Griots

by Charles R. Saunders

  Abdul nodded to Belay. “Welcome, my brother. This is a pleasant surprise. I have heard much of you and I am flattered by your visit.

  Belay nodded in return. “The reputation of Abdul sails on the sea as far as the Spice Lands. I am flattered you granted my request.”

  Abdul nodded to a servant who poured him a glass of wine. Changa noticed the same look in the woman’s eyes like the boy in the cage, a vacuous vision of despair.

  “I can’t believe we’ve never met before,” Abdul continued. “Belay of Mombasa is a man well known throughout Swahililand.”

  Belay refrained from wine, preferring water. “Sheik Abdul is a legend among merchants.”

  Abdul closed his eyes as he replied. “I am but a humble man. But tell me, rafiki; is it business that finds you here this day?”

  “Yes, but not the type you are familiar with.”

  Abdul’s face looked puzzled. “Surely a man with wealth such as yours has need of what I provide?”

  “I own no plantations,” Belay replied. “I prefer the exchange of goods to the fruits of the earth.”

  Abdul took an orange from his bowl. “Slaves can be docile as cows if properly trained. I seem to recall there is one in your employ that may be an exception.”

  Abdul’s eyes rested on Changa. Belay glanced at the Bakonga and smiled.

  “I freed Changa soon after rescuing him from the fighting pit. A man with his skills and abilities didn’t deserve to be a slave.”

  “No one does,” Abdul agreed. “But we did not make the world.”

  “That is true.”

  The two carried on a casual conversation as they ate. Changa glared at Abdul, his distaste for the man growing with every minute past. There was something missing in a man like Abdul, an emptiness of that allowed them to treat some men like objects while showing kindness to others.

  The servants cleared the table. Belay leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach.

  “An excellent feast,” he said.

  “I’m humbled by your praise.” Abdul took another cup of wine. “Now my friend, why have you come?”

  “I’m here to make right a wrong committed by my son. I was told you purchased a woman from Wal Wasaki, a woman my son had kidnapped for refusing his marriage offer. I have come to buy her back.”

  Abdul’s face contorted in confusion. “I do not know of what you speak. I do conduct business with Wasaki occasionally, but I never deal directly with him. Maybe one of my men has seen this woman. Can you describe her?”

  “She needs no description, for she is a queen among queens. Her beauty knows no rival and her virtue honors her family. That is why it is so important that I do this. The woman is innocent.”

  Abdul rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I would remember such a woman. What is her name?”

  “Yasmine.”

  Abdul folded his jeweled hands in his lap; a lie glimmered in his eyes before escaping his lips.

  “I’m sorry, my friend. I have not seen this Yasmine. A woman such as you described would be very valuable, not for what she possesses in beauty but for what she may harbor within. If I did come across such a woman, I would not be able to part with her. She would be priceless.”

  Changa coughed to keep from cursing. Abdul’s eyes narrowed as they took in the Bakongo, the threat emanating from them clear. Belay saw the exchange and stood.

  “I will not waste anymore of your time, Abdul. I realized this might be a fruitless journey but I had to try. I thank you for your time and hospitality.”

  Abdul came to Belay and they hugged. “You must come again soon,” Abdul lied. “The hunting on the southern tip of the island is excellent.”

  “I will,” Belay replied. “Allah be with you.”

  “And with you.”

  Changa’s restraint failed him as soon as he set foot on the Sada.

  “He has her!”

  Belay sat at his desk in the cabin. “I know.”

  “You should have made him an offer.”

  Belay sighed. “He would have refused. Yasmine’s beauty seems to be a curse to her.”

  Changa slammed his fist as against the wall. “You didn’t even try!”

  Belay came to his feet. “Enough, Changa! If you hope to be a merchant one day you must learn keep your personal feelings under control. This is business.”

  “No, bwana, it is not. This is about a person’s life.”

  “This became business the moment Wal took Yasmine. I have done all I can do. We are finished with this matter, you hear me? When we return to Mombasa, I will pay Mustafa a proper lobola.”

