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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Relationships
- Published: 07/28/2022
A TENURE OF DOOM.
Nnaie was the eldest of three of her siblings and the most educated and by far the most educated in Obaana village—by far, based on the village standards. But although she was overly adulated by the villagers for her education, she rarely spoke English publicly; for one reason or the other. People said at her back she was not quite sure of the white man's language. And to that, they laughed hysterically.
"Why waste your money on a white man's language?" And they would add acerbically, "She will get married to a white man."
Damba her father would coil himself like an old dog on the hearth. He tried to marry her off several times but nothing ever worked. None of the men came out with serious intentions. So he left that in her mother's hands. Her mother too gave up due to Nnaei's I don't care attitude. Nnaei wouldn't be pushed. Everyone including her siblings who were now married off and having a somewhat good life knew her attitude. "You can't be educated like that and get married!" People would say. Others thought that she was just lazy. And others that it was wrath from her ancestors.
Nnaei had large eyes that sat on a long pointed face. Her complexion was dark with lips as thin as a thread. Her body was cylindrical—African, curved. When she walked, you would think there was no tomorrow. It was as if she owned a manual book for women's deity. She spoke softly more of a taciturn.
Nnaei went to bed wretched. Her mother's small talks and constant quarrels drained her. Marriage was a choice and a decision not to be taken gaily. Marriage was sacred, she thought. It's not something you do to please your parents to acquire more land. Why would one be married off, exchanged with a piece of land or mere cows as if marriage was some sort of a stock exchange market? These questions and many others kept flooding her mind and she found she couldn't answer them. She was just a mere woman. Women were not meant to ask such questions, her mother had said angrily.
She remembered a day when her mother started those small talks. That was long before her brother's wedding. A neighbour called Nnakae had come in to see her mother. Nnaei was sitting on a mat close to the main entrance of their house watching children playing. Nnakae and Nnaei's mother stopped abruptly, stared at her, and shook their heads in awe.
"Nnaei, you're over thirty-five years of age now," said her mother with sickening emphasis on five, as if five was the pivotal point at which life stopped making sense. "Nnaei at thirty-five, five? Are you not feeling ashamed of yourself? Nnaei children are a joy to bear before forty but at five?"
Nnaei's eyes closed, and bitterness ate her up. But before she said anything Nnakae, the neighbour said, "At thirty-five! Over thirty-five now? She is way too late—imagine forty-five is around the corner!" Again the unnecessary emphasis on five. Nnaei felt spasms of pain. Why were these women interested in her life?
"Pardon me, marriage should be based among other factors on the act of ecstasy," Nnaei said with calmness, fighting not to evince her pain. Then she averted her eyes from the old woman.
Nine suitors had come Nnaei's way. Only one was forty-eight years old. The rest were her father's age. Even if it was obvious that she wanted to get married, she wasn't ready to marry a man the age of her father. Nnaei was angry not with her mother or father. She was angry at those men who felt no shame to seek her hand in marriage. She wanted a man as young as her age.
Nnaei's eyes were on that other man. That man was a widower. Nyandwa, Nyandwa was a neighbour six houses away from their house. An average young man in his early forties with a long beard, round face, and heavily set hands. Nyandwa had an eye-catching and breathtaking smile perhaps from the gap he had between his teeth.
People in the village loved him, especially old men; he was an industrious young man. Nnaei thought although Nyandwa sold milk to villagers, he was a level-headed young man who had no quarrels with anyone. Occasionally he went to the big city.
The prospect of her being married to Nyandwa and going to the city was enough to throw a smile of gratification on her face. But how could she tell her parents? That Nyandwa, a milkman with an itty-bitty house, insignificant life, and a widower was her choice? Would Nyandwa ever accept to marry her? She shrugged at her stupid dream.
Obaana was a big village with a cluster of over two hundred and fifty families. Other surrounding villages like Obakuli, Onatte, and Mambawe feared Obaana. Obaana had the most educated women. Men cautioned themselves before marrying in Obaana. Obaana women were very wild. Spoke a white man's language. They gave birth to one or two children. People from other villages thought it was a comeuppance from Odaki the goddess of love.
It was in Obaana that Damba, Nnaei's father, had land. It was a small piece of land—three acres that ran down to the village stream and the big sugar plantation and the corn farm. The village stream divided his land with that sugar plantation. Obaana land was disputed land. It stretched on a mailo land whose landlord was an absentee landlord. Damba and other families were protesting illegal eviction.
Damba was a failure. He was very poor. He sold most of the land he inherited from his father to educate his children. People laughed at him. He sold his land to educate his children in a White Man's way! People thought his poverty was ill-fated by his ancestors. He was tall and very thin with large eyes. The thin lips, much like his daughter's, Nnaei gave him a picture of a lazy man.
Damba sat on a low stool. His lanky legs crossed like a bow. His eyes darted between the orange-purple sky that looked as if time had stopped having meaning and watching people walking about on the small path that led to the village stream. His house faced that small path. He always sat there in the late hours of the day whenever he didn't go drinking.
Damba loved to watch people. He enjoyed the way people walked and talked and laughed. He felt connected to them. The way you feel when you lose a close friend or family member. At times he would laugh along with them as if he knew exactly the basis of their joy. At times he would feel the way you feel when you're in a graveyard. He turned to see his wife, Nnaei's mother. She was weaving a basket. She was wrinkled, he thought, she looked older than her age. She was only sixty-seven years old. He blamed himself for not taking good care of her. She was a wonderful woman. He cursed himself.
