When this story happened, I was a young man. My hair was black like the feathers of a raven. My back was straight like a warrior’s spear. When I walked, dust rose behind me and people said, “There goes a man who will build a strong homestead.”
And there was a girl. Ahhh… she was beautiful the way the first rain is beautiful after a long dry season. When she laughed, even the goats lifted their heads. My heart followed her the way a calf follows its mother.
I said to myself, “This is the woman I will marry. We will grow old together like two trees whose roots drink from the same river.” So I loved her with the strength of a young man’s heart. But one day, something happened.
One afternoon she was sitting near me, holding a small talking box—the kind that carries voices across hills and rivers. She was speaking to another girl from their home village. She did not know my ears were open.
Her friend asked her a question. “Eh! I heard you have another boyfriend now. Did you leave Itumbí?” There was silence for a moment. Then she laughed. Not a shy laugh. Not a careful laugh. A laugh like someone who knows a secret.
Then she said in her mother tongue, “Oh no, ûyû níwakwíruta wendo nake.” And she laughed again.
My children, when you live long enough you learn the meaning hidden inside laughter. Her words meant, “No, no… this one is just someone to practice love with.”
Ahhh. At that moment, the sun did not grow hotter. The wind did not stop blowing. But something inside my chest became very quiet. I understood. The one she loved was Itumbí.
And me? I was like those cars at the driving school in town. The cars that young drivers use to learn the road. They turn the wheel, press the brake, make mistakes… and when they finally know how to drive— They go buy their own car. That day I stood up slowly.
A man who understands a message does not wait for the drum to repeat itself. From that day, I ran from that girl the way a gazelle runs from a hunter’s arrow.
Time passed. The black hair turned grey. The straight back bent a little like an old bow. And now I tell this story wherever people gather, because stories are teachers that do not beat children.
So I ask you, the same way storytellers always ask: When love comes into your life… Are you the one who is loved? Or wíwakwírutwo nake? —the one someone is only practicing love with.
Think about it well, my children. Because a wise heart knows the difference.
And there was a girl. Ahhh… she was beautiful the way the first rain is beautiful after a long dry season. When she laughed, even the goats lifted their heads. My heart followed her the way a calf follows its mother.
I said to myself, “This is the woman I will marry. We will grow old together like two trees whose roots drink from the same river.” So I loved her with the strength of a young man’s heart. But one day, something happened.
One afternoon she was sitting near me, holding a small talking box—the kind that carries voices across hills and rivers. She was speaking to another girl from their home village. She did not know my ears were open.
Her friend asked her a question. “Eh! I heard you have another boyfriend now. Did you leave Itumbí?” There was silence for a moment. Then she laughed. Not a shy laugh. Not a careful laugh. A laugh like someone who knows a secret.
Then she said in her mother tongue, “Oh no, ûyû níwakwíruta wendo nake.” And she laughed again.
My children, when you live long enough you learn the meaning hidden inside laughter. Her words meant, “No, no… this one is just someone to practice love with.”
Ahhh. At that moment, the sun did not grow hotter. The wind did not stop blowing. But something inside my chest became very quiet. I understood. The one she loved was Itumbí.
And me? I was like those cars at the driving school in town. The cars that young drivers use to learn the road. They turn the wheel, press the brake, make mistakes… and when they finally know how to drive— They go buy their own car. That day I stood up slowly.
A man who understands a message does not wait for the drum to repeat itself. From that day, I ran from that girl the way a gazelle runs from a hunter’s arrow.
Time passed. The black hair turned grey. The straight back bent a little like an old bow. And now I tell this story wherever people gather, because stories are teachers that do not beat children.
So I ask you, the same way storytellers always ask: When love comes into your life… Are you the one who is loved? Or wíwakwírutwo nake? —the one someone is only practicing love with.
Think about it well, my children. Because a wise heart knows the difference.