  Changa’s glare subsided into a disappointed stare.

  “Go see about the crew,” Belay commanded. “We leave in the morning.”

  Night had descended on Zanzibar when Changa finished his inspection. He went immediately to his cabin, gathered his weapons and returned to the deck.

  “Where are you going, kibwana?”

  Yusef leaned against the main mast, his thick arms folded across his chest.

  “Go back below,” Changa advised. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “You’re going to get Yasmine, aren’t you?”

  Changa ignored the big man as he walked down the plank. Yusef strode toward him.

  “I’m going with you.”

  Changa turned, looking up into Yusef’s defiant eyes.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This has nothing to do with you.”

  “You defeated me in front of everyone,” Yusef answered. “If I wish a chance to redeem myself, I need to make sure you come back alive.”

  “I won’t slow down for you,” Changa warned.

  “You won’t have to,” Yusef smiled.

  The two made their way to the dark streets of Zanzibar. Changa set a fast pace and Yusef, true to his word, kept pace with him. They reached Abdul’s palace in moments; the streets strangely quiet for such a large town.

  Changa went immediately to the compound. He leapt onto the wall like a panther then jumped down into the courtyard, sword drawn. The courtyard was unguarded, unusual for a compound that held such wealth. He went to the gate and let Yusef in. They crept to the palace door. Changa tested it and it held firm.

  “Stand aside, kibwana,” Yusef whispered.

  “This is not the time for brute strength,” Changa warned.

  “You insult me,” Yusef replied.

  The big Mombassan leaned against the door until he heard a cracking sound. Yusef stepped away and pushed the door open effortlessly.

  The faint scuff of padded paws was the only warning. Changa instinctively jumped aside and the black leopard flashed by him, slamming into Yusef’s chest. He moved to help his friend but suddenly found himself dodging the charge of another leopard. The beast opened its mouth in a silent roar as it crept towards him. Changa backed away, brandishing a throwing knife in each hand. The cat struck out with its paw and Changa struck back, batting the claws away. The silence was shattered by Yusef’s bellow and the leopard’s cohort sailed out the doorway, landing lifeless in the dirt. Changa’s attacker was distracted for a moment, which was all the time he needed. A knife flew from his hand into the leopard’s breast and the cat rose up on its hind legs, grasping the knife with its forelimbs. Changa’s second knife ripped into the feline’s belly and it fell onto its back. He finished it with his sword, driving the point into the leopard’s throat.

  He ran inside and found Yusef slumped against the wall, bleeding from his shoulder and chest.

  “We have to go back,” Changa said. “You need help.”

  “No!” Yusef snapped. “These are scratches, nothing more. We came for Yasmine.”

  Yusef stood unsteadily. “Lead the way, kibwana, unless those kittens stole your nerve.”

  Changa smirked as he re-entered the house. The foyer was pitch black so he felt along the wall, searching for a torch when he heard the twang of bowstrings. He dropped quickly and rolled to his left, pulling out his throwing knives as he came to his fe
et. The strings thumped again and he heard Yusef grunt. Changa threw his knife at the bow sound and was rewarded with a painful cry. He moved again and the arrow meant for his throat clattered against the stone wall. Changa threw a second knife. It missed its mark but accomplished its goal. The archer opened a door across the room to escape, a stream of torchlight seeping into the room. Changa ran back to check on Yusef and found him sitting at the entrance, an arrow protruding from his shoulder. The big man grasped the arrow and broke it.

  “A pin prick,” he said.

  “Stay here,” Changa ordered. He chased after the bowman, entering a corridor lit by a succession of torches. The sound of footfalls from behind alarmed him and he spun about, his sword and knife on guard. Yusef was on his feet, wincing as he lumbered through the open door.

  “Go back,” Changa urged.

  “No, kibwana, I’m staying with you.”

  They crept down the hall in pursuit of the bowman. Changa’s instincts were on edge; the house felt wrong. Abdul was a rich man; his house should have been filled with people and possessions. With the exception of the bowman they had encountered no one.