Then he thought of the disputed land. He wondered why all the clan elders and senior Kingdom officials were in favour of the Mailo land tenure system. A system that started almost yesterday. It wasn't like that before. Why did the absentee landlords have incredible powers over them, the Kibanja owners? Like in their case in Obaana no one knew the true identity of the landlord. He then thought of the unbridled illegal land evictions. He coughed not out of pain but utter confusion.
"Do you know where ma' is?" Damba asked, meaning Nnaei. He referred to her as ma' as other old men did to their daughters. It was a sign of respect.
"I last saw her preparing to bath two hours ago," his wife answered. "She might be inside or went for the milk." She still kept her eyes on the basket. Her fingers twirling.
"Find her for me," Damba said. "We need to talk." When he turned, he saw her coming up from the small path. Walking in her accustomed peculiarity, throwing her hands in the evening air. He stared up in the blank space as if fearing direct contact with her large eyes; until she reached him.
"Pa!" She greeted.
"Nney." He answered, lowering his gaze.
"Put that milk inside and sit down here. Your father needs to talk to you," her mother said, indicating with her finger.
"You should also call Nakae," Damba said, shifting his gaze from his wife.
Now, Nnaei and her mother knew it was going to be a long talk. Nnakae was the neighbour. She was the wife of Damba's late elder brother. She was well placed in cultural issues. As well as a stiff-necked woman. Her word was final. She was short like an anti-hill and shared the colour of a brown goat. She talked with a great sway. People feared her.
The two women sat, Damba, side by side as ridges. Nnaei sat facing her father. After a brief silence, Damba found his voice.
"I called you here to discuss a few important issues of urgency to my house and my late brother's house," he stared at the small path.
"Nney." The three women murmured.
Damba cleared his throat and added with care, "we're facing a great challenge of eviction from the land we have occupied long before our forefathers knew Amanzi the god of ignorance," he fought not to show any pain; it was considered a weakness in men.
Nnaei's mother rested her hands on her lap as if to say go on.
"It's my sole responsibility to find another place to settle our families. However, it's hard to sell off this land amidst these eviction confrontations," he rested to catch a breath. "The only undisputed land is in Obakuli; the rest of the other lands share the same fate as Obaana." Again he stared in space.
"Nney, Nney! My, lord," Nnaei's mother said. We've grown too old to start from scratch again, we need a hand," she looked at Nnaei with a frustrated look.
"Nney! Nney! You're right both of you, we need to find a solution before the court order allows eviction as we don't expect any compensation." Nnakae said shifting her hand resting on the mat in a way that confirmed her words.
Damba nodded in approval.
"It's important to know at my age, seventy-four, I can no longer take care of the three of you. My body betrays my soul. I mean, I've grown weak," Damba said, shaking his head.
There was silence during which both women looked at each other nervously. Nnaei stirred on her mat. The pink dress she wore reflected the sun's glow. Fear and uncertainty dug deep into her. She thought of Nyandwa. Alas! She was allowing her mind to work on her.
Damba found his voice with a ring of discomfort, "it's hard to decide in this situation. I need you to understand a man doesn't see much value in life if he can't shelter or feed his house," his voice was low and subdued. He looked straight into Nnaei's eyes and added. "Ma', ma! I've waited for you for so long to decide on your own
"A decision meant to position your life as a grown-up..."He trailed. He was shuddering. He held his left fist into his right palm and rested it on his folded—knees in a way to stop him from shuddering… l can't wait much longer."
Damba was on the edge, he had raised Nnaei in a way a man raises his daughter: he took her to the best schools and the best University and she had a Master's degree in International Relations. He couldn't say she was too much of her mother, her mother was a real woman. He clenched his teeth.
"Everything we use here comes from your sisters and brother who accepted the reality of life and married," he surveyed the women's faces before he added. "I want you, ma' to make a decision." His face shone with rage.
Nnaei turned and looked down the small path as if expecting a decision to come from there. Three girls walked the path balancing their empty pots. She was scared, her heart thumping like a dying horse. Before she found the right words, her mother said, " my lord, if she can't decide on her own, let us marry her off to Mbatu. Mbatu promised to give us land in Obakuli".
Mbatu was a rich old businessman in Obakuli. Obakuli's land was as fertile as Obaana.
"Nney, Nney! If a man can't eat his chicken alone, neighbours help him. I mean, if Nnaei can't decide for herself she should accept our decision today." Nnakae said.
"Ma'! Damba called, "Have you heard your mothers?"
"Nney! Pa!" Nnaei said Hesitating to add.
"Make yourself clear, you useless girl," Nnakae shouted, stretching her hand to slap her.
"You're not going to eat my children's sweat. Find your own home," Nnaei's mother said. "Hit her hard that's not enough."
Nnakae had slapped her. Nnaei staggered a little, tears wailing down fast. She looked down, clenching her teeth in anticipation of another slap.
Damba made to stand up but slumped back on his stool. "Ma', ma'! If you aren't ready to make a decision go to your aunt in Onatte. Here I can no longer feed you."
"She won't go to Nndae," Nndae, was her aunt in Onatte. "She won't go to anyone. She will go to the world. A thirty-five-plus woman!" Her mother said with choking bitterness.
Nnakae jumped a step forward, held Nnaei's shoulders with both hands, and pulled her about like that. Nnaei went on crying quietly at first then between violent sobs. When she said nothing her father said.
"Nney, Nnakae, let her go. She has two days to pack up and go," he swallowed hard.
"You're being soft on her," Nnaei's mother said her face twitching with anger. "She is not sleeping in my house today."
"Tell us what's wrong with you, we performed all the ancestral ceremonies including the Odaki dance," Nnakae asked, unable to control her anger.
