He was struggling to unload the items strapped to the donkey’s back, his face glowing with joy—his entire body showed he was genuinely happy, judging by the strength and energy with which he brought the goods down.
His wife, and mother of his children, came out from the bathroom and stood watching him in deep shock at seeing him at such an hour.
She looked up at the sky, trying to estimate the time. If her guess was right, it would be around three to four in the afternoon.
She looked again at the load he brought in with the donkey, openly showing her surprise at seeing him in broad daylight, long before his usual time. Based on his work routine, he only visited home every two weeks—he would come for a day, leave, and only return after another two weeks.
Yet today, it had only been six days since he left, and here he was again, arriving with loads of items.
She came out to the middle of the compound, set down the water gourd in her hand, softened her face a little, and reached out to help him lower a large iron box he was struggling to unload. She sighed at its weight and said:
“Abal, is this really you now?”
She looked at the items again before turning back to him and asking:
“And all of these things?
I hope everything is alright?”
He placed the last knot of items from the donkey on the ground, then pulled the donkey away toward a shed far from their rooms—the place they used to tie their livestock back when they kept animals. After tying it, he came back and sat on the mat she had spread out for him, saying:
“Alhamdulillah, praise be to God.”
She went and fetched water for him in a heavy, large cup, placing it before him. She sat beside him, releasing a deep breath. She greeted him again, this time in their native Amharic:
“Dehina metahi.”
(Welcome back.)
He drank the water eagerly and nodded, saying:
“Thank you, I hope you’re all fine?”
“Alhamdulillah,” she replied, though worry filled her eyes. Her mind was far from calm—she knew better than anyone how powerful and authoritative the kingdom of Delah was over their workers. She herself had lived for twenty years with barely a husband; he only visited every two weeks unless she traveled to him, a journey she hardly ever made because of the demands of their work. Their children had grown without daily presence of their father—yet now, suddenly, here he was.
She took a slow breath, about to speak, but he spoke first, carefully gathering himself. His expression held the calm dignity of an elderly man.
“Jamila, I know you’re unsettled seeing me back at this time.
Calm yourself. I came back because everything is fine.
Nothing has happened—not what you fear.
I have returned home this time completely. By God’s will, I am finally free. I will now live with you and our children, peacefully.”
She inhaled sharply, her whole body turning cold at the weight of his words. She knew this was not the end—there was something heavier behind it. She slowly raised her voice, still shaken:
“Neges?”
(Meaning King’s selected woman/royal mistress)
He lowered his head slightly, nodding with heaviness.
“Yes… Negestati.”
Her breath caught. A wave of fear surged through her chest as her heart hammered violently. She lowered her head as tears threatened to spill.
He looked at her directly and said:
**“My father served in Delah from his youth until he grew old and could no longer serve. When he could not continue, I was given in his place to continue the royal service.
I have served Delah from my youth until I became a grown man, until I married you and we had these children.
I have served for over thirty years.
You have lived for nearly twenty years without a husband.
Our children have grown without their father’s care.
Don’t you think it is time for me too to gain freedom and come home?
One of my daughters has redeemed my freedom.”**
He exhaled slowly and continued:
“Jamila, you more than anyone know that I could never leave Delah, not until someone is given in exchange for my freedom.
If I had a son, he would have taken my place just as I took my father’s place.
This bondage would continue down generations.
But now—with only daughters—this ends with me, by God’s will.
They will not serve. They will become Negestati.”
She closed her eyes tightly, holding back tears—not wanting him to see her pain or think her ungrateful. She raised her face slightly and asked:
“Neges?
Between the two… which one did you choose?”
She inhaled slowly, her voice trembling:
**“Abal, I gave birth to all three.
I raised them.
I know each of them well.
Meriyam is out of the question—she is only ten.
Padima and Nuru are the ones we are talking about.”**
Her heart grew heavier, her dreams for her daughters collapsing inside her. She wiped away the threatening tears.
“I dreamed of their weddings, their futures…
I never imagined that because of where their father worked, one of them would have her destiny altered—
From becoming a wife like other girls to becoming a Neges,
A king’s woman…
One whose life is limited to pleasing him, bearing children for him…
A royal companion, nothing more.”
She could no longer hold back the tears and silently wiped them. She felt the weight of the irreversible decision—she knew he must have already signed the freedom papers.
“Abal… please, forgive me.”
He shook his head.
**“Don’t apologize, Jamila.
It’s normal that you feel this pain.
But this is the decision I have made.
It is painful to give up a child. But you know the kind of life a Negestati lives here—luxury almost equal to queens. Many families became wealthy through it.
I do not desire riches or status, but I desire freedom.
And if God wills that wealth comes to us through this, I will not reject it.
Everyone wants prosperity, and everyone desires lineage ties with Delah.
Having grandchildren from Delah becomes an eternal honor.”**
A weak smile formed on her face as she stood up slowly and brought him camel-milk porridge in a fresh wooden bowl.
“May it be for the best, Abal.”
“Amin,” he replied, adjusting himself while watching her hands radiate beauty as she handed the bowl.
She set it before him and began packing the grains he brought. She had only just returned to the room when Nuru and Padima walked into the compound, both wearing long traditional kuta gowns.
Padima walked ahead—beautiful, with rich brown-chocolate skin, tall and slightly full-figured, especially around the chest.
Nuru followed behind her, holding little Meriyam’s hand—tall, beautiful, with yellow-brown skin, slender but with striking curves she always tried to hide with modest clothing.
