So love, by all means. Love deeply, passionately, and loyally. But never let love turn you into someone you would be ashamed to introduce to your younger self. Because once uzembe takes root, it is hard to pull out. And the only one who loses in the end is you.
Mama Nuru laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "I can’t sew. Neither can the other women. But we will sit in the hall for three days. We will clap. We will drink their tea. And then?" ngoswe penzi kitovu cha uzembe
The village chairman, mzee Masanja, sat on a plastic chair under the shade of a large acacia tree. He watched a white Land Cruiser with a blue logo approach, kicking up a cloud of red dust. He didn't stand up. He simply adjusted his faded Kaunda suit and sighed. So love, by all means
In the past, ten years ago, this news would have sparked a meeting. People would have debated who needed what. They would have planned. But today, a heavy silence hung in the air. The village had learned that planning was unnecessary. Planning required effort. Waiting required nothing, and eventually, the charity always arrived. Because once uzembe takes root, it is hard to pull out
"They will need to come back next year," Juma said, cracking a groundnut. "To evaluate the progress of the businesses."
When the proverb calls this love the kitovu (umbilical cord or root) of uzembe (foolishness, idiocy, or negligence), it means that foolish actions are not accidents—they are birthed from this specific kind of blind affection.
"It is the third one this month," he muttered to his neighbor, Juma.