Narvari sat on the front porch of her house cleaning her guns as she did every single morning. It was something her father used to do too. She shut her eyes, willing herself to ignore thoughts of him. There were more pressing issues to think about.

Her grandmother sat in her lazy chair from across her. The old woman looked fondly in the distance. Narvari had a feeling Anana was thinking about Narvari’s grandfather or father. She would often tell her stories about them. Narvari particularly enjoyed the heroic stories of her grandfather.

She smiled sheepishly when her grandmother caught her staring.

“What the devil are you grinning about?”

Narvari chuckled. She used to wonder who swore more– her father or grandmother. But from the stories Anana had told her, it seemed her grandfather was the worst offender. Anana had learned the habit from her late husband.

“Erasmus Shar was a fine gentleman,” Anana had once told her a long time ago. “But he swore like a drunk. He would often say that language without swear words was like a party without music.”

She wished she had met her grandfather, but the man died when her father was only fourteen years old. She wondered how Yabaga felt after losing his father at such a young age. Maybe he easily got over his grief. He probably left his daughter because he thought she would get over her grief too. Narvari’s grip on the metal tightened.

“Now you look sad,” said Anana.

Narvari returned to her senses. She ran her hand through her cornrows. What was wrong with her these days? Why did she keep thinking about her father? She had been fine without him. Thinking about him was pathetic. She steeled her resolve. Forget about him.

Narvari forced a small smile to keep her grandmother from worrying. “I’m not sad,” she said, turning her attention back to her guns. Her pride and joy. “I’m just thinking.”

She felt Anana’s eyes on her but Narvari didn’t look at her.

Right now, she could not be distracted as she poured her entire soul into getting her guns squeaky clean. Once she cleaned the gun, she put it right back in the trunk and took another one.

“You’re going to marry that thing someday, aren’t you?” Anana said.

Narvari smirked. “Absolutely. And you are invited to our wedding.”

“You need friends.”

“I have friends.”

“First of all, you have only two friends and one of them is nine years old.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Narvari put the clean gun into the black case and shut it.

“You need more friends your age.”

“Jimbaga is my age.”

“Don’t sass me, child. You know what I mean. You’re very young, my child. You should enjoy the world and experience many things. Life has so much to offer.”

“Sometimes one good friend is all you need, Anana.”

“Hmm,” Anana said. “I guess that is true.” She smiled fondly. Narvari recognized the glint in her grandmother’s eyes. She often had it whenever she was thinking about her late husband. “Do you believe in soulmates, my child? In true love?”

Narvari paused. Now that she thought about it she and her grandmother had never talked about something like this before. “True love?” Narvari echoed. The words sounded foreign to her tongue.

“Of course my child. Do believe that someone can make you feel so loved that once they’re gone, you feel like you have lost a part of yourself. That you’ve become incomplete of some sort.”

“Those things only exist on TV, Anana.” Narvari shrugged. The idea of a soulmate was a lovely sentiment. But it was not real. “There is no such thing as a soulmate or true love,” she said. “Besides feeling incomplete without someone doesn’t sound healthy.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Oh, my child,” Anana said, shaking her head. “You are still so young. Maybe someday you will know what I speak of. And when you find that person, you hold on to them with everything you’ve got. Because when you lose them, you will be unhealthy.”

Narvari pondered Anana’s words. She wondered if her grandfather had been that kind of person to Anana. Was it possible to love someone so completely and so selflessly to the point of feeling incomplete without them? That was just ridiculous.

As team captain, she understood the value of camaraderie and loyalty. But ultimately, one could only fully trust themselves because people were bound to leave sooner or later. It was the way of the world. People grew apart from each other. Children left their parents and parents left their children. Who was to say that a lover, no matter how true they were, would never leave? Even if they never left on their own accord, death would soon do the honors. Like in her grandfather’s case.

“I don’t think that will happen, Anana,” said Narvari. “I’m not interested in finding love. It sounds like too much work.”