Description
His Unexpected Return
He was struggling to unload the items strapped to the donkey’s back, his face glowing with joy—his entire body showed he was genuinely happy, judging by the strength and energy with which he brought the goods down.
His wife, and mother of his children, came out from the bathroom and stood watching him in deep shock at seeing him at such an hour.
She looked up at the sky, trying to estimate the time. If her guess was right, it would be around three to four in the afternoon.
She looked again at the load he brought in with the donkey, openly showing her surprise at seeing him in broad daylight, long before his usual time. Based on his work routine, he only visited home every two weeks—he would come for a day, leave, and only return after another two weeks.
Yet today, it had only been six days since he left, and here he was again, arriving with loads of items.
She came out to the middle of the compound, set down the water gourd in her hand, softened her face a little, and reached out to help him lower a large iron box he was struggling to unload. She sighed at its weight and said:
“Abal, is this really you now?”
She looked at the items again before turning back to him and asking:
“And all of these things?
I hope everything is alright?”
He placed the last knot of items from the donkey on the ground, then pulled the donkey away toward a shed far from their rooms—the place they used to tie their livestock back when they kept animals. After tying it, he came back and sat on the mat she had spread out for him, saying:
“Alhamdulillah, praise be to God.”
She went and fetched water for him in a heavy, large cup, placing it before him. She sat beside him, releasing a deep breath. She greeted him again, this time in their native Amharic:
“Dehina metahi.”
(Welcome back.)
He drank the water eagerly and nodded, saying:
“Thank you, I hope you’re all fine?”
“Alhamdulillah,” she replied, though worry filled her eyes. Her mind was far from calm—she knew better than anyone how powerful and authoritative the kingdom of Delah was over their workers. She herself had lived for twenty years with barely a husband; he only visited every two weeks unless she traveled to him, a journey she hardly ever made because of the demands of their work. Their children had grown without daily presence of their father—yet now, suddenly, here he was.
She took a slow breath, about to speak, but he spoke first, carefully gathering himself. His expression held the calm dignity of an elderly man.
“Jamila, I know you’re unsettled seeing me back at this time.
Calm yourself. I came back because everything is fine.
Nothing has happened—not what you fear.
I have returned home this time completely. By God’s will, I am finally free. I will now live with you and our children, peacefully.”
She inhaled sharply, her whole body turning cold at the weight of his words. She knew this was not the end—there was something heavier behind it. She slowly raised her voice, still shaken:
“Neges?”
(Meaning King’s selected woman/royal mistress)
He lowered his head slightly, nodding with heaviness.
“Yes… Negestati.”
Her breath caught. A wave of fear surged through her chest as her heart hammered violently. She lowered her head as tears threatened to spill.
He looked at her directly and said:
**“My father served in Delah from his youth until he grew old and could no longer serve. When he could not continue, I was given in his place to continue the royal service.
I have served Delah from my youth until I became a grown man, until I married you and we had these children.
I have served for over thirty years.
You have lived for nearly twenty years without a husband.
Our children have grown without their father’s care.
Don’t you think it is time for me too to gain freedom and come home?
One of my daughters has redeemed my freedom.”**
He exhaled slowly and continued:
“Jamila, you more than anyone know that I could never leave Delah, not until someone is given in exchange for my freedom.
If I had a son, he would have taken my place just as I took my father’s place.
This bondage would continue down generations.
But now—with only daughters—this ends with me, by God’s will.
They will not serve. They will become Negestati.”
She closed her eyes tightly, holding back tears—not wanting him to see her pain or think her ungrateful. She raised her face slightly and asked:
“Neges?
Between the two… which one did you choose?”
She inhaled slowly, her voice trembling:
**“Abal, I gave birth to all three.
I raised them.
I know each of them well.
Meriyam is out of the question—she is only ten.
Padima and Nuru are the ones we are talking about.”**
Her heart grew heavier, her dreams for her daughters collapsing inside her. She wiped away the threatening tears.
“I dreamed of their weddings, their futures…
I never imagined that because of where their father worked, one of them would have her destiny altered—
From becoming a wife like other girls to becoming a Neges,
A king’s woman…
One whose life is limited to pleasing him, bearing children for him…
A royal companion, nothing more.”
She could no longer hold back the tears and silently wiped them. She felt the weight of the irreversible decision—she knew he must have already signed the freedom papers.
“Abal… please, forgive me.”
He shook his head.
**“Don’t apologize, Jamila.
It’s normal that you feel this pain.
But this is the decision I have made.
It is painful to give up a child. But you know the kind of life a Negestati lives here—luxury almost equal to queens. Many families became wealthy through it.
I do not desire riches or status, but I desire freedom.
And if God wills that wealth comes to us through this, I will not reject it.
Everyone wants prosperity, and everyone desires lineage ties with Delah.
Having grandchildren from Delah becomes an eternal honor.”**
A weak smile formed on her face as she stood up slowly and brought him camel-milk porridge in a fresh wooden bowl.
“May it be for the best, Abal.”
“Amin,” he replied, adjusting himself while watching her hands radiate beauty as she handed the bowl.
She set it before him and began packing the grains he brought. She had only just returned to the room when Nuru and Padima walked into the compound, both wearing long traditional kuta gowns.
Padima walked ahead—beautiful, with rich brown-chocolate skin, tall and slightly full-figured, especially around the chest.
Nuru followed behind her, holding little Meriyam’s hand—tall, beautiful, with yellow-brown skin, slender but with striking curves she always tried to hide with modest clothing.
And this was the moment that changed everything.