It was a cold January night, with the wind howling outside the thin concrete walls and battering the tin roof. The rain visited intermittently and rushed off into the night again. There was a knock on the door, timid at first, and repeated every few seconds. Muwena was speaking to Doreen over a dinner, their children already asleep.
“Shh...I think there is someone at the door. What shall we do?”
“Muwena, it is your house. But if I were you I would not open it. Let them go away, whoever it is. What good can come of a visit at a time like this?”
“But maybe...maybe it is him, and he has returned”
Doreen could not argue with this contention, for Muwena often spoke of her regrets of Martin’s leaving, and she knew she could not say anything that would make her seem like an obstacle to reunification, no matter how delusional that notion could be. For all Doreen knew, Martin had fallen into the trap of Facebook addiction, and was no longer in his right mind. Should her friend let such a man simply re-enter her life in the dead of the night? It was not for her to determine.
“Please can you help me” the soaked man said, wearing a thin cotton shirt that clung coldly to his skin
“Who are you?“ asked Muwena, surprised and disappointed at the same time.
“I’m in trouble, I’m a Facebook addiction sufferer, and the government is after me” said the man, bravely.
“How do I know you won’t trouble us?”
The man showed her a photo. “This is me with my family. I have had to run away from them because of the government. I just need a place for a night and then I’ll be on my way. I’m grateful for any help you can offer me.”
Muwena was about to end the conversation and close the door, but then she hesitated. She looked at the gaunt features of the man, and she looked into his eyes. She thought she could judge a man’s soul by his the look in his eyes. His were desperate, yet honest looking eyes. They almost seemed to be crying, not carrying tears, but a distant echo of a soul’s cry for help.
“Come in” she said, almost softly. “You must be soaked, let me see what we can do for you.” She gestured for him to enter into the small house. He ventured forward, relieved. He looked straight ahead, but he felt immediately the warmth, the dryness of his new surroundings. He followed Muwena as she led him to a chair.
“Wait here” said Muwena, and went to the next room.
He surveyed the lounge, which was bare white walls enclosed by a tin roof on one part, and a hard, polished cement floor on the other. The lightning threw flashes of colour, made clear the bareness of the furnishings. A small coffee table, a picture in a frame, mats on the floor. He heard voices in the next room, a child crying, an angry “shhhhhh!”. He huddled his arms around himself protectively, he was in a stranger’s house, with their family. He did not want to burden them with his presence. He felt sorry for himself. How could he fall victim to Facebook addiction?
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