By Goitsimang Moshikaro
The curtains were pushed open. Sunlight poured into the room with a strength that could weaken any shadow. The fuzziness of deep, comforting sleep faded with each shout and shake.
“Shamal, wake up! Wake up!”
Miara tapped his face again and again, her voice rising with each call. For someone rarely joyful, this must have been a big deal, judging by the excitement in her eyes.
“Come on! Baba said we’re having special guests! I wasn’t told who, but come on!” She lowered her voice and stood tall like a commander. “I’m not seeing them without you, Prince Shamal!” Then she skipped out of his room, giggling.
“Miara! Shamal! The guests have arrived!”
Shamal walked down the stairs after his sister, who had already scurried off to see their unexpected visitors. Who visits this early? he wondered. Is it for a trade alliance? Marria-
But then he froze.
Standing in the entrance, arms wide and smiling like the sun itself, was Prince Ghadif of Rasyl Khama. One would expect Shamal to look surprised, but his ever-shifting emotions made him hard to read.
“Whatever happened to ‘coming four days later’, as you told me?”
Shamal awkwardly chuckled. “I figured four days would feel like four-ever till I could see you.”
They hugged. As they pulled apart, Ghadif’s hand lingered on Shamal’s cheek — a tender touch that made Shamal forget his worries. Still, his averted gaze and furrowed brows hinted it wasn’t enough.
After warm welcomes and small gifts were exchanged, the guests were officially received into the Kingdom of Dubbekh.
By lunchtime, the sound of endless chatter overtook the clangs and bashing of cutlery. Between bites, they caught up on months gone by. Miara spoke for a full hour about her growing plans with the other emirate kingdoms and their people. Their father had given her endless support and approval, and would even boast at times about his hopes for his son as king.
Flattering as it was, it’d take a turn from being encouraging to rather demotivating and worrying about whether he’d ever reach those expectations.
After the feast and festivities, Shamal slipped away, retreating to his room for most of the day, sulking . There, he opened his great-great-grandfather’s music journal.
The thing about this book was… It documented musical entertainment across eras: rare instruments, handwritten scores, tales of performances. Music had once been adored by the people. But in time, it was deemed a “distraction”. Carers claimed the children only listened to the tunes, not the talking. So, the book was hidden. Music faded from royal interest. Future rulers would have no interest in music for the people, and so the ruler’s subjects would never align.
As sunlight dimmed across the pages, Shamal traced a line of notes with his fingers and wondered:
What would it take to listen again?
Goitsimang Moshikaro is a 4th year multimedia student in the School of Journalism and media Studies
