A good lady she was to me, for after a brief greeting, an introduction and a reason for my visit, I was welcomed warmly inside. The palace premises proved to me that I’d never have Rachael as my queen, at least basing on what eyes could see. You can take all this as exaggeration but truth be told: there seemed to be no way I could fetch a girl from such a heavenly home to the shacks of Bwaise—or Katanga for that matter.
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There was no trace of naked soil in the whole compound. It was all tarmac. I think even the tiny square garden, situated at the extreme end of the pasparum lawn infront of the majestic house, was made of tarmac…just kidding. The point is that everything was out of this world! My jaws dropped—as I followed my host—at the sight of everything my eyes were unworthy to look at. The appreciation and admiration only began to fade as we approached nearer to the main door.
My host welcomed me into the milk-white-walled interior of the half-brick skinned mansion. She offered me a seat before leaving, presumably to inform Rachael about my presence. As I sank into the sofa’s bossom, my body began its irregular pattern it always assumed when it sensed Rachael’s presence. At that moment I wished I could persuade my mind to focus, rather, on the sitting room’s beauty, but it stood up as a man of its own! I moved my eyes about anyway.
The chandelier and it’s distant petals on each of the four walls were glittering, but not as gloriously as Rachael’s eyes; the glass table was smooth, but not as pure as her skin; the sofas were comfortable, but not as comforting as her bossom; all in all, everything my eyes were able to land on was appealing, but not as pleasing—as handsome—as her grand stature.
“My daughter doesn’t want to see you,” announced the lady that had welcomed me, awaking me from my temporary unconsciousness. It was then that I realised she was Rachael’s mother! Perhaps I should’ve greeted her more respectfully—perhaps while kneeling, if that was also required.