Everlasting desire

THE DREAMER

Shantel Malah was no ordinary high school girl. In the dusty halls of Malembo High School, her voice was known to silence even the noisiest students. Music flowed from her like breath itself—effortless, pure, and defiant. Her dream was simple: to become a musician who would one day inspire the world. But in her traditional community, where daughters were expected to cook, marry, and submit, dreams like Shantel's were dangerous.

She had grown up in the village of shangombo where the sound of drums and traditional songs echoed through every celebration, but were never meant for girls like her to pursue as a career. Her mother, Martha, was once a singer in church, but she had died when Shantel was nine. Since then, melodies had filled the emptiness in Shantel’s heart. When she sang, she felt her mother’s presence, as if Martha’s spirit danced within every note.

At school, Shantel excelled in her subjects, especially literature and music. Her favorite time of the week was Friday afternoons, when students gathered for talent showcases. Each time she performed, the entire school would fall silent, captivated by her soulful voice. Her songs often spoke of freedom, dreams, and hidden pain—themes her classmates found deeply moving.

Her talent did not go unnoticed. Teachers praised her, and the headmaster once called her a “national treasure in the making.” But it was Mrs. Banda, her music teacher, who nurtured her abilities. “Shantel,” she would say, “your voice can move mountains. Don’t ever silence it.”

Shantel began writing songs in her journal. She wrote during lunch breaks, late at night, and even while walking home. Her best friend, Leah, often recorded her performances and shared them online. Soon, Shantel’s videos were gaining attention, spreading across local social media channels. She started dreaming big—of music academies, radio interviews, and stages lit with spotlights.

But dreams, when seen through the eyes of tradition, become threats.

Her father, Mr. Malah, was a respected elder in their community. A man of iron beliefs and rigid values, he saw no place for music in a girl’s life. He believed a girl’s purpose was to uphold family honor, marry well, and bear children. When rumors of Shantel’s singing began to reach him, he grew suspicious. And when he found a video of her performing at a youth concert, fury consumed him.

That evening, he called her into the living room, holding his phone in one hand and her journal in the other. “Is this what you’ve been doing behind my back?” he demanded. Shantel trembled. Her dreams, once bright, now hung by a thread.

She tried to explain—how music made her feel alive, how it was the only way she could express herself. But he wouldn’t listen. “This school has filled your head with nonsense,” he spat. “You will no longer attend.”

Without warning, he withdrew her from Malembo High. Her textbooks were packed away, her uniform sold to a cousin. Shantel’s sanctuary was gone. And so began her descent into silence.