Come closer, children of the hearth. Let the fire burn gently and let the night sit among us. Let the young listen carefully, and let those who have loved before smile quietly, because this story may touch old scars. The elders say, "Love can make even a wise person walk into a hole with both eyes open." Listen carefully.
When this story happened, I was still a young man. My hair was black like the feathers of a raven. My back was straight like a warrior's spear. My legs were strong. My chest was full of pride. When I walked along the village path, dust rose behind me as if announcing my arrival. Some people looked at me and said, "There goes a young man who will build a strong homestead." And I believed them. For youth carries confidence the way clouds carry rain.
Then there was a girl. Ahhh...That girl.She was beautiful the way the first rain is beautiful after a long dry season. When she laughed, even goats lifted their heads as if trying to understand the music. When she walked, the road seemed pleased to carry her feet. Her eyes were bright. Her voice was soft. And her smile entered my heart before I had time to close the door.
I told myself, "This is the woman I will marry." I imagined our future. I imagined our children. I imagined our old age. I saw us growing together like two trees whose roots drink from the same river. The elders say, "A young heart builds a whole homestead before the first stone is gathered." That was me.
I had already built an entire life in my imagination. I loved her with the strength of a young man's heart. I listened when she spoke. I visited when I could. I offered help whenever she needed it. I believed I was planting something serious. Something lasting. Something honorable. But one day, life decided to open my ears.
It was an ordinary afternoon. The kind of afternoon that does not warn you before changing your heart. She was sitting near me, holding a small talking box. You know the one. The kind that carries voices across hills and rivers. The kind that allows secrets to travel faster than birds. She was speaking to another girl from their home village. I was nearby. Quiet. Present. But perhaps forgotten.
The elders say. "Many truths are spoken when people believe no one important is listening." Her friend asked her a question. "Eh! I heard you have another boyfriend now. Did you leave Itumbí?" When I heard the name Itumbí, my heart lifted its head like a dog hearing footsteps at night. There was silence. A small silence. Then she laughed. Not a shy laugh. Not a careful laugh. Not the laugh of someone embarrassed. No. It was a confident laugh. A laugh of someone who understood the game better than the person being played.
Then she said in her mother tongue, "Oh no, ûyû níwakwíruta wendo nake." And she laughed again. My children, when you are young, you may think laughter always means joy. But when you grow older, you learn that laughter carries many meanings. Some laughter hides truth. Some laughter exposes cruelty. Some laughter closes a door without touching the handle.
Her words meant, "No, no... this one is just someone to practice love with." Ahhh. At that moment, the world did not end. The sun did not stop shining. The birds did not fall from the trees. The wind did not refuse to blow. But something inside my chest became very quiet. Very quiet. The elders say, "The heart can break without making noise." I understood immediately.
The one she truly loved was Itumbí. And me? I was the practice exercise. I was the classroom. I was the field where mistakes were made before the real harvest. I was like those cars at the driving school in town. You have seen them. The ones with large signs on top. Learner. Student driver. Those cars suffer much. A new driver enters. The clutch is abused. The brakes are pressed too hard. The steering wheel is turned carelessly. The engine complains. The gears cry. The car is scratched, shaken, and frightened. But when the student finally learns to drive, what happens? They do not buy the driving-school car. No. They go and buy their own.
That day I realized I was the driving-school car. She was learning love with me while keeping her heart elsewhere. The elders say, "Do not become the bridge someone crosses only to reach another person." I did not shout. I did not ask questions. I did not fight. A man who understands a message does not wait for the drum to repeat itself. I stood up slowly. My legs still worked, though my heart had lost strength.
From that day, I ran from that girl the way a gazelle runs from a hunter's arrow. Not because I hated her. No. Hate is also a chain. I ran because I understood my place. And once a person understands they are being used, wisdom requires movement. The elders say, "When you discover the pot is empty, stop blowing on the fire."
Time passed. As time always does. The girl followed her road. I followed mine. The black hair on my head began to surrender to gray. The straight back bent a little like an old bow. The strong legs slowed. The proud stride softened. Life gave me responsibilities, victories, mistakes, and lessons. But that afternoon remained with me. Not as bitterness. Not as a wound that refused to heal. But as wisdom. Because every painful lesson becomes useful when turned into a story.
The elders say, "A scar is a wound that learned how to teach." And so I tell this story wherever people gather. I tell it to young men. I tell it to young women. I tell it to anyone whose heart is walking faster than their mind. Because love is beautiful. But love without clarity can become a trap. Some people do not love you. They only enjoy being loved by you. Some people do not plan a future with you. They only use you to pass time while waiting for the person they truly want. Some people let you invest your heart while theirs is already living elsewhere. And if you are not careful, you may spend your best years rehearsing a role in a play where someone else has already been chosen for the final scene.
The elders say, "A borrowed drum may be beaten loudly, but it will not remain in your house." So now, children of the fire, I ask you the question this story leaves behind. When love comes into your life... Are you the one being loved? Or wíwakwírutwo nake? Are you the one someone is building with? Or the one someone is practicing on? Are you the chosen path? Or the training ground? Think carefully. A wise heart knows the difference. That is the story. I have spoken.
