Page 66 of Royal Pain
“I like that there’s no stone monuments. It’s so much more natural.”
“That was my great grandmother’s doing. She had this built when her husband died. His plot is on the top of that far hill under the blossoming tree.”
We walk the path, and here and there he shows me the names that sound so familiar to me. I wrote about these people. Now I’m standing at their graves in an intimate moment. I feel privileged.
“Here’s where my grandparents are,” he says, pointing to the plaques that readKing TonloandQueen Bethsheba.
“Oh! My God. He was one of the greatest soldiers. I know his story.” My comment makes Zan happy. He likes that I’m knowledgeable and interested.
“Yes! It’s cool you know our history. And as you know, Bethsheba is my father’s mother.”
“She was the monarch who secretly ruled after his death, right?”
“Yes. The people weren’t ready for female rule. It was another time, but I think there’s still some holdover in that way of thinking. But she had courage and she was smart. Mozia grew exponentially under her guidance.”
“Of course, her eighteen-year-old son got the credit.”
“That’s right, but only till he actually assumed the throne. Forever after he touted her rule and let the people know it was her who shaped the country.”
“Fascinating.”
We continue walking, down the path, around a corner and through a canopy of trees. There up ahead stands a male figure, sitting on the grass in front of two bouquets of lilies. His arms wrapped around his knees.
“Is that Nubia?” Zan says.
“Yeah, it is.”
When he spots us approaching, he stands.
“Hi.” His greeting one quiet word.
Zan gives him a hug. “Just having a visit?”
“Yes. I come here most days. For a little while.” He looks at me. “It’s a good resting place, right?”
“I think it’s about perfect.”
He nods and gestures to the plaque.King Tarik 1983-2020 Beloved Husband, Father, Son
“My mother didn’t want any mention of his martyrdom. This is a place for good memories.”
This boy is sensitive and kind. I see it in him. We stand together and something beautiful occurs. Instead of prayers sent silently from thought to heaven, the boy starts to sing. I’ve heard this before. It’s a song of Africa. Of the beauty of the land and its people.
Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t want them to see my crying. I bow my head and brush the tears away. Zan joins in and the two voices lift together, like an offering to Tarik. Christ. This is killing me. It’s filled with emotion and real love. Their loss is great, and each understands the others’ pain.
When the last chorus is done, the voices quiet to a whisper.
“That was beautiful, Nubia. The king is smiling,” Zan says. “Let’s visit your grandfather.”
The boy just nods.
We walk to the neighboring rise, where a blossoming tree stands. The plaque rests under the branches shading the spot.
King Mansa 1955-2020 Beneath this stone lies the body of a Mozian warrior.
The simplicity of the spot is breathtaking. Multiple groups of bouquets rest around his grave. It’s obvious the queen has chosen well. Both her husband and son honored with fresh flowers daily.
“Oh, Papa,” Zan says softly.
There’s no song this time, but both men stand respectfully offering their silent thoughts. The more I look, the more I see what a king is made of. It scares me, because not only am I learning there’s more to the job than imagined, but I see how Zan would do it so well.
But what about being queen?
Every time I roll the idea around in my mind, I want to laugh.What a ridiculous idea.I’m an American! I’m a journalist. There’s absolutely no way it would ever lead to that.
First of all, the queen assumes our relationship might lead to marriage. That alone is a stunning thought coming from my boyfriend’s mother before it comes from him. Secondly, would Zan even be interested in becoming king? He’s been working for his people, his country, under the assumption he has no claim to the throne. And he’s liked it that way.
But I can’t ignore the obvious. He’s one hundred percent capable. I just have to push down the little seed of a thought that’s trying to grow, that it’s his destiny.
