The first weeks of the dry season arrived quietly.
The heavy rains had stopped, leaving behind rich green pastures that still provided enough grass for the cattle. The skies above Siampondo were clear once again, and each morning the rising sun bathed the Sikalima farm in golden light.
Life seemed peaceful.
The repaired fence had held firm.
No more strangers had been seen near the boundary.
Mr. Sikalima slowly relaxed, believing whoever had tampered with the fence had moved on.
But another problem was about to enter the farm—not from outside, but from within the people who lived there.
---
One Wednesday morning, Mrs. Bwalya received an urgent phone call from the women's fellowship at church.
One of the elderly members had passed away during the night, and preparations for the funeral had begun immediately.
Among the Tonga people, funerals were not merely family affairs; the whole community came together to comfort the bereaved.
Mrs. Bwalya turned to Chipo.
"I'll have to leave."
"Today?"
She nodded.
"I may not return until tomorrow evening."
Chipo immediately understood.
"I'll manage the shop."
Mrs. Bwalya smiled.
"I knew you would offer."
She handed over the familiar bunch of keys.
"You already know what to do."
"I'll record every sale."
"I'll lock the shop before sunset."
"And?"
Chipo smiled.
"I won't guess if I don't know something."
Mrs. Bwalya laughed.
"Exactly."
Before leaving, she hugged Chipo warmly.
"Thank you."
---
Meanwhile, Mubita had already taken the cattle toward the southern grazing fields.
The journey was longer than usual because Mr. Sikalima wanted the northern paddocks to recover before grazing resumed.
The morning passed peacefully.
Several calves chased one another through the grass while older cows grazed lazily.
Around midday, Hamusonde approached carrying lunch.
"The boss says you should eat before you forget again."
Mubita laughed.
"I've earned that reputation."
"You certainly have."
The old man handed him roasted maize and dried meat.
As they ate, Hamusonde looked thoughtfully across the fields.
"You know..."
"What?"
"Sometimes the busiest days create the biggest mistakes."
Mubita frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"When people become tired..."
"They stop paying attention."
Mubita nodded.
"I'll remember."
---
Back at the veterinary shop, business was unusually busy.
Word had spread that tick fever was affecting cattle in several nearby villages.
Farmers arrived one after another.
Some wanted medicine.
Others wanted advice.
By lunchtime, Chipo had served more customers than she usually did in two days.
Despite the pressure, she carefully recorded every transaction.
Just as she finished serving one customer, another vehicle stopped outside.
Three men climbed out.
One of them smiled warmly.
"Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon."
"We're looking for medicine for our cattle."
"Certainly."
The men entered the shop.
While Chipo searched the shelves, the oldest of the three quietly looked around the building.
His eyes lingered on the cash drawer.
Then on the storeroom door.
Finally, on the window overlooking the farmyard.
Chipo noticed.
"Can I help you with something else?"
The man smiled.
"No."
"I've never been here before."
"It's a beautiful farm."
"Thank you."
He paid for the medicine, and the three men drove away.
As she watched them disappear down the road, something about them troubled her.
She couldn't explain why.
---
Late that afternoon, Mubita returned with the cattle.
He found Chipo locking the shop.
"You look exhausted."
She smiled.
"It was busy today."
"Many customers?"
"More than I've ever served."
As they walked home together, Chipo mentioned the three strangers.
"They asked many questions."
"What kind of questions?"
"How many workers live here."
"When Mr. Sikalima usually travels."
"Whether the shop stays open on weekends."
Mubita stopped walking.
"They asked that?"
She nodded.
"I thought it was strange."
His expression became serious.
"You should tell Mr. Sikalima."
"I was planning to."
---
That evening, everyone gathered in the farmhouse after supper.
When Chipo described the visitors, Mr. Sikalima's face became thoughtful.
"What did they look like?"
She described each man carefully.
One was tall with a scar above his left eyebrow.
Another wore a faded green cap.
The oldest spoke politely but observed everything.
Mr. Sikalima exchanged a glance with Hamusonde.
"I don't recognize that description."
Neither did the old groundskeeper.
The farmer remained silent for several moments.
Then he asked,
"Did they buy medicine?"
"Yes."
"They paid?"
"They did."
"So they had a reason to be here."
He nodded slowly.
"But curiosity can sometimes hide another purpose."
Mrs. Bwalya returned from the funeral later that evening and listened carefully to everything that had happened.
"I'm glad you noticed their questions."
She looked proudly at Chipo.
"Many people wouldn't have."
---
The following morning, Mr. Sikalima unlocked the veterinary shop.
Everything appeared normal.
He checked the shelves.
The storeroom.
The cash records.
Nothing seemed missing.
Then he frowned.
Several bottles of expensive livestock antibiotics had been moved from their usual place.
Not stolen.
Just... moved.
"Chipo."
She walked over.
"Did you rearrange these?"
She shook her head.
"No."
Mrs. Bwalya joined them.
"I didn't either."
The three adults looked at one another.
Someone had entered the shop.
Or at least handled the stock.
Without permission.
Mr. Sikalima carefully checked the inventory against the ledger.
Every bottle was accounted for.
Nothing had disappeared.
Yet someone had clearly disturbed the shelves.
He closed the ledger slowly.
"They weren't looking for medicine."
Mubita felt a chill run down his spine.
"What were they looking for?"
Mr. Sikalima looked toward the window facing the farmyard.
"I'm beginning to think..."
"They were studying us."
Outside, the farm looked as peaceful as ever.
The cattle grazed beneath the warm African sun.
Children from a neighboring village laughed as they walked home from school.
Birds sang from the mango trees.
But beneath that ordinary day, an uncomfortable truth was beginning to emerge.
The trouble that had come to the Sikalima farm was no longer just testing fences.
It was testing the people who lived within them.