The ridges slept on. Kameno and Makuyu were no longer antagonistic. They had merged into one area of beautiful land, which is what, perhaps, they were meant to be. Makuyu, Kameno and the other ridges lay in peace and there was no sign of life, as one stood on the hill of God.
CHAPTER FIVE
Even Chege was moved by the morning peace. It was sometime before he was able to speak.
“Do you see all this land, this country stretching beyond and joining the sky?” His voice was deep and calm. Waiyaki realized that it was charged with strong feelings. He whispered:
“Yes.”
“It is beautiful to the eye—”
“It is beautiful.”
“And young and fertile—”
“Yes. Young and fertile.”
“All this is our land.”
“Yes, Father.”
“You know Gikuyu and Mumbi—”
“Father and mother of the tribe.”
It was as if both were in a big dream.
“Do you see that mountain showing through the gray mist on the horizon—”
“Kerinyaga?”
“Yes, the mountain of He-who-shines-in-Holiness.” Chege stopped but continued with his steadfast look. “That is the seat of Murungu. He made Gikuyu and Mumbi.”
“Ye-es,” Waiyaki whispered.
“He stood them on that mountain. He showed them all the land.”
“Ye-es.” Again it was a whisper, barely audible. His father’s voice had a magic spell.
“From that mountain he brought them here.” Chege was standing beside his son, but a few steps behind. He looked across the ridges, across the hills, gazing still into space, like a man in a vision. Perhaps he was looking at something hidden from Waiyaki. Waiyaki strained his eyes but could not see anything. Although he feared for his father, he was becoming overpowered by the words flowing from the old man. And his father spoke on, not really talking to Waiyaki, but rather talking to himself, speaking his feelings and thoughts aloud. As his voice vibrated, Chege seemed to gain in stature and appearance so that Waiyaki thought him transfigured.
“. . . it was before Agu; in the beginning of things. Murungu brought the man and woman here and again showed them the whole vastness of the land. He gave the country to them and their children and the children of the children, tene na tene, world without end. Do you see here?”
Waiyaki was not sure if the last question was addressed to him. However, he looked up and saw his father was pointing at the Mugumo tree and the mysterious bush around it.
“That is a blessed and sacred place. There, where Mumbi’s feet stood, grew up that tree. So you see, it is Kameno that supported the father and mother of the tribe. From here, Murungu took them and put them under Mukuruwe wa Gathanga in Muranga. There our father and mother had nine daughters who bore more children. The children spread all over the country. Some came to the ridges to keep and guard the ancient rites. . . .”
The old man shifted his gaze and looked at his son.
“You are here. . . .”
“I came with you, Father.” Waiyaki was puzzled. He was beginning to shake himself out of the powers of the spell.
“I know, I know,” he said impatiently. “You understand that Gikuyu and Mumbi set their footsteps here.”
“Yes.”
“You descend from those few who came to the hills.”
There was a moment of silence between them. Waiyaki did not understand.
“You have heard of Mugo wa Kibiro?”
“Yes.”
“He was a seer . . . he saw things . . . the future unfolded before his eyes. . . .
“Mugo was born and grew up in Kameno before he went to tell people what he saw. For he saw many butterflies, of many colors, flying about over the land, disrupting the peace and the ordered life of the country. Then he cried aloud and said: ‘There shall come a people with clothes like butterflies. . . .’ People did not believe him. Some even poured scorn on him, laughing at him, for they said: ‘He is not well.’ And they would not listen to his voice, which warned them: ‘Beware!’ The seer was rejected by the people of the ridges. They gave him no clothes and no food. He became bitter and hid himself, refusing to tell them more. He went beyond the hills, to the world yonder, the whole extent of Gikuyuland. He was not yet exhausted and there spoke the message even louder. Still they laughed and poured scorn on him. Here they thought him dead. But disguised he came back here and settled.”
Chege paused for a while as if to gather his breath. His eyes shone as if with inner power and then slowly he said:
“We are his offspring. His blood flows in your veins.”
Waiyaki stood as if dumb. The knowledge that he had in him the blood of this famous seer, who had been able to see the future, filled him with an acute sense of wonder. He could not speak; the only word which escaped him was “Ha!” His father was still speaking:
“He died here. Our fathers do not know where his grave is. But some say that he was carried up by Murungu.”
Chege stopped and slowly turned to Waiyaki. Waiyaki trembled freely.
“I see you fear. You must learn to fight fear . . . fear. . . . It was not only Mugo whom they rejected. When I told them about Siriana they would not listen.”
For the first time, Waiyaki felt really frightened. Unknown terror gripped him. He fought with it.
“No doubt you wonder why I tell you all this—”
Waiyaki wanted to cry out: “Don’t tell me more. I don’t want to hear more. No! No! No, Father!” Instead he only whispered.
“Ye-es!”
“You are the last in our line.”
Waiyaki felt as if a heavy cloud was pressing down his soul and he felt a strange sensation of suspension in his stomach. It was as if something, a presentiment, was moving toward him with all speed and he was powerless to prevent it.
“Sit down,” his father spoke gently.
