It is normal for one to have their thoughts wander when they are idle. For Chuka, it mostly happened while sitting under the mango tree beside his father’s obi. He considered it his creative palace, a place where his ideas reside and with the quiet, they find their way into his mind. But today was different. It had been exactly six months since Chuka, the famous painter in Umuna village, sold an artwork. With a stick in his hand, he continued to draw circles on the floor, hoping that somehow, an idea would sip into his mind. His thoughts were interrupted by a voice, the same one from three nights ago. 

“Chuka focus, what will you benefit from the owner of the voice?”, he said loudly to himself. After a heartbreak that almost cost him his life, he knew not to dabble with the idea of a romantic relationship. 

The female voice continued melodiously. From where he sat, he could tell that the owner was trying to hit a particular note. She went on different pitches and every time she went off, she screamed a little and Chuka found himself giggling. She sang the same notes from the first time he had heard her, three nights ago. Thanks to her, Chuka knew the notes by heart and sang along with her, only stopping when she went off. Her voice sent a quick idea to his head. Was this it? The one thing that would help him go back to his glory days? 

Simdi 

“Ah! Why is this song so difficult? I have the lyrics but it's a struggle to find the right tune”, Simdi said with a frown on her face. 

She flipped through the pages of her “songbook”. It was a gift from her father before he died. Everyone in her family knew how passionate Simdi was about music but they never understood why she kept her voice confined to the four walls of her father’s compound. With a book almost full of her original songs, Simdi knew she would be famous but had no set plan yet. 

A week ago, her sister had told her of a cultural festival set by an NGO. The cultural festival had a cash prize of 350,000 naira with other benefits attached to it. She imagined going to the city with the money, enrolling into the polytechnic and if she was lucky, she could record or sell her songs. All these were possible except, the competition required a duet participation. Two people with different crafts or talents forming a synergy.

Chuka

Chuka knew the effects of stalling on an idea. He stood from his creative palace and went in search of the voice. 

“Is anybody in?”, he said while trying to hide his fidgeting hand. He reminded himself that great decisions required a grand first move. 

He had seen the flyer for the cultural festival, and made his enquiries with the plan to exhibit an old artwork. Not only did he find out that he needed a partner to be in the competition, but he also was restless since he realised it was a performative competition. He knew better than to recreate an old artwork. His thoughts were interrupted by a voice and a face. 

“Ndewo, who are you looking for?”, the voice said. Chuka had heard this voice many times, he knew it belonged to the singer. He had rehearsed exactly what to say to her, to convince her to duet with him but her beauty had taken all the words away from his head. 

“Nwoke oma, is everything okay? Do you need help?”, he wouldn’t blame her. He wondered where his voice had gone. Is this what it means when people say that one’s beauty took their breath away and left them speechless? 

“Sorry nne, I am looking for a singer. The one that has been blessing my ears with this tune”, he hummed it and watched her withdraw a bit, shyly. 

“Oh! Emm, hope no problem?”

“No, not at all. I wanted to discuss something with her. A duet, for the competition”, he said with a smile.

“You sing?”

“No, no, I paint. But I have an idea. Is it okay if I share it with you?”

“How do you know I’m the one?”, she said with a shy smile on her face. 

“Ah! Nne, I have heard the voice so many times in the last few days, even in my sleep, I can point it out”, this time he saw her laugh and ease up a little. 

He shared his idea with her. With a little persuasion, they walked to the registration center and signed up as partners. They filled the talent column with “musical art”. 

Simdi 

I have seen his artworks at the artisan market but I’ve never bothered to know his name or even imagined meeting him. 

Simdi’s father’s death had taken a toll on her and she knew leaving the village would give her a better chance at healing. She knew winning this competition was her one-way ticket out of Umuna. 

“If I can get this particular line eh, I’m sure we will beat others”, she said with a smile. Two weeks of constant practice and she still could not look into Chuka’s eyes. Something about his voice made her stomach feel funny. 

“Simdi, I believe in you. Remember when we started and you couldn’t go past the second line?”, he had a way of encouraging her, motivating her. 

She also believed in his big pla. This was the idea, while she sang her original piece, a song about death and what it does to the living, Chuka would paint an artwork depicting the same thing. He had shown her a sample of what he would paint and she loved it. To him, something was still missing and since her voice had put the idea in his mind, completing her tune would help him find the missing piece to his art. 

Spending two weeks together had not only improved her music and his art, it had also been the start of something. Although she loved to practice her singing every day, Simdi looked forward to Chuka holding her hand while he walked her home. She liked how he held her face up to look into his eyes while he encouraged her to sing all her notes. The feel of his palm and the way he holds her face tenderly, the same way he held his painting brush. 

“Nne m, why are you smiling again”, she liked how he personalised this name he calls her. He had lost his mother as a child and being with Simdi made him feel a certain warmth, the comfort of a friend, a lover and a mother. 

Festival Day 

The NGO had shown up and set up everything for the day. There was enough food and drinks for everyone. A day the people of Umuna had looked forward to. The competition started right after the chairman’s speech. While holding hands backstage, Chuka and Simdi watched other performers come and go. 

It was their turn. With a quick nod from Simdi and a smile from Chuka, they began their performance. Simdi’s voice serenaded everyone. She sang with three things in her heart, her father, her new lover and her future. Chuka painted while humming Simdi’s song into the microphone. He looked up a few times to pick strength from her steady gaze. As an artist, he knew that his focus was on three things, his brushes, his muse and the reward that comes with his art. He dropped his brush the exact second Simdi dropped the microphone. 

There was an uproar in the audience. The chairman and organizers stood up. Chuka saw one of the women clean her tears. People screamed, whistled, clapped and even while the prize was presented to him and Simdi, it continued. 

It was the only thing the community talked about for weeks. They had won the cash prize, the NGO paid additional money for his artwork and amongst other benefits, one of the organizers promised to sponsor Simdi’s education. A Cashback account was created for them immediately. Simdi couldn’t contain her joy once she got an alert of half the cash prize, it was the same for Chuka. 

With part of their future set-up, it was time to make difficult decisions. Chuka had no plans to leave the village. He invested some of his money into his art and the rest, he kept aside for family. He knew it was only wise to let Simdi go to the city. He had heard stories of how girls from Umuna never came back to their lovers in the village. He knew Simdi was made for more. 

The day before she left for the city, amidst promises, they held each other and cried uncontrollably. They made love with passion for the first time and an uncertainty if it would be the last.