When this story happened, I was still a young man. My hair was black like the feathers of a raven. My back was straight like a warrior's spear. My legs were strong. My chest was full of pride. When I walked along the village path, dust rose behind me as if announcing my arrival. Some people looked at me and said, "There goes a young man who will build a strong homestead." And I believed them. For youth carries confidence the way clouds carry rain.
Then there was a girl. Ahhh...That girl.She was beautiful the way the first rain is beautiful after a long dry season. When she laughed, even goats lifted their heads as if trying to understand the music. When she walked, the road seemed pleased to carry her feet. Her eyes were bright. Her voice was soft. And her smile entered my heart before I had time to close the door.
I told myself, "This is the woman I will marry." I imagined our future. I imagined our children. I imagined our old age. I saw us growing together like two trees whose roots drink from the same river. The elders say, "A young heart builds a whole homestead before the first stone is gathered." That was me.
I had already built an entire life in my imagination. I loved her with the strength of a young man's heart. I listened when she spoke. I visited when I could. I offered help whenever she needed it. I believed I was planting something serious. Something lasting. Something honorable. But one day, life decided to open my ears.
It was an ordinary afternoon. The kind of afternoon that does not warn you before changing your heart. She was sitting near me, holding a small talking box. You know the one. The kind that carries voices across hills and rivers. The kind that allows secrets to travel faster than birds. She was speaking to another girl from their home village. I was nearby. Quiet. Present. But perhaps forgotten.
The elders say. "Many truths are spoken when people believe no one important is listening." Her friend asked her a question. "Eh! I heard you have another boyfriend now. Did you leave Itumbí?" When I heard the name Itumbí, my heart lifted its head like a dog hearing footsteps at night. There was silence. A small silence. Then she laughed. Not a shy laugh. Not a careful laugh. Not the laugh of someone embarrassed. No. It was a confident laugh. A laugh of someone who understood the game better than the person being played.
Then she said in her mother tongue, "Oh no, ûyû níwakwíruta wendo nake." And she laughed again. My children, when you are young, you may think laughter always means joy. But when you grow older, you learn that laughter carries many meanings. Some laughter hides truth. Some laughter exposes cruelty. Some laughter closes a door without touching the handle.
Her words meant, "No, no... this one is just someone to practice love with." Ahhh. At that moment, the world did not end. The sun did not stop shining. The birds did not fall from the trees. The wind did not refuse to blow. But something inside my chest became very quiet. Very quiet. The elders say, "The heart can break without making noise." I understood immediately.
The one she truly loved was Itumbí. And me? I was the practice exercise. I was the classroom. I was the field where mistakes were made before the real harvest. I was like those cars at the driving school in town. You have seen them. The ones with large signs on top. Learner. Student driver. Those cars suffer much. A new driver enters. The clutch is abused. The brakes are pressed too hard. The steering wheel is turned carelessly. The engine complains. The gears cry. The car is scratched, shaken, and frightened. But when the student finally learns to drive, what happens? They do not buy the driving-school car. No. They go and buy their own.
That day I realized I was the driving-school car. She was learning love with me while keeping her heart elsewhere. The elders say, "Do not become the bridge someone crosses only to reach another person." I did not shout. I did not ask questions. I did not fight. A man who understands a message does not wait for the drum to repeat itself. I stood up slowly. My legs still worked, though my heart had lost strength.
From that day, I ran from that girl the way a gazelle runs from a hunter's arrow. Not because I hated her. No. Hate is also a chain. I ran because I understood my place. And once a person understands they are being used, wisdom requires movement. The elders say, "When you discover the pot is empty, stop blowing on the fire."
Time passed. As time always does. The girl followed her road. I followed mine. The black hair on my head began to surrender to gray. The straight back bent a little like an old bow. The strong legs slowed. The proud stride softened. Life gave me responsibilities, victories, mistakes, and lessons. But that afternoon remained with me. Not as bitterness. Not as a wound that refused to heal. But as wisdom. Because every painful lesson becomes useful when turned into a story.
The elders say, "A scar is a wound that learned how to teach." And so I tell this story wherever people gather. I tell it to young men. I tell it to young women. I tell it to anyone whose heart is walking faster than their mind. Because love is beautiful. But love without clarity can become a trap. Some people do not love you. They only enjoy being loved by you. Some people do not plan a future with you. They only use you to pass time while waiting for the person they truly want. Some people let you invest your heart while theirs is already living elsewhere. And if you are not careful, you may spend your best years rehearsing a role in a play where someone else has already been chosen for the final scene.
The elders say, "A borrowed drum may be beaten loudly, but it will not remain in your house." So now, children of the fire, I ask you the question this story leaves behind. When love comes into your life... Are you the one being loved? Or wíwakwírutwo nake? Are you the one someone is building with? Or the one someone is practicing on? Are you the chosen path? Or the training ground? Think carefully. A wise heart knows the difference. That is the story. I have spoken.