  A door at the end of the hall was opened slightly. Changa saw a smattering of blood staining the white marble floor. Something more escaped from the room, something sensed rather than seen. Changa reached for the door and stopped.

  Yusef eased up behind him. “What are we waiting for?”

  “Can’t you feel it?” Changa whispered.

  Yusef shook his head. “Feel what?”

  Changa turned to his companion. “Something is not right.”

  The big man was around Changa and through the door before Changa could stop him. He hesitated, listening for some response to Yusef’s intrusion but there was none. His curiosity overcame his stealth and he entered the room.

  Yusef stood frozen. The bowman lay dead a few feet before the Mombassan. Beyond them both in the center of the room was a large dais. Sitting on the surface was Yasmine. She was naked, her arms and legs chained to thick iron loops protruding from the stone. A blank expression ruled her face as she stared at Changa. He felt her spirit reaching into his mind like loving fingers; his arms fell limp to his sides and he dropped his weapons. The clattering metal pulled him from Yasmine’s hypnotic gaze. He heard Yusef grunt and jerked his head about to see Yusef raising his sword at him.

  “Yusef, no!” Changa shouted. Yusef raised his scimitar high then slashed down. Changa dodged the swipe then ducked the swing aimed at his neck. Yusef moved faster than Changa thought capable of a man of his size. Changa danced away knowing he had no chance stopping those powerful blows. Yasmine controlled him, driving him far beyond his abilities. Changa could not stop Yusef but he could stop Yasmine.

  He dodged another swing, jumping between Yusef and the dais. He snatched out a throwing knife, holding it by the blade. The edge sliced his hand and he threw it at Yasmine, the handle striking her on the head and sprawling her on the dais. Yusef fell as she fell, crashing onto the floor in a massive heap.

  Changa ran to his unconscious companion. Yusef panted, his body burning. Changa heard more footsteps. Dozens of armed men clad in chain mail and leather, their eyes weighed with the same despondency Changa viewed among Abdul’s slaves. They formed an armed barrier between the Mombassan and the dais. Abdul sauntered into the room and climbed onto the dais. He knelt beside Yasmine, cradling her injured head in his hands.

  “You discovered my secret,” he said as he smiled. “Do you know the power of beauty, Mombassan? Most men just see the surface, lusting for physical contact to sate their shallow desires. But the power lies within. It is the power to manipulate and control. It’s the reason why men fear women, why we spend so much time attempting to control that which we have no control.”

  Abdul propped Yasmine up, holding her face in his hands.

  “But the true power lies deeper still. It is beyond women, a strength so deep it can only be tapped by ancient spells created at the beginning of time.”

  Abdul closed his eyes, whispering into Yasmine’s ear. Her eyes snapped open and she sat erect. She leveled her blank white orbs on Changa and pain exploded behind his eyes. He dropped his weapons, clutching his head as the pain bored into his sanity. He was losing consciousness, blood running from his ears and nose. But then the pain went too far, touching a place within the Mombassan that even he never knew existed. Changa reared back and emitted a cry that startled Abdul

  “No one controls me!” Changa yelled.

  “Kill him!” Abdul yelled back.

  Changa grabbed his throwing knife and hurled it at Abdul. The knife sunk into the slave master’s head, knocking him from the dais to the floor. A wail rose from the compound, a collective cry of a thousand souls suddenly released from an evil stupor. The guards ran from the room, their faces bright with the prospect of freedom. Changa staggered to Abdul’s body. He searched the man’s robes and found a key ring. He was so weak the climb up the dais was like scaling a mountain. It took him a long moment to find the key for Yasmine’s shackles. He freed the woman, and then lay at her side.

  The urgent sounds of destruction awoke him. Men and women screamed, shouted and cursed in the distance. Swords rang out down the corridors and the smell of smoke hung heavy in the air. Changa rose to the hulking image of Yusef towering above him, his scimitar in his hand. He turned and looked down on Changa.

  “So, kibwana, are you done with your nap?”

  Changa struggle to his feet and Yasmine stirred. A painful moan escaped her lips.

