They closed round me in a circle and, with one great shout, grounded their spears and sank on their haunches. Chief Akanichum, topped now with ostrich plumes, came forward with a host of elders and welcomed me. He brought a gift of an ox for my porters to kill and eat, and many gourds of milk. Everything in life was splendid – peace reigned and cattle prospered. There was but one trouble.
“What is this trouble?” I asked.
The gaiety died suddenly away. A grave note, sounding in the voice of Akanichum, drew a murmur from the warriors at the back of the circle and from the elders in the foreground.
“It is a matter concerning the case of Mama Malungwa, the witch.” He spoke as though he were utterly perplexed and paused while he took a pinch of snuff from the horn in his head-dress. “The case was judged,” he resumed, “and judged rightly. No other judgement was possible. And yet, when my people returned home from the trial in Nakuru, it became clear to us that the judge was displeased.” Akanichum shook his head in the stress of his perplexity.
“What is the trouble?” I asked again. The chief took a deep breath, as though great force were necessary to expel his words.
“Bwana,” he said, “it is like this; Lawola is bewitched. He declares that the judge has cast a spell upon him, and we are persuaded it must be so. From the time that the trial ended Lawola has been wellnigh stone-deaf. The judge has deprived him of the use of his ears. Lawola has proof. He is here now, and though he has little power of hearing yet, with his own lips let him tell you and I will interpret his words.”
It has been truly said that the make-up of a District Commissioner must be that he have the constitution of an ox, a fund of common sense and, above all, the patience of a saint. It seemed to me that this was a right occasion to exercise to the full the last of these three attributes.
Lawola stepped forward with the air of one deeply injured, as indeed he was. In primitive surroundings a sense of hearing is of the utmost importance. As he spoke he stared me in the face, watching my reactions as the chief interpreted. He was utterly convinced that the judge had the power and the will to bewitch him. “For the judge,” he said, “wore the hair of his ancestors upon his head. In his hand he held a feather and I could see him dip it in a pot and when he wrote upon the paper, it was the mark of blood.” He looked at me intently. Would I understand? Of course – feathers and blood! Prime symbols of witchcraft!
What use to tell him that the wig was made of silk, that goose-quills are time-honoured pens and that the use of red ink on a court record was the jealous prerogative of a judge of the supreme court?
I did my best, with the aid of the chief bellowing in his ear. But Lawola shook his head, worried his ears, spat on the ground and, with his foot, rolled the spittle in the dust.
Then he turned to Akanichum and spoke softly at great speed, snapping his fingers in emphasis and, when he had done, dropped on to his heels and spread out his hands in supplication while the chief translated.
“He asks that you will write to the judge and pray that he will remove the curse and restore his hearing. If it is a matter of money, he will pay well. He knows not what money he possesses, but it is a great deal and readily available.”
“Tell Lawola,” I said, “that he is altogether mistaken; and he should know that justice is a thing that cannot be bought.”
Lawola’s reply denoted dismay tinged with boredom.
“I’m not asking for justice,” he said shortly. “What I want is the use of my ears.”
His implication was that I was being stupid; and it struck me, suddenly, that he was right.
In the dramatic opening of the conference, the panoply, the war dance and the singing, and this all-pervading obsession with witchcraft, my wits had been distracted. It dawned on me that Lawola’s sudden affliction could only be what I had experienced when I left Jubaland for Nairobi – an excess of wax on his ear-drums, induced, naturally enough, by the violent difference between the great heat of the Suk plains and the cold heights of Nakuru where he had stood trial. It was a happy thought. Witchcraft, indeed!
I suppose my manner changed – a sudden lightheartedness perhaps. Lawola sensed the change. His dark eyes shifted furtively from side to side as though I were now an enemy devoid, not only of understanding, but of sympathy and patience. His confidence in me was lost.
I knew I must do something to restore it, and I should never do that by casting doubt on his belief that he was bewitched. Akanichum, also, was eyeing me with doubt. There was a nervous twitch in the lines about his mouth. So I stood up.
“Tell Lawola,” I said, “my sympathy is with him, and if he will stay behind when all of you have gone, I will restore to him the use of his ears.”
This was greeted with acclamation. The warriors leapt up and stamped their feet. Ankle-bells were ringing, spears and shields were raised aloft, a rhythmic movement started on the perimeter. The elders raised their arms in salute and then moved off in the wake of the dancing warriors.
