The morning sun casts its light over River Kuja, the water glinting like shards of glass as it flows steadily past. I stand at its edge, the familiar sound of the stream filling the silence around me. My feet sink slightly into the warm soil as I cross the narrow road leading to it, pausing to watch the ripples dance. Somewhere in this vast world, I believe, lies the love I seek, though it feels as elusive as the current beneath the surface.

Jodongo always said love is like the treasures hidden deep within Lake Victoria, hard to find, harder to keep.”hera tek tweta.” So, I search. From the shores of Usenge to the busy aswekra market in Kendu Bay, I walk, I watch, I hope. Faces pass by, some kind, some indifferent, but none answer the silent question that sits in my heart. The days stretch long, and the nights longer still.

At night, I sit under the strange sky, tracing the patterns of stars scattered above. Their soft, silvery light reminds me of the cowrie shells my grandmother, Min Ombewa used to wear, clinking softly as she told us stories of long-lost love. The stars seem to mock me now, offering no guidance, only their cold brilliance. My body grows weary, but my heart refuses to give up.

I look to the clouds that drift lazily over Got Asego. Their rough shapes hold no answers, only shifting shadows that point to nowhere. There’s a pull within me, though, urging me toward the quiet Homa Hills in the distance. When I finally arrive, I find nothing but empty spaces, my footsteps speaking in the silence. Even the wind feels indifferent.

I wander farther, beyond the lands I know. I cross into places where the language stumbles on my tongue and the songs of the people feel strange. Still, I go on, driven by the stubborn hope that the next turn, the next road, will lead me to what I seek. But each step feels heavier, each path more uncertain, until I find myself completely lost.

At the market, the women shake their heads as I pass. “hera tek,” they say with laughter, their voices laced with pity. Love is hard, they remind me, and harder still for those who chase it blindly. Their words sting, but they don’t stop me. Despite everything, a quiet ember of hope burns within me, refusing to die.

One evening, as the sun dips low over Lake Simbi Nyaima, I sit on its shore. The stillness of the place feels different, comforting even. The water is calm, reflecting the fiery colors of the sunset like a mirror. For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself pause. The sound of the lake, the warmth of the fading sun, and the stillness around me all seem to urge me to look inward.

It’s there, in that moment of quiet, that I begin to understand. Perhaps love isn’t a treasure to be found but a truth to be uncovered. Maybe it doesn’t live in the stars, the hills, or even in another person. It begins here, within me. My heart, though tired and bruised, isn’t done searching, it just needs to start looking in a new way.

As I rise to leave, a strange calm settles over me. The journey isn’t over, but it feels less like a race and more like a path I’m meant to walk. I think of my grandmother’s words, her voice steady and wise, “hera en kama rach, kendo en kama ber.” Love is both a good and a bad thing at the same time.

The scent of “kuon bel”and fresh tilapia greets me as I walk back home, the familiar sound of children playing ajuala filling the air. I smile to myself. Maybe love isn’t just in the finding, it’s in the moments along the way, in the laughter of family, the warmth of community, and the quiet lessons life teaches.

As the stars come out once more, I glance up at them, no longer searching. For now, I am content to walk this journey, guided by hope and the gentle rhythm of a heart that still believes.

@okelododdychitchats