  “What’s going on?” Changa asked.

  “Chaos,” Yusef replied. “Abdul’s slaves are running rampant. The city guard is attempting to keep them in the compound.”

  Changa found his weapons. “Give me your scimitar,” he said to Yusef. “Pick up Yasmine.”

  Changa took the sword and Yusef lifted Yasmine to his shoulders. Together they plunged into the chaos of the compound, pushing through desperate people and eventually found their way to the gates. Guardsmen blocked the way, their pikes lowered as they secured the gates from the outside. Changa sheathed his sword and stepped a few paces from the wall. He ran and jumped, his fingertips landing on the wall’s edge. With a loud grunt he lifted himself onto the wall then jumped down into the midst of the guards. Changa’s sword was out and slashing before the soldiers knew what happening. In moments he stood surrounded by dying men.

  “Pull down the gate!” he shouted. The men inside grasped the bars, jerking with all their strength. Changa turned his back to them as more guardsmen appeared. He never considered the overwhelming odds; he gripped his sword and waiting for their assault. The gate gave way just as the guardsmen reached Changa. A human flood surged past him, overwhelming the hapless guards. Changa found Yasmine and Yusef and they ran towards the docks. The streets swarmed with people, some fleeing for their freedom, some fleeing for their lives while the city guard fought to restore order. Changa and the others reached the dock as Belay’s bahari hastily untied the Sara. The sailors crowded around their friends and Yasmine as they carried her aboard.

  Yusef knocked them away. “Have some decency!” he bellowed. He removed his shirt, wrapping it around the woman. Yasmine looked up at her saviors and smiled.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Make way! Make way!”

  The bahari parted for Belay. He looked at the woman, Changa and Yusef.

  “So, you’re the cause of this,” he said.

  “Yes, bwana,” Changa replied.

  “You disobeyed me.”

  Changa looked at Belay defiantly. “I did what was right.”

  A relieved smile came to the merchant’s face. “I’m glad you did.”

  He knelt beside Yasmine. “We will take you home, daughter. Your family will be happy to see you.”

  Belay stood and the stern expression returned to his face. “What are you dogs looking at? Get us out of here. I’m losing money with all you standing around!”

&n
bsp; The sails unfurled and the dhow fled the harbor of Zanzibar. Changa led Yasmine below deck and into his cabin.

  “You will be safe now,” he said. “I give you my word.”

  Yasmine touched his face and kissed his cheek. “You are a brave man. If by chance you decide to offer lobola to my father it would be a happy day for me.”

  She entered the cabin and smiled again before Changa closed the door.

  Changa turned to the sound of approaching footsteps. Belay walked up to him and hugged him.

  “You are the son I should have had,” he announced. “You may not be of my blood, but you have my spirit. When we return to Mombasa, I will proclaim it so.”

  “That is not necessary,” Changa replied. “You are already a father to me.”

  Belay beamed as he walked away. Changa was proud of Belay’s promise, but he was most proud of rescuing Yasmine. He hoped that one day he could do the same for those he left behind so long ago.

  “Are you done?”

  Yusef loomed above him, his wounds patched by the ship’s healer. A grin creased Changa’s face.

  “Yes, I am,” he replied.

  Yusef smiled back. “Good. We have unfinished business in Mombasa, Mbogo.”

  Changa swatted the big man on his wounded shoulder and he winched.

  “You’ll get your chance.”

  Yusef swatted him back. “Don’t run away from me this time, kibwana.”

  Changa rubbed his aching shoulder and smiled.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “This time I won’t have to.

  Awakening

  By

  Valjeanne Jeffers

  The nine-year girl ran to catch up with them. “I want to go Father!” she called. “I want to practice too!”

  Adegoke, a muscular giant of man, turned to face his daughter. “You can’t go Nandi,” he said sternly, but there was compassion in his brown eyes.

  “But why?”

  Adegoke took her chin in one of his big hands. “Because my flower, you are a girl. You’re not meant to fight and the ancestors would be angry with me if I trained you for battle. Besides, think of how dirty you’d become!”