Nnaei looked on, fear spread in her eyes. She was lost in her world. She was determined not to marry Mbatu. She knew she wanted Nyandwa. It was an awkward decision but she knew exactly what she wanted.
Just as the fracas went on, a young man came running up from the side of the village center. He was heaving. There was a combination of fear and bitterness in his eyes. Damba stood up and moved towards the young man. Nnaei ran into the house and brought a glass of water.
"Is everything fine with you?" Damba asked.
"Pa! The young man said between his breath.
"Nney!" Damba replied.
"Is anything wrong?" Nnakae asked.
"We're encircled!" The young man said, trembling.
"I don't understand, what are you talking about? Damba asked.
"The army, police, and vigilantes," the young man said, shouting at the top of his voice. The tremor in his voice sent a quiver of fear up Damba. He looked around but saw nothing except a few neighbours who had started gathering in the young darkness. Darkness was settling. The murmur grew from the gathered neighbours and fear painted in their eyes.
"The vigilantes work for the ruling party!" One of the neighbours said with great fear.
"Yes, the vigilantes have come with Machetes, the army and police have guns," the young man said.
"I think they have come with the new landlord who bought this land," Damba said.
"Yes," His wife agreed standing close to the young man. "He must be planning on evicting us before the court order."
Nnaei stood still as she listened to this. She was sorry things were crumbling so fast. She felt as if she was the cause of this.
"Who is the new landlord?" One of the men standing in a small group asked.
"No one knows his true identity, he uses the government to evict and terrorise villagers. It's the same thing in Mambawe and Onatte" he lowered his already weak voice and added. " He is a big fish in the ruling party!"
People sighed with inner fear. There was no place to run to, the Mailo land and the government were now the sources of their suffering. People had just started to work on their farms after the third pour of rain. It was the second season of the year. Damba's mind raced in his chest. He had nowhere to take his family. His mind was way far away.
A strong beam of light shone from the small village path like a strong typhoon washing a small boat ashore. The light was from a big car. Damba and the neighbours who had gathered were blinded by that light as the car raced towards Damba's house. The ghostly shadows of trees, people, and houses ran away weakly weaving aimlessly on anything that stood their way. People fled as the car jerked.
Damba stood holding his breath. Still blinded by the light.
"Damba!" Called the big voice coming from the car.
"Nney!" Damba answered, still feeling uneasy.
The man from the car laughed as he strode towards Damba. Nnakae and Nnaei's mother murmured, running away towards the other neighbours who were watching with keen interest. Damba stood up shaken. Not shaken by the man from the car, but by the cold night. Then his eyes saw Mbatu as his body was hit by the light from the car.
"Mbatu!" Damba cried out.
"Nney! Nney!" Mbatu answered throwing his hands in the air.
#
Nnaei sat on a log. Her legs stretched out in front of her. She looked fixedly at Nyandwa who was still milking the last cow. She had come to fetch milk as she always did in the evening of each day, except Fridays and Sundays. She let out a weak smile, her breasts moving with her breath. She was undoubtedly fascinated with the way he milked the quiet cow. His big hands worked between the cow and the milk drums.
The gurgle of milk into the steel drums, the smell of cows, and the kraal, somewhat transformed Nyandwa into a god-- Zeus. Nyandwa stood up to stretch his back. When he turned, his eyes met Nnaei. He managed a smug smile. She blushed and looked away, resisting that frenzy.
"Nna-" Nyandwa called out all smiles.
"Milkman," Nnaei answered, smiling too.
"I'm sorry, I'm late," he said, rubbing milk spills on his hands against the back of a cow.
"Don't think it's a problem. Think I came a bit early."
Nyandwa went on milking. But there was something on his mind, something he couldn't make out straight. "Sshh, almost done," he whispered to the cow.
"Looks like we're going to have a serious downpour tonight!" Nyandwa said standing up.
"Think so, wish it does; it's hot," Nnaei said, staring at Nyandwa's hardened muscles. Nyandwa walked past her under the weight of the milk drum.
"I need to get out of here fast..." he trailed.
Nnaei's heart skipped. She trembled a little.
"Don't understand, you going somewhere?" Mean, think you said---it's raining tonight?"
She felt her blunt voice betray her. She turned and looked away into the infinity of space.
"Yes, I don't want to be here," he said, pouring milk into the last small green container that stood close to the big drum.
"Ooh! See you have very little to lose here!" She said feeling shaken. She wished she didn't come to fetch that damned milk.
"There's a lot to lose here," he said, handing her milk. "Including you, Nna"-- he giggled.
Nnaei was shocked. She staggered. Shifted her gaze to the kraal. Nyandwa watched every movement she made. His body warmed up.
"Me, Nnaei!" She moved a step back.
"You're my good customer," Nyandwa said, turning to go.
"So where are you headed, mean, from here?" She felt tears form in her eyes.
"Maybe down the village center, but I don't want him to find me here"
"You...Not going for good?" She asked timidly. Rubbing a lone tear on her cheek.
He was already in the house. Staggering with the last drum of milk.
"Yes, Nna-, I am avoiding my father. He wants me entangled in his businesses," he was shouting from the house.
"Kind of interesting, hmm! Your father?"
"Yes, pal! Mbatu," he shouted, poking his head out in the small window.
#
Darkness had set in as a curtain. Nnaei strode briskly, quite contrary to her usual peculiarity. Her mind was confused. All the way home from Nyandwa's house she went over the situation in her head again and again. She felt pangs of disquietude sweep her up. How could Mbatu of all people, be her father-in-law? Well, no—Nyandwa's father?
