In a lush, fertile valley bordered by whispering hills and tall baobab trees, there lived a wealthy and respected elder named Mzee Jemba. He was known across villages not just for his vast herds of cattle, acres of farmland, and granaries overflowing with millet, but also for his wisdom and kindness.
Mzee Jemba had one child—a son named Kato. From the moment he was born, the old man raised him with love, discipline, and all the teachings of their ancestors. Kato was tall and strong, with eyes sharp like an eagle's and the calmness of the early morning rain. Women from neighboring villages whispered his name with admiration.
But there was one thing that puzzled the entire community: Kato refused to marry.
No matter how many beautiful girls were presented, no matter how many suitors brought gifts and promises of hardworking daughters, Kato always declined.
“I do not believe they love me,” he told his father. “They only admire your cows, your gold, your land. They are drawn to what we have, not who I am.”
Mzee Jemba tried reasoning with him, even pleaded at times.
“Son,” he said one evening, sitting beneath the mango tree near their homestead, “I am growing old. One day, all of this will be yours. But more than wealth, you need someone to share your joys and carry your sorrows. A home without love is a drum with no sound.”
But Kato was firm.
“If true love exists,” he said, “let her find me without knowing who I am or what I own. Until then, I will remain alone.”
A Clever Father’s Plan
One night, as crickets sang and stars blinked over the hills, Mzee Jemba sat alone by the fire. He closed his eyes and prayed to the spirits of his ancestors.
And when he opened his eyes, a clever plan had taken root in his heart.
The next morning, he summoned his most trusted servant and told him to say nothing to anyone—not even Kato. Then, he dressed himself in rags, rubbed charcoal on his face, and tied an old reed mat around his shoulders. He removed all his rings, necklaces, and charms, and took a long crooked stick. By the time he looked at himself in the mirror, he was no longer Mzee Jemba—the powerful elder—but just an old, tired beggar.
He left his compound quietly and began his journey to the far villages, where no one knew his face. He walked slowly, leaning on his stick, sometimes pretending to cough or groan from an old injury.
He visited many homesteads, knocking gently and asking for scraps of food or a sip of water.
Some people turned him away harshly.
Others threw him leftovers and slammed the door.
But one morning, after days of walking, he reached a small village nestled near a stream, where the air smelled of wildflowers and roasted cassava. There, he came upon a simple hut made of mud and thatch. Outside, a young woman was tending to a goat with a broken leg.
Her name was Amina.
The Kindness of Amina
Amina lived with her widowed mother. They were poor in material things but rich in kindness, faith, and laughter. They lived simply—just two goats, a few chickens, and a small garden behind the house.
When Amina saw the old man limping down the path, covered in dust, she stopped what she was doing and rushed to him.
“Baba, you look tired,” she said. “Come and rest under our tree.”
She brought him water from their pot and the last boiled sweet potato from their pot. She even fetched herbs to rub on his feet and washed them herself.
Mzee Jemba was amazed.
She never asked who he was or what he had. She didn’t look at him with disgust or pity. Her eyes were filled with warmth and respect.
“Why are you so kind to a beggar like me?” he asked.
Amina smiled. “My mother says a stranger may be the spirit of a forgotten ancestor. And even if you’re not, kindness costs nothing but means everything.”
That night, Amina invited him to sleep near the fire in their hut. She covered him with a clean cloth and gave him her own calabash of milk. Her mother, though surprised, agreed.
“He has no one,” Amina whispered. “But for tonight, we will be his people.”
The Truth Revealed
The next morning, Mzee Jemba thanked them and quietly left before sunrise. But he left behind a carved wooden ring—one that only chiefs wore. He gave it to Amina, saying, “Keep this. Someday, it will answer many questions.”
When he returned to his village, he bathed, wore his robes, and summoned his son.
“Kato,” he said, “I have found her.”
Kato raised an eyebrow. “Another suitor?”
“No. Not a suitor. A soul. A woman who treated me with kindness when I was nothing but a beggar.”
He told Kato the whole story. And though skeptical, Kato agreed to meet her.
Mzee Jemba sent a group of messengers to bring Amina and her mother. When they arrived, dressed in simple clothes and nervous from the unexpected summons, Amina clutched the wooden ring tightly in her palm.
When Kato stepped forward, his heart skipped. He was not just impressed by her beauty, but by her gentle presence.
Mzee Jemba stood and addressed the people gathered.
“This girl saw value in an old man she thought was worthless. She did not serve me because of gold or cattle. She served because her heart is pure.”
He turned to Kato. “If you seek love that sees beyond riches, she is your answer.”
Kato walked slowly toward Amina, looked her in the eyes, and said:
“I judged many before knowing their hearts. But you saw dignity in a stranger. That is the kind of heart I wish to grow old beside.”
A Wedding for the Ages
That season, drums echoed through the hills as the village celebrated the union of Kato and Amina. The feast lasted four days. People came from far and wide to witness the bride who won a man’s heart through kindness alone.
Even the goats danced.
And when Amina was asked later why she helped a beggar that day, she simply said,
“Because a heart that gives freely never returns empty.”
The Moral of the Story:
True love is not found in riches or beauty, but in the heart that sees beyond appearances.
And that is the tale of the Old Man Who Pretended to Be a Poor Beggar to Find Love for His Son Who Refused to Get Married—a story still told around fires and under moonlight to this very day.