“Of course, it is, my child.” Anana chuckled heartily. “But so is everything. Do you not put in a lot of work as the captain of WPU?”

“That’s different. I enjoy being part of WPU. It gives me purpose.”

“Exactly my point, my child. Love gives you purpose. Your love for your people and the bazwu is what propels you to protect them. Trust me, someday when you find that person who gives you purpose, nothing else will matter.”

“Guns are my one true love, Anana,” she said. “They won’t leave you when things get hard.”

“They won’t hug you when things get hard either.”

Narvari sighed. Had she not learned her lesson that arguing with this old woman was a lost cause?

“So do you agree to go to the university in Cape Town?”

Narvari’s eyes widened. How the hell did the conversation make a U-turn? Weren’t they talking about love and soulmates and guns? This her grandmother was so crafty.

“Anana, I already told you — ”

“Narvari, I won’t be the one who holds you back. How do I face your grandfather someday if I ever did?”

Narvari bit her lips. Low blow, grandma, low blow.

“You know your grandfather was an explorer,” she said. “Travelling the world is in your blood.”

“Exploration is not hereditary, Anana.”

“Well, in your case it is. There’s so much to see in the world. So much to learn. So much to love.”

“And so much to hate.”

Anana sighed. “I’m afraid so, my child.”

Wait, what? Narvari narrowed her eyes. Was this a trick? She had not expected Anana to agree with her.

After a long pause, Anana said, “Just as much as I want you to enjoy life, I also want you to be careful. Things are not as simple as we think them to be.”

Why had Anana’s voice suddenly turned so grave? “People always say that, Anana.”

“It is a cliche, yes, but it is true. There are evil malignant forces in this world. Your grandfather called them demons.”

Narvari shrugged. “Of course, there are demons in this world. What else would you call a politician who embezzles money meant for the poor and vulnerable? Or what will you call a person who instigates and funds terrorism just for profit? They are demons. All the bloody lot of them. It’s rather unfortunate hell does not exist because that’s where they belong.”

Anana smiled fondly. “You have more love to give than you realize, my child.”

Narvari sighed. She had lost her cool there for a moment. People’s business did not bother her much, but it disgusted her to no end that the very leaders who swore to protect their people always screwed these same people over. Sharmandi was not perfect by any means, but their system was built on fairness. This indeed had always been a core tenet of many African societies. So when did the continent become so blinded by greed?

It annoyed her endlessly when it occurred to her that politicians in Dorben were probably getting paid to put their bazwu in jeopardy. She would not put it past them. Dorben was one of the most corrupt countries in Africa after all. If only she could get her hands on one of those bastards. She would smack the living daylights out of them.

The screeching car tires snapped Narvari out of her violent reverie. Her eyes steeled as she took in the two black cars and a white Rolls-Royce heading toward their home. She knew it was heading towards their home because they were the only house in this part of town. Their only neighbors were the rows of trees scattered around them. The three cars drove into their compound and packed beside Narvari’s green jeep.

Narvari glanced at her grandmother. The old woman had a scowl on her face. It was the face she reserved for unwanted visitors. It made Narvari wonder who this unwanted visitor was.

Narvari stood up and crossed her toned arms. If these people were here to cause trouble. They would have to get through her first.

Several men came out of the black cars. They looked like the bodyguards of an important person. One of the bodyguards opened the door of the Rolls-Royce and out came a burly man dressed in an exquisite black and blue kaftan.

The large man majestically strolled towards Narvari. With his graying temples and golden cane, Narvari quickly recognized the man. She clenched her jaws. No wonder her grandmother didn’t look happy.

Narvari had never met the man in person before, but she’d often seen him on the news spouting a load of horseshit with a straight face.

It was strange how she was thinking about punching an African politician in the face and now one was suddenly in her home. She wasn’t religious, but she would say that this was truly God’s work. Maybe this was what they meant when they said God worked in mysterious ways.

“It’s Tsalaga Nokubenda, the environmental minister in Dorben,” Anana filled her in.