Waiyaki’s legs had already begun to lose strength and he sank on to the grass.
“You are tired perhaps,” Chege said as he moved near his son.
Waiyaki stopped trembling and hated himself for showing fear.
Chege repeated slowly:
“You see, when Mugo became bitter, he refused to tell them more.” Chege made another pause. His face and eyes were set as if he was trying to recall something long-forgotten. . . . He was now standing just behind Waiyaki. He bent down and touched his son on the shoulder. Waiyaki realized that his father’s hand was trembling slightly. Chege withdrew his hand quickly and then with a loud tremor in his voice went on:
“Now, listen my son. Listen carefully, for this is the ancient prophecy. . . . I could not do more. When the white man came and fixed himself in Siriana, I warned all the people. But they laughed at me. Maybe I was hasty. Perhaps I was not the one. Mugo often said you could not cut the butterflies with a panga. You could not spear them until you learned and knew their ways and movement. Then you could trap, you could fight back. Before he died, he whispered to his son the prophecy, the ancient prophecy: ‘Salvation shall come from the hills. From the blood that flows in me, I say from the same tree, a son shall rise. And his duty shall be to lead and save the people!’ He said no more. Few knew the prophecy. Perhaps Kabonyi, who has betrayed the tribe, knows about it. I am old, my time is gone. Remember that you are the last in this line.
“Arise. Heed the prophecy. Go to the Mission place. Learn all the wisdom and all the secrets of the white man. But do not follow his vices. Be true to your people and the ancient rites.”
“Father—” Waiyaki called out when he had recovered from the shock. He felt weak and small. He did not know what he wanted to say.
“You go there. I tell you again, learn all the wisdom of the white man. And keep on remembering, salvation shall come from the hills. A man must rise and save the pe
ople in their hour of need. He shall show them the way; he shall lead them.”
“But—but—they don’t know me. I am a child and they rejected Mugo. . . .”
“Let them do what they like. A time will come—I can see it coming—when they shall cry for a savior. . . .”
• • •
It was late in the day when Chege and Waiyaki descended the hills. They reached home both feeling exhausted. To Waiyaki the whole experience seemed a dream. What had he, a mere boy, to do with a savior? Was he to go about in the ridges crying, “Listen! A leader shall come from the hills to save you”?
And then for a time he began to doubt the sanity of his father. Perhaps the whole thing had been an old man’s dream. He almost laughed at the serious manner in which his father had taken it all. But there was no mirth in his heart. Instead he felt a heaviness making him a man. In body, he was still a boy.
• • •
When the time came, Waiyaki vanished from the hills without the knowledge of any but his father. He went to Siriana, where, one term later, and almost by a miracle, he was joined by Kamau and Kinuthia, his fellow herdboys.
The three were destined to live and learn together under the Reverend Livingstone of Siriana Mission, which had now grown into a big institution. Many boys from the hills and beyond, from Kiambu and Muranga, came there for a portion of the white man’s magic.
For many seasons they learned and worked hard. Waiyaki made quick progress and impressed the white missionaries, who saw in him a possible brave Christian leader of the Church. But who knew that things were changing faster than the vision of Livingstone, than the boy’s expectation and imaginings?
CHAPTER SIX
Mornings were normally chilly and cold in both Kameno and Makuyu. Nyambura felt the cold bite into her skin as she sat on her already full water-barrel. She looked fixedly at her young sister, who was still in the process of filling hers. Then she looked at the pale dark water of the river. It flowed on just as it had done for years, making incessant gurgling sounds as it made its way round the projecting rocks. Nyambura was fascinated and felt attracted to the river. Her breast, glowing with pleasure, rose and fell with a sigh: she felt something strange stirring in her bowels. It was an exhilaration, a feeling of acute ecstasy, almost of pain, which always came to her as she watched the snaky movement and listened to the throb of the river.
The importance of Honia could never be overestimated. Cattle, goats and people drew their water from there. Perhaps that was why it was called “Cure” and the valley, the valley of life; that is what it was, a valley of life.
During the initiation ceremonies, boys and girls came to wet their bodies here on the morning of circumcision. It had long been discovered that very cold water numbed the skin, making it less painful during the operation. Nyambura thought of this and felt slightly guilty. She looked apprehensively at her sister, who was still drawing water. Nyambura wondered whether such thoughts ever came to Muthoni. She thought not and envied her. For Nyambura had learned and knew that circumcision was sinful. It was a pagan rite from which she and her sister had been saved. A daughter of God should never let even a thought of circumcision come to her mind. Girls of their age would be initiated this season. Had her father, Joshua, not been a man of God, he, no doubt, would have presented them both as candidates.
“Nyambura, sister—”
Nyambura woke up from her wicked reverie. Her sister had spoken to her. Nyambura looked at her and wondered. What was worrying Muthoni? What was gnawing at the young girl’s spirit? Nyambura was in no doubt that something was the matter with Muthoni. All through the week and in fact all through the last two months she had noticed something moody and restless in the young girl. This had pained Nyambura. She loved her sister.
