She lied.
No, I am not interested in volleyball. She did not want to be in the limelight in the centre of the court. The disdain directed at her voluptuous figure.
She lied.
No, I am not that good at Maths, cause girls aren’t supposed to be intelligent.
She lied.
No, I am not interested in dating you, because she did not want to seem easy though her heart yearned for connection with this fine man.
She lied.
I do not want to do my master’s degree now so her parents can pay fees for the younger ones.
She lied.
No, I am not tired. I will rest in a little while, as she picked up another bucket to get water from the borehole a kilometre away, yet the soles of her feet throbbed with each step.
She lied.
No, I am not in much pain, as her uterus sent spasms in waves of nauseous pain
She lied.
Thank you for the advice. I will definitely do that, as the elderly woman at the bus stop criticises her for bottle-feeding her baby.
She lied.
I do not like cake as she shared the last piece of cake between her daughter and son.
She lied.
I can handle it. Do not worry, I am great at multi-tasking as she bent under the weight of the dozen tasks she carried out.
She lied.
I am superwoman, yet she knew the weight of the pressure of perfection was making the façade crack.
She lied.
I did this for my pleasure, not my husband’s, as she defends her choice of an elongated labia, skipping the months she drank an awful concoction to achieve the right length for her husband’s gratification.
She lied.
She moans and shudders, as she wishes he could finish so she could rest her weary body and sleep.
She lied.
I am ok. I am strong. It did not bother me, as her heart broke seeing her husband’s phone filled with pictures of his new dalliance.
She lied.
I am all right. It is only the children who matter, as long as they are well, it is ok I can live with his whorish ways.
She lied.
of course, we cannot pay a nurse aide to look after Gogo as she recovers. I am here. Whilst she knows that her plate is overflowing, and she cannot handle one more thing.
She lied.
Finally, I now have room for a guest room, as her child packs up to leave home forever.
Tears well up in her eyes as her echoes vibrate in her empty nest.
With each lie her true form is hidden away under the shadow of untruths.
Shylet Chabata is an upcoming Zimbabwean writer based in Harare. Her writing is centred on human interest stories highlighting the emotional journey that each person undergoes while living an ordinary daily life. She has previously been published in the online literary journal, Mosi-ou-tunya literary review.
She is a wife and a mother of two.