?" Wanjala questioned as she looked at him. Mwamba shook his head in denial.

"I don't think so. All I know is that my father is working on a way to fix things."

Mwamba coughed as more smoke started coming out of the burning branches under the pot. Wanjala found it amusing as she added more firewood.

"Why do you choose to cook in this hut? Why not outside?" the chief's son complained with his eyes half-closed.

Wanjala rolled her eyes before replying: "You and I both know why I cook in here. The wind would have blown the fire away, and I would end up spending the whole day trying to light it."

Mwamba smirked at a memory brought on by her words. Like most people, Wanjala had been young when she attempted to light her first fire. She had been outside, and she had gotten frustrated every time the wind blew away all her efforts. Were it not for her mother intervening, she would have indeed wasted the whole day. A couple of the villagers were talented in that area; Wanjala was among the many who couldn't light a fire outdoors.

"What is that look for?" Wanjala asked, and that caused Mwamba to laugh.

"Hey! I thought you said you would not laugh at me after that incident!" Mwamba's friend tried to put on a straight face, but she ended up smiling.

"I lied," Mwamba confessed in between laughs. Wanjala's eyes were lit with humor, but they soon perked in interest.

"Well, look at who your father brought in," she said, staring at something behind Mwamba. The chief's son turned, and he was shocked by what he saw.

A group of people were coming towards his father's hut which was a short distance from the one he was in. They consisted of elders and a couple of young men, about ten in total. Mwamba groaned.

"What?" Wanjala questioned.

"We have guests," Mwamba stated with a bored look. "Unexpected guests."

The chief's son hated it when people visited his family. Specifically, he hated it when people decided to come without informing anyone. The people would come, and they would try to strike conversations with everyone in their vicinity. Even if they had agendas that were as small as fetching a pot of water and they had them finished, they would continue to stay.

Especially for the food.

This forced whoever was in the kitchen to either cook more food or to divide the already-cooked food into small portions.

"Shouldn't you go there?" Wanjala suggested. Mwamba gave her a look that made her chuckle.

"No need. I will only go when I'm wanted," Mwamba replied. "So--"

"Mwamba!" the chief yelled, interrupting whatever it was that Mwamba wanted to tell Wanjala. Mwamba sighed, not believing his luck.

"Coming, Father!" Mwamba yelled back as he slowly got up to stand.

"You'll tell me what happens, right?" Wanjala requested, and Mwamba nodded in agreement.

With a sigh, he walked out of the hut to head to his own.

"How old is he?" one of the elders asked, staring at Mwamba with a look of wonder.

"He is nineteen years old," the chief replied, staring proudly at his son.

Mwamba decided to smile at his father, even though he felt uncomfortable in his surroundings. In fact, he felt a heating sensation in his cheeks.

It had been hours since the arrival of the unexpected guests. As expected, more food had to be cooked. Since there was barely any space for everyone to sit in the hut, the chief had moved everyone outside to sit under the shades of the surrounding trees.

To pass time, the guests decided to make conversations with the family members and anyone else in their vicinity.

"Do you remember me?" an elderly man who was sprouting gray hair on his head asked the future chief. "I am a cousin of your mother's! I