Indeed, the two were inseparable. They played and worked together. Nyambura was older, but it was not easy to tell this. Both were fairly tall and well formed; about the same height and looks, though Muthoni’s skin was darker. They had the same sharp but strangely restless eyes. Their hair was thick and shiny black. It was tough but to the eyes it looked soft and beautiful to touch.
Nyambura’s features seemed hard, restrained. Where she was quiet, Muthoni was vivacious.
So it was not surprising that Nyambura should have noticed this sudden change of spirits. Coming to the river that morning Muthoni had been more withdrawn than ever before. Nyambura was deeply disturbed because her earlier attempts to coax her to reveal her troubles had failed. Now she waited for her to continue. Muthoni was sitting on her own water-barrel.
“I want to tell you something,” she said.
“Oh, please do,” Nyambura responded eagerly, her curiosity sharpened.
“But promise me that you will keep what I tell you to yourself.” This was an appeal, an appeal almost of fear. Nyambura would have laughed but for the earnestness in the voice and look of her sister.
“Well, first tell me about that something,” Nyambura said carelessly. She wanted to make her sister relax and soften the tense look on her face. Muthoni raised her face to Nyambura. This time the appeal was quite unmistakable.
“I have thought and thought again about it. I have not been able to eat or sleep properly. My thoughts terrify me. But I think now I have come to a decision.” She stopped; gazing past Nyambura, she said, slowly and quietly:
“Nyambura, I want to be circumcised.”
For a second Nyambura sat as if her thoughts, her feelings, her very being had been paralyzed. She could not speak. The announcement was too sudden and too stupefying. How could she believe what she had heard came from Muthoni’s mouth? She looked at the river, at the slightly swaying bulrushes lining the banks, and then beyond. Nothing moved on the huge cattle road that wound through the forest toward Kameno. The yellowish streaks of morning light diffused through the forest, producing long shadows on the cattle path. The insects in the forest kept up an incessant sound which mingled with the noise of falling water farther down the valley. They helped to intensify the silence, created by Muthoni’s statement.
“Circumcised?” At last Nyambura found her voice.
“Yes.”
“But Father will not allow it. He will be very cross with you. And how can you think of it?” Nyambura could visualize Joshua’s fury if he heard of this. “Besides,” she continued, “you are a Christian. You and I are now wise in the ways of the white people. Father has been teaching us what he learned at Siriana. And you know, the missionaries do not like the circumcision of girls. Father has been saying so. Besides, Jesus told us it was wrong and sinful.”
“I know. But I want to be circumcised.”
“Why?” Nyambura asked helplessly.
She knew quite well that her father would not hear of such a thing. Every man of God knew that this was a pagan rite against which, time and time again, the white missionaries had warned Joshua. Perhaps Satan had gone into Muthoni. That was how the devil worked. Nyambura tried to reason with her sister.
“Yes. Tell me. Why do you want this? You know this is the devil’s work. You know how he tempts people. You and I are Christians. Were we not baptized long ago? Are you not now saved from sin?” Nyambura was becoming passionate. She breathed hard and she felt a warmth inside. She was defending something; she was trying to save her sister.
“I know but—” Muthoni paused. She had never seen her sister like that, with that light in her eyes. She felt weak in the knees and thought she was wrong. But the next moment she jumped up and rushed to her sister. She spoke earnestly and passionately. After all, she too believed in what she was going to do. Nyambura clasped her arms and they remained locked in each other’s arms like little children. Nyambura became alarmed at the passion in Muthoni. She spoke gently:
“Father and Mother—”
“Look, please, I—I want to be a woman. I want to be a real girl, a real woman, knowing all the ways of the hills and
ridges.”
“But Father, remember him.”
“Why! Are we fools?” She shook Nyambura. “Father and Mother are circumcised. Are they not Christians? Circumcision did not prevent them from being Christians. I too have embraced the white man’s faith. However, I know it is beautiful, oh so beautiful to be initiated into womanhood. You learn the ways of the tribe. Yes, the white man’s God does not quite satisfy me. I want, I need something more. My life and your life are here, in the hills, that you and I know.” She spoke now, looking beyond Nyambura as if to some other people. Then she lowered her voice and whispered secretly, “Father said that at the Mission there is that man—Livingstone—and many women. Those are his wives. And do you think that he, a man, would marry a woman not circumcised? Surely there is no tribe that does not circumcise. Or how does a girl grow into a woman?” Muthoni had now released herself from the grasp. She now stood and looked away from Nyambura.
Nyambura could not say anything. She did not follow Muthoni’s logic or line of thought. She had never thought so deeply about these things. She was content to follow whatever her father said was right. And she feared his anger. Muthoni turned and again held her sister, appealing with her eyes and her body.
“Please, Sister. Don’t tell. Don’t tell Father.”
They both began to weep into one another. Nyambura’s heart softened and she felt pity for her sister. She earnestly wished she could help her but felt her own powerlessness very acutely.
“How will you be initiated?”
“Father and Mother will not know. But I don’t know where to go.”
“Our aunt lives at Kameno,” Nyambura tried to help.
“Oh, yes. I had thought of that. I will go to Kameno and stay with her when the season comes.”