MUNACHI (COMPLETED)

|Chapter 34|

It's been a month since I received William's letter. The Mission House is abuzz with activity when I arrive one Sunday. There is a conference for all the missionaries in the country to report on our work and progress in the field. Missionaries are arriving and suitcases are being unloaded from cars. There are hugs and hellos everywhere I turn. The normally quiet house is bustling with people coming in and out.

After checking in, I carry my suitcase up the stairs and deposit it in my room. I find that I'll be staying in a room with three other single women, all of whom are much older than I am and who knows each other so well. One of them, Cheryl Brice, is one of the organizers, so she will rarely be in the room. The other two women, Anna Jeffrey and Ursula Mao Fred, are already dressing for dinner, but they turn and greet me kindly.

“It warms my heart to see young women going into the mission field, my dear,” says Ms. Anna Jeffrey, the white woman. “The young people of today seem only interested in having parties and getting married. It is not the way it was when I was young. The young people of my day were much more serious about the Christian faith. It is not like that with the modern youth, I dare say!”

“Quite so, my dear Anna,” agrees Ms. Ursula Mao Fred.

“Is dinner at seven o'clock?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Seven o'clock sharp, Cheryl says,” Ms. Anna Jeffrey announces importantly. “We have a lot of business to attend to right after dinner, so she wants everyone to keep to a strict schedule. Cheryl is not one to dillydally about the place, wasting time!”

“Yes, Ms. Jeffrey, I'm sure she's not,” I reply, pouring some water into the basin at the washstand to clean off the grime of my long trip. I can already see that the less time I spend in my room, the better.

Everyone is already seated at the long table when I came down for dinner. I see Ms. Jeffrey and Ms. Mao Fred at another table with some of the older, long-standing missionaries in the area. Rev. Wilfred, who is also sitting at that table, stands and welcomes us all to the conference. He says grace, and in minutes, bowls of steaming soup are brought in. The noise of chatting suddenly dies away while the hungry diners attends to their suppers.

The balcony is cool and fresh after the stuffy dinner room. I love the night sounds of Cameroon, the insects, and the birds that sings in the evening. It is just a small balcony, and there are no chairs. The damp, earthly smell of the garden, mingle with sweet perfume of flowers I don't know the names of, rises to envelope them. For a fleeting moment I thought about William . . .

I knock briefly on the door to my room and enter quietly. The ladies are already in bed reading. Glad they turned in early, I hurry with my own preparations for bed, and in minutes I'm turning out my light.
I lay there in the darkness, tossing and turning. William Constant's eyes keeps popping up whenever I shut my eyes. I've been thinking about him awfully lot lately and I don't know why. My mind seesaw until I hear the early dawn birds burst into a blaze of singing and praise for the day that as yet is only a pearl glow in the sky. As the sun is flooding the window with a soft pink glow, I doze off to sleep.

♣♣♣

As the week wear on, I become more and more tired, finding more reasons to go to my room. The more days that passes, the more I think about William Constant. What is wrong with me really?
Well at last Sunday evening arrives. The only event left to attend is the worship service in the morning. I plan to leave as soon as possible because funny to say, I find the place the reason why I think about William.

With the intention of taking a stroll in the garden in other to clear my head, I walk over to the front door. I reach out to open it when someone burst through from the other side and nearly knock me over.

“William!”