She shook her head. There was something unseen working against her happiness. She thought with great despair, groping for the right path under the blanket of darkness. Her eyes are watery. Her mind scattered. Nothing could clear her mind from the frost of thoughts that kept flooding in and in and out—vanity of wishes.
As Nnaei made it close to their house, halfway down the village path, she heard her mother ask angrily.
"When will this girl ever realise there are rules in this house?"
"It took him longer than usual," she said, trying to keep her breathing slow.
"You don't get it--- you're a woman!"
Nnaei looked down. She knew it was the right thing to do. Experience had taught her the hard way. Women weren't meant to roam the village, walk at night alone or exchange words with an elder. She felt something stir her bowels; it always did: but so what? This wasn't just roaming the village, it was mission impossible, she thought walking past her mother.
"Your father said, 'your aunt, Nndae is expecting you,''" her mother said, sitting down on a low stool. Her eyes searched Nnaei's face.
"Expecting me when?" Nnaei asked, choosing her words carefully. She wasn't in the mood.
"Expecting you as soon as tomorrow or tomorrow but one," she moved her eyes away from Nnaei who was also sitting on a low stool leaning against the wall, in a way that exaggerated her lack of interest in the matter at hand.
"It's a good thing you go," her mother said after Nnaei had said nothing.
"And it's in our best opinion that, that you revisit the Odaki ancestral ceremony--"
Nnaei's mother glanced at her.
Nnaei's mind had drifted back to Nyandwa and the day's events. She wished she had hugged him. He had stood there breathing his large life into her face. She had felt whole. She was thrilled and excited. But she resisted the frenzy. Then she thought of his milking and the huge steel drums and the kraal, and his small house, and all the small containers, and the quiet cows—they all seemed to have encouraged him—luring him into more and more action. She smiled and chuckled.
"Nnaei, Nnaei are you paying attention?" Her mother asked with piercing eyes.
Nnaei kept quiet. She wasn't in the mood.
Nnaei's mother was about to add when she heard a knock at the door. It must be Damba, she thought, turning to Nnaei.
"Open for your father."
"Pa!" Nnaei said
"Nney, Nnaei, it's me-- it's me."
Nnaei recognised the voice. It was her aunt Nnakae. Then she thought of her being expected in Onatte. She knew Nnakae was here for preliminaries—as a woman, she cursed.
"Maa-- !" Nnaei greeted, sitting down on an old mat spread out on the floor.
"Nney," Nnakae answered.
Another knock on the door. This time heavily. The three women exchanged glances. Then, again Nnaei stood up to open the door.
"Pal."
"Ma'!" Replied her father.
Nnaei went back and sat down on the mat. Nnakae and Nnaei's mother sat down on the mat too. Damba sat on the brown couch. He looked drunk or so he gave the impression of a drunkard person. He handed a small green container to his wife who sat leaning against the couch. Damba's hands were bruised so was his mind he fought relentlessly to bring back.
"My, lord, you're exhausted," his wife said, scanning his indifferent face.
"Nney," he stammered.
Nnakae cleared her voice as if to say something but stopped as tears were wailing down her wrinkled face. Nnaei and her mother glared at her in total surprise. She was trembling.
"It's a pity we have lost such a young man!" She said between her sobs. " Who could have done such a thing?"
Damba stared at the grotesque shadows on the wall, he looked monstrous in the grotesque shadow he then leaned against the couch. He said nothing, his mind was a storm of thoughts. He sat there blinking.
"Who?" Nnaei's mother asked nervously.
"Nyandwa, Nyandwa aaa...found strangled," Nnakae said shaking her head.
Nnaei kept quiet at first not knowing what to say. Nnakae's words had hit her like a gust of wind in the desert. She had felt faint when panic engulfed her. She put her head between her legs and said,
"Maa--, I am so cold, and useless."
"This young man, the milkman?" Nnaei's mother asked fear creeping into her.
"Nney!" His body was found by a boy who had gone for milk.
"Here, in Obakuli--? I mean--"
"Yes, in his house, dead."
"Who?" Damba asked with an indication of soberness but still, he looked way far away.
"Nyandwa," Nnakae said.
Damba swallowed hard.
Nnaei wanted to run, running out and shouting to Nyandwa. What was life without his huge hands? His breathtaking smile? She did not want to believe her aunt. She wanted them to say it was a lie, but her father had said nothing. Does he know? Does he believe in these empty unpromising words?
She wanted to ask her father, she wanted him to say something about Nyandwa—this needed men's wisdom. Tears rolled down her cheeks in torrents. She bit her lips as if to stop the pain from eating her bowels. She sat there groaning. There was nothing left for her to hold on to, her central pillar of love and beacon of hope as a woman was vanquished.
"He gave me his milk...one and half hours...How could he...?" She trailed, her voice quivering. Her face creased from the tremor.
"I have heard the news from the village center," Damba said, still absorbed in his thoughts. "I also heard that Mbatu is the new landlord."
Nnaei's mother went on hitting her thighs with her fists. Her body vibrated with soft sobs. She was confused. Her brain skipped. How could Mbatu be the new landlord?
"Mbatu? Mbatu--?"
Nnakae brews her nose again and again, "yes, Mbatu."
Nnaei stood up staggering; panting like that. She made for the door. Stopped abruptly, turned around, and said.
"Pa! Arrange my marriage to Mbatu..."
Then she walked out into the sullen darkness thinking I will avenge, Nyandwa's death.
THE END.
A TENURE OF DOOM(Ndugwa Ndugwa)
A TENURE OF DOOM.
