Last week, I promised to share with you the only letter that my Swedish love whom I met in Norway while covering Martin Luther King Jr’s achievement in the 1960s wrote to me five years after our encounter.

Here we go, I was supposed to bring her home after charming her and grabbing her heart in my palms but everything we had planed stalled because she did not have her travel documents ready. So she stayed behind and promised to join me later in Africa.
Dear shooter,

We met in the summer of 1964 when we were both in the line of our duties and things have not been the same ever since.

I was working as an usher in a hotel in Oslo, a job that I had had for two years and loved since it was my profession. However, I have since changed my career to nurturing our child.

Shooter, I believe that our short relationship was a marriage made in heaven.

I say this because I never believed that I would do all that I did at the risk of my job and the termination of my professional certificate since it was against the professional ethics that governed us and it is a rule we had learned from school, not to fall in love with a client.

It’s been five years now without my African king and protector and my heart is filled with emptiness, hopelessness and insurmountable love for the man I can’t see and touch.

My love, I am falling apart. My heart is shattered, tormented, and sad.

I have been praying hard for you and let me hope that falling in love with me has not caused you agony like it has to me. My sister Anna has thrown me out because she did not want me with an African man.

Shooter, I have a baby as a result of our under cover games on the third night in your hotel room while you were here and it has not been easy to raise our son whom I have named after Martin Luther King for reasons you know well.  

It is so disheartening when a five year old asks about the whereabouts of a father it has never seen…. I lost my protocol job as a result of the pregnancy though I don’t regret, but I regret the fall out with Anna my only sister who raised me up like she was my mum.

Shooter, promise you are coming to take us away because we can’t live without you anymore. Come save us from this love sickness.

Your son misses you so much and he dreams of being in Africa with his father though he does not know what Africa is.

Dear love, I will wait for you. I don’t care how long it will take but I will wait for you for ever.

Yours in love

Burger Drowski.

Fellow countrymen, what would you do if you had this letter in your hands? Tell me, please. I am reading this with shaking hands, a chocking throat and teary eyes. What more can one do?

Ends