Nearly two months had passed since MaSimukonda arrived.
One evening, the sky turned orange as the sun disappeared behind the hills.
Mwiya sat outside his hut sharpening a farming tool.
MaSimukonda joined him.
For a few minutes they sat quietly.
Then Mwiya spoke.
"Mother," he said gently.
"Yes, my son?"
"When you arrived, you told us you were looking for land to buy."
"Yes."
"But you have not visited any farms yet."
MaSimukonda smiled calmly.
"I am still searching," she replied.
But something in her voice felt uncertain.
Mwiya studied her carefully.
Before he could say anything else, Nalubamba approached.
She carried bowls of nshima for the evening meal.
The three of them ate quietly as the sun disappeared.
Later that night, Nalubamba lay awake beside her husband.
"Mwiya," she whispered.
"Yes?"
"Do you think our visitor still plans to leave?"
Mwiya sighed.
"She is family," he said. "We must be patient."
Nalubamba nodded.
But sleep did not come easily that night.
Because somewhere deep in her heart, a quiet voice kept repeating the same warning.
Some visitors do not come for a short stay.