Nnaie was the eldest of three of her siblings and the most educated and by far the most educated in Obaana village—by far, based on the village standards. But although she was overly adulated by the villagers for her education, she rarely spoke English publicly; for one reason or the other. People said at her back she was not quite sure of the white man's language. And to that, they laughed hysterically.
"Why waste your money on a white man's language?" And they would add acerbically, "She will get married to a white man."
Damba her father would coil himself like an old dog on the hearth. He tried to marry her off several times but nothing ever worked. None of the men came out with serious intentions. So he left that in her mother's hands. Her mother too gave up due to Nnaei's I don't care attitude. Nnaei wouldn't be pushed. Everyone including her siblings who were now married off and having a somewhat good life knew her attitude. "You can't be educated like that and get married!" People would say. Others thought that she was just lazy. And others that it was wrath from her ancestors.
Nnaei had large eyes that sat on a long pointed face. Her complexion was dark with lips as thin as a thread. Her body was cylindrical—African, curved. When she walked, you would think there was no tomorrow. It was as if she owned a manual book for women's deity. She spoke softly more of a taciturn.
Nnaei went to bed wretched. Her mother's small talks and constant quarrels drained her. Marriage was a choice and a decision not to be taken gaily. Marriage was sacred, she thought. It's not something you do to please your parents to acquire more land. Why would one be married off, exchanged with a piece of land or mere cows as if marriage was some sort of a stock exchange market? These questions and many others kept flooding her mind and she found she couldn't answer them. She was just a mere woman. Women were not meant to ask such questions, her mother had said angrily.
She remembered a day when her mother started those small talks. That was long before her brother's wedding. A neighbour called Nnakae had come in to see her mother. Nnaei was sitting on a mat close to the main entrance of their house watching children playing. Nnakae and Nnaei's mother stopped abruptly, stared at her, and shook their heads in awe.
"Nnaei, you're over thirty-five years of age now," said her mother with sickening emphasis on five, as if five was the pivotal point at which life stopped making sense. "Nnaei at thirty-five, five? Are you not feeling ashamed of yourself? Nnaei children are a joy to bear before forty but at five?"
Nnaei's eyes closed, and bitterness ate her up. But before she said anything Nnakae, the neighbour said, "At thirty-five! Over thirty-five now? She is way too late—imagine forty-five is around the corner!" Again the unnecessary emphasis on five. Nnaei felt spasms of pain. Why were these women interested in her life?
"Pardon me, marriage should be based among other factors on the act of ecstasy," Nnaei said with calmness, fighting not to evince her pain. Then she averted her eyes from the old woman.
Nine suitors had come Nnaei's way. Only one was forty-eight years old. The rest were her father's age. Even if it was obvious that she wanted to get married, she wasn't ready to marry a man the age of her father. Nnaei was angry not with her mother or father. She was angry at those men who felt no shame to seek her hand in marriage. She wanted a man as young as her age.
Nnaei's eyes were on that other man. That man was a widower. Nyandwa, Nyandwa was a neighbour six houses away from their house. An average young man in his early forties with a long beard, round face, and heavily set hands. Nyandwa had an eye-catching and breathtaking smile perhaps from the gap he had between his teeth.
People in the village loved him, especially old men; he was an industrious young man. Nnaei thought although Nyandwa sold milk to villagers, he was a level-headed young man who had no quarrels with anyone. Occasionally he went to the big city.
The prospect of her being married to Nyandwa and going to the city was enough to throw a smile of gratification on her face. But how could she tell her parents? That Nyandwa, a milkman with an itty-bitty house, insignificant life, and a widower was her choice? Would Nyandwa ever accept to marry her? She shrugged at her stupid dream.
Obaana was a big village with a cluster of over two hundred and fifty families. Other surrounding villages like Obakuli, Onatte, and Mambawe feared Obaana. Obaana had the most educated women. Men cautioned themselves before marrying in Obaana. Obaana women were very wild. Spoke a white man's language. They gave birth to one or two children. People from other villages thought it was a comeuppance from Odaki the goddess of love.
It was in Obaana that Damba, Nnaei's father, had land. It was a small piece of land—three acres that ran down to the village stream and the big sugar plantation and the corn farm. The village stream divided his land with that sugar plantation. Obaana land was disputed land. It stretched on a mailo land whose landlord was an absentee landlord. Damba and other families were protesting illegal eviction.
Damba was a failure. He was very poor. He sold most of the land he inherited from his father to educate his children. People laughed at him. He sold his land to educate his children in a White Man's way! People thought his poverty was ill-fated by his ancestors. He was tall and very thin with large eyes. The thin lips, much like his daughter's, Nnaei gave him a picture of a lazy man.
Damba sat on a low stool. His lanky legs crossed like a bow. His eyes darted between the orange-purple sky that looked as if time had stopped having meaning and watching people walking about on the small path that led to the village stream. His house faced that small path. He always sat there in the late hours of the day whenever he didn't go drinking.
Damba loved to watch people. He enjoyed the way people walked and talked and laughed. He felt connected to them. The way you feel when you lose a close friend or family member. At times he would laugh along with them as if he knew exactly the basis of their joy. At times he would feel the way you feel when you're in a graveyard. He turned to see his wife, Nnaei's mother. She was weaving a basket. She was wrinkled, he thought, she looked older than her age. She was only sixty-seven years old. He blamed himself for not taking good care of her. She was a wonderful woman. He cursed himself.
Then he thought of the disputed land. He wondered why all the clan elders and senior Kingdom officials were in favour of the Mailo land tenure system. A system that started almost yesterday. It wasn't like that before. Why did the absentee landlords have incredible powers over them, the Kibanja owners? Like in their case in Obaana no one knew the true identity of the landlord. He then thought of the unbridled illegal land evictions. He coughed not out of pain but utter confusion.
"Do you know where ma' is?" Damba asked, meaning Nnaei. He referred to her as ma' as other old men did to their daughters. It was a sign of respect.
"I last saw her preparing to bath two hours ago," his wife answered. "She might be inside or went for the milk." She still kept her eyes on the basket. Her fingers twirling.
"Find her for me," Damba said. "We need to talk." When he turned, he saw her coming up from the small path. Walking in her accustomed peculiarity, throwing her hands in the evening air. He stared up in the blank space as if fearing direct contact with her large eyes; until she reached him.
"Pa!" She greeted.
"Nney." He answered, lowering his gaze.
"Put that milk inside and sit down here. Your father needs to talk to you," her mother said, indicating with her finger.
"You should also call Nakae," Damba said, shifting his gaze from his wife.
Now, Nnaei and her mother knew it was going to be a long talk. Nnakae was the neighbour. She was the wife of Damba's late elder brother. She was well placed in cultural issues. As well as a stiff-necked woman. Her word was final. She was short like an anti-hill and shared the colour of a brown goat. She talked with a great sway. People feared her.
The two women sat, Damba, side by side as ridges. Nnaei sat facing her father. After a brief silence, Damba found his voice.
"I called you here to discuss a few important issues of urgency to my house and my late brother's house," he stared at the small path.
"Nney." The three women murmured.
Damba cleared his throat and added with care, "we're facing a great challenge of eviction from the land we have occupied long before our forefathers knew Amanzi the god of ignorance," he fought not to show any pain; it was considered a weakness in men.
Nnaei's mother rested her hands on her lap as if to say go on.
"It's my sole responsibility to find another place to settle our families. However, it's hard to sell off this land amidst these eviction confrontations," he rested to catch a breath. "The only undisputed land is in Obakuli; the rest of the other lands share the same fate as Obaana." Again he stared in space.
"Nney, Nney! My, lord," Nnaei's mother said. We've grown too old to start from scratch again, we need a hand," she looked at Nnaei with a frustrated look.
"Nney! Nney! You're right both of you, we need to find a solution before the court order allows eviction as we don't expect any compensation." Nnakae said shifting her hand resting on the mat in a way that confirmed her words.
Damba nodded in approval.
"It's important to know at my age, seventy-four, I can no longer take care of the three of you. My body betrays my soul. I mean, I've grown weak," Damba said, shaking his head.
There was silence during which both women looked at each other nervously. Nnaei stirred on her mat. The pink dress she wore reflected the sun's glow. Fear and uncertainty dug deep into her. She thought of Nyandwa. Alas! She was allowing her mind to work on her.
Damba found his voice with a ring of discomfort, "it's hard to decide in this situation. I need you to understand a man doesn't see much value in life if he can't shelter or feed his house," his voice was low and subdued. He looked straight into Nnaei's eyes and added. "Ma', ma! I've waited for you for so long to decide on your own
"A decision meant to position your life as a grown-up..."He trailed. He was shuddering. He held his left fist into his right palm and rested it on his folded—knees in a way to stop him from shuddering… l can't wait much longer."
Damba was on the edge, he had raised Nnaei in a way a man raises his daughter: he took her to the best schools and the best University and she had a Master's degree in International Relations. He couldn't say she was too much of her mother, her mother was a real woman. He clenched his teeth.
"Everything we use here comes from your sisters and brother who accepted the reality of life and married," he surveyed the women's faces before he added. "I want you, ma' to make a decision." His face shone with rage.
Nnaei turned and looked down the small path as if expecting a decision to come from there. Three girls walked the path balancing their empty pots. She was scared, her heart thumping like a dying horse. Before she found the right words, her mother said, " my lord, if she can't decide on her own, let us marry her off to Mbatu. Mbatu promised to give us land in Obakuli".
Mbatu was a rich old businessman in Obakuli. Obakuli's land was as fertile as Obaana.
"Nney, Nney! If a man can't eat his chicken alone, neighbours help him. I mean, if Nnaei can't decide for herself she should accept our decision today." Nnakae said.
"Ma'! Damba called, "Have you heard your mothers?"
"Nney! Pa!" Nnaei said Hesitating to add.
"Make yourself clear, you useless girl," Nnakae shouted, stretching her hand to slap her.
"You're not going to eat my children's sweat. Find your own home," Nnaei's mother said. "Hit her hard that's not enough."
Nnakae had slapped her. Nnaei staggered a little, tears wailing down fast. She looked down, clenching her teeth in anticipation of another slap.
Damba made to stand up but slumped back on his stool. "Ma', ma'! If you aren't ready to make a decision go to your aunt in Onatte. Here I can no longer feed you."
"She won't go to Nndae," Nndae, was her aunt in Onatte. "She won't go to anyone. She will go to the world. A thirty-five-plus woman!" Her mother said with choking bitterness.
Nnakae jumped a step forward, held Nnaei's shoulders with both hands, and pulled her about like that. Nnaei went on crying quietly at first then between violent sobs. When she said nothing her father said.
"Nney, Nnakae, let her go. She has two days to pack up and go," he swallowed hard.
"You're being soft on her," Nnaei's mother said her face twitching with anger. "She is not sleeping in my house today."
"Tell us what's wrong with you, we performed all the ancestral ceremonies including the Odaki dance," Nnakae asked, unable to control her anger.
Nnaei looked on, fear spread in her eyes. She was lost in her world. She was determined not to marry Mbatu. She knew she wanted Nyandwa. It was an awkward decision but she knew exactly what she wanted.
Just as the fracas went on, a young man came running up from the side of the village center. He was heaving. There was a combination of fear and bitterness in his eyes. Damba stood up and moved towards the young man. Nnaei ran into the house and brought a glass of water.
"Is everything fine with you?" Damba asked.
"Pa! The young man said between his breath.
"Nney!" Damba replied.
"Is anything wrong?" Nnakae asked.
"We're encircled!" The young man said, trembling.
"I don't understand, what are you talking about? Damba asked.
"The army, police, and vigilantes," the young man said, shouting at the top of his voice. The tremor in his voice sent a quiver of fear up Damba. He looked around but saw nothing except a few neighbours who had started gathering in the young darkness. Darkness was settling. The murmur grew from the gathered neighbours and fear painted in their eyes.
"The vigilantes work for the ruling party!" One of the neighbours said with great fear.
"Yes, the vigilantes have come with Machetes, the army and police have guns," the young man said.
"I think they have come with the new landlord who bought this land," Damba said.
"Yes," His wife agreed standing close to the young man. "He must be planning on evicting us before the court order."
Nnaei stood still as she listened to this. She was sorry things were crumbling so fast. She felt as if she was the cause of this.
"Who is the new landlord?" One of the men standing in a small group asked.
"No one knows his true identity, he uses the government to evict and terrorise villagers. It's the same thing in Mambawe and Onatte" he lowered his already weak voice and added. " He is a big fish in the ruling party!"
People sighed with inner fear. There was no place to run to, the Mailo land and the government were now the sources of their suffering. People had just started to work on their farms after the third pour of rain. It was the second season of the year. Damba's mind raced in his chest. He had nowhere to take his family. His mind was way far away.
A strong beam of light shone from the small village path like a strong typhoon washing a small boat ashore. The light was from a big car. Damba and the neighbours who had gathered were blinded by that light as the car raced towards Damba's house. The ghostly shadows of trees, people, and houses ran away weakly weaving aimlessly on anything that stood their way. People fled as the car jerked.
Damba stood holding his breath. Still blinded by the light.
"Damba!" Called the big voice coming from the car.
"Nney!" Damba answered, still feeling uneasy.
The man from the car laughed as he strode towards Damba. Nnakae and Nnaei's mother murmured, running away towards the other neighbours who were watching with keen interest. Damba stood up shaken. Not shaken by the man from the car, but by the cold night. Then his eyes saw Mbatu as his body was hit by the light from the car.
"Mbatu!" Damba cried out.
"Nney! Nney!" Mbatu answered throwing his hands in the air.
#
Nnaei sat on a log. Her legs stretched out in front of her. She looked fixedly at Nyandwa who was still milking the last cow. She had come to fetch milk as she always did in the evening of each day, except Fridays and Sundays. She let out a weak smile, her breasts moving with her breath. She was undoubtedly fascinated with the way he milked the quiet cow. His big hands worked between the cow and the milk drums.
The gurgle of milk into the steel drums, the smell of cows, and the kraal, somewhat transformed Nyandwa into a god-- Zeus. Nyandwa stood up to stretch his back. When he turned, his eyes met Nnaei. He managed a smug smile. She blushed and looked away, resisting that frenzy.
"Nna-" Nyandwa called out all smiles.
"Milkman," Nnaei answered, smiling too.
"I'm sorry, I'm late," he said, rubbing milk spills on his hands against the back of a cow.
"Don't think it's a problem. Think I came a bit early."
Nyandwa went on milking. But there was something on his mind, something he couldn't make out straight. "Sshh, almost done," he whispered to the cow.
"Looks like we're going to have a serious downpour tonight!" Nyandwa said standing up.
"Think so, wish it does; it's hot," Nnaei said, staring at Nyandwa's hardened muscles. Nyandwa walked past her under the weight of the milk drum.
"I need to get out of here fast..." he trailed.
Nnaei's heart skipped. She trembled a little.
"Don't understand, you going somewhere?" Mean, think you said---it's raining tonight?"
She felt her blunt voice betray her. She turned and looked away into the infinity of space.
"Yes, I don't want to be here," he said, pouring milk into the last small green container that stood close to the big drum.
"Ooh! See you have very little to lose here!" She said feeling shaken. She wished she didn't come to fetch that damned milk.
"There's a lot to lose here," he said, handing her milk. "Including you, Nna"-- he giggled.
Nnaei was shocked. She staggered. Shifted her gaze to the kraal. Nyandwa watched every movement she made. His body warmed up.
"Me, Nnaei!" She moved a step back.
"You're my good customer," Nyandwa said, turning to go.
"So where are you headed, mean, from here?" She felt tears form in her eyes.
"Maybe down the village center, but I don't want him to find me here"
"You...Not going for good?" She asked timidly. Rubbing a lone tear on her cheek.
He was already in the house. Staggering with the last drum of milk.
"Yes, Nna-, I am avoiding my father. He wants me entangled in his businesses," he was shouting from the house.
"Kind of interesting, hmm! Your father?"
"Yes, pal! Mbatu," he shouted, poking his head out in the small window.
#
Darkness had set in as a curtain. Nnaei strode briskly, quite contrary to her usual peculiarity. Her mind was confused. All the way home from Nyandwa's house she went over the situation in her head again and again. She felt pangs of disquietude sweep her up. How could Mbatu of all people, be her father-in-law? Well, no—Nyandwa's father?
She shook her head. There was something unseen working against her happiness. She thought with great despair, groping for the right path under the blanket of darkness. Her eyes are watery. Her mind scattered. Nothing could clear her mind from the frost of thoughts that kept flooding in and in and out—vanity of wishes.
As Nnaei made it close to their house, halfway down the village path, she heard her mother ask angrily.
"When will this girl ever realise there are rules in this house?"
"It took him longer than usual," she said, trying to keep her breathing slow.
"You don't get it--- you're a woman!"
Nnaei looked down. She knew it was the right thing to do. Experience had taught her the hard way. Women weren't meant to roam the village, walk at night alone or exchange words with an elder. She felt something stir her bowels; it always did: but so what? This wasn't just roaming the village, it was mission impossible, she thought walking past her mother.
"Your father said, 'your aunt, Nndae is expecting you,''" her mother said, sitting down on a low stool. Her eyes searched Nnaei's face.
"Expecting me when?" Nnaei asked, choosing her words carefully. She wasn't in the mood.
"Expecting you as soon as tomorrow or tomorrow but one," she moved her eyes away from Nnaei who was also sitting on a low stool leaning against the wall, in a way that exaggerated her lack of interest in the matter at hand.
"It's a good thing you go," her mother said after Nnaei had said nothing.
"And it's in our best opinion that, that you revisit the Odaki ancestral ceremony--"
Nnaei's mother glanced at her.
Nnaei's mind had drifted back to Nyandwa and the day's events. She wished she had hugged him. He had stood there breathing his large life into her face. She had felt whole. She was thrilled and excited. But she resisted the frenzy. Then she thought of his milking and the huge steel drums and the kraal, and his small house, and all the small containers, and the quiet cows—they all seemed to have encouraged him—luring him into more and more action. She smiled and chuckled.
"Nnaei, Nnaei are you paying attention?" Her mother asked with piercing eyes.
Nnaei kept quiet. She wasn't in the mood.
Nnaei's mother was about to add when she heard a knock at the door. It must be Damba, she thought, turning to Nnaei.
"Open for your father."
"Pa!" Nnaei said
"Nney, Nnaei, it's me-- it's me."
Nnaei recognised the voice. It was her aunt Nnakae. Then she thought of her being expected in Onatte. She knew Nnakae was here for preliminaries—as a woman, she cursed.
"Maa-- !" Nnaei greeted, sitting down on an old mat spread out on the floor.
"Nney," Nnakae answered.
Another knock on the door. This time heavily. The three women exchanged glances. Then, again Nnaei stood up to open the door.
"Pal."
"Ma'!" Replied her father.
Nnaei went back and sat down on the mat. Nnakae and Nnaei's mother sat down on the mat too. Damba sat on the brown couch. He looked drunk or so he gave the impression of a drunkard person. He handed a small green container to his wife who sat leaning against the couch. Damba's hands were bruised so was his mind he fought relentlessly to bring back.
"My, lord, you're exhausted," his wife said, scanning his indifferent face.
"Nney," he stammered.
Nnakae cleared her voice as if to say something but stopped as tears were wailing down her wrinkled face. Nnaei and her mother glared at her in total surprise. She was trembling.
"It's a pity we have lost such a young man!" She said between her sobs. " Who could have done such a thing?"
Damba stared at the grotesque shadows on the wall, he looked monstrous in the grotesque shadow he then leaned against the couch. He said nothing, his mind was a storm of thoughts. He sat there blinking.
"Who?" Nnaei's mother asked nervously.
"Nyandwa, Nyandwa aaa...found strangled," Nnakae said shaking her head.
Nnaei kept quiet at first not knowing what to say. Nnakae's words had hit her like a gust of wind in the desert. She had felt faint when panic engulfed her. She put her head between her legs and said,
"Maa--, I am so cold, and useless."
"This young man, the milkman?" Nnaei's mother asked fear creeping into her.
"Nney!" His body was found by a boy who had gone for milk.
"Here, in Obakuli--? I mean--"
"Yes, in his house, dead."
"Who?" Damba asked with an indication of soberness but still, he looked way far away.
"Nyandwa," Nnakae said.
Damba swallowed hard.
Nnaei wanted to run, running out and shouting to Nyandwa. What was life without his huge hands? His breathtaking smile? She did not want to believe her aunt. She wanted them to say it was a lie, but her father had said nothing. Does he know? Does he believe in these empty unpromising words?
She wanted to ask her father, she wanted him to say something about Nyandwa—this needed men's wisdom. Tears rolled down her cheeks in torrents. She bit her lips as if to stop the pain from eating her bowels. She sat there groaning. There was nothing left for her to hold on to, her central pillar of love and beacon of hope as a woman was vanquished.
"He gave me his milk...one and half hours...How could he...?" She trailed, her voice quivering. Her face creased from the tremor.
"I have heard the news from the village center," Damba said, still absorbed in his thoughts. "I also heard that Mbatu is the new landlord."
Nnaei's mother went on hitting her thighs with her fists. Her body vibrated with soft sobs. She was confused. Her brain skipped. How could Mbatu be the new landlord?
"Mbatu? Mbatu--?"
Nnakae brews her nose again and again, "yes, Mbatu."
Nnaei stood up staggering; panting like that. She made for the door. Stopped abruptly, turned around, and said.
"Pa! Arrange my marriage to Mbatu..."
Then she walked out into the sullen darkness thinking I will avenge, Nyandwa's death.
THE END.
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Praise Ndlovu
07/28/2022The way u love your work, makes me rate before reading for i know there's a lesson in each of your writings. I feel pity for Nnae, marriage is a choice... We marry for love n security amongst other things not for our parents to keep their land... It's saddening the 'milkman' who made her heart skip a bit was wiped out before she could be with him. Damba really needs a beating...
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Ndugwa Ndugwa
07/28/2022Thank you, Praise, for your comment has made me blush... You have touched my heart, be blessed.
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