The sun was low in the sky. The shadows of the rocks and the scattered trees were lengthening as the song faded away. Akanichum and Lawola alone remained.
The chief looked up at the sky. Marabou storks were circling overhead, watchful of the ox-bones which needed picking.
“You can do this thing?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” I said, “if Lawola is willing.”
“Then I will leave him with you, and I shall come again and see you when the sun has set.”
In my chop-box there was olive oil and in my medicine chest a syringe. Lawola submitted himself to treatment like a trusting child. It was completely successful. He left my camp chanting a triumphal hymn of praise for all the world to hear!
Darkness had fallen and the camp-fire was burning brightly. A camp-table with drinks and a deck-chair were set out within the circle of light cast by the flames. At this hour Africa was at her best. The purple covering of night and a gentle wind made blissful atonement for the savage heat of the day. On the far side of the fire a sentry was on duty, passing the time by singeing the hair off his shins in the flickering tongues of flame – smoothing them with his free hand.
Presently Akanichum came out of the shadows with his stool and squatted beside me. For a time we sat in silence. I was thinking of the power for evil that witchcraft exerts in every corner of Africa – in every breast.
“Akanichum,” I said, at length, “it was wrong of Lawola and, indeed, of all of you, to ascribe powers of witchcraft to a judge of the supreme court.”
“Yes, Bwana. It was wrong in him and in us.”
“The judge was concerned only with justice within the law, and it is the same law for one and all.”
“Yes, Bwana.”
“You must make that known to your people.”
“I will do so.”
“And they will believe you?”
He leaned towards me. His eyes, glinting in the light of the camp-fire, looked deep into mine with that respect which is always given to the witch-doctor.
“I shall have no difficulty whatever,” he confided. “Be assured, Bwana, I can persuade my people it was not the judge who cast the spell.”
Lion in the Morning Henry Seaton.
1 An Italian nun who founded a rehabilitation centre at Wajir in northern Kenya for rejected and sick Somali women.
2 Stanley Ole Oloitipitip, Maasai Member of Parliament for Kajiado South and Minister of Culture and Social Services until 1982.
PART IX
Legend and Poetry
TRADITIONALLY, STORIES WERE told to children by their mothers of an evening beside the cooking fire. As with European fairy tales, the supernatural was a major theme, though ogres and monsters were more in evidence than the courtiers of Oberon and Titania; witches and wizards were common to both genres. Spirits, talking animals and sometimes cannibals were often in the cast. Among the animals, the elephant was generally regarded as king, the lion the most feared, and the hare the trickster, though sometime
s the hyena appeared in this role. Similar but different versions of certain myths and legends are to be found among the various Bantu-speaking peoples throughout much of the African continent. With the spread of Western education, most of them are dying out.
The Creation according to the Maasai.
THE BEGINNING OF THE EARTH
We were told by the elders that when God came to prepare the world he found three things in the land, a Dorobo, an elephant and a serpent, all of whom lived together. After a time the Dorobo obtained a cow.
One day the Dorobo said to the serpent: “Friend, why does my body always itch so that I have to scratch whenever you blow on me?”
The serpent replied: “Oh, my father, I do not blow my bad breath on you on purpose.”
At this the Dorobo remained silent, but that same evening he picked up his club, and struck the serpent on the head, and killed it.
On the morrow the elephant asked the Dorobo where the thin one was. The Dorobo replied that he did not know, but the elephant was aware that he had killed it and that he refused to admit his guilt.
During the night it rained heavily, and the Dorobo was able to take his cow to graze, and he watered it at the puddles of rain. They remained there many days, and at length the elephant gave birth to a young one. After a time all the puddles became dry except in one place.
Now the elephant used to go and eat grass, and when she had had enough to eat, she would return to drink at the puddle, lying down in the water and stirring it up so that when the Dorobo drove his cow to water he found it muddy.
One day the Dorobo made an arrow, and shot the elephant, and killed it.
The young elephant then went to another country. “The Dorobo is bad,” it said, “I will not stop with him any longer. He first of all killed the snake and now he has killed mother. I will go away and not live with him again.”
On its arrival at another country the young elephant met a Masai, who asked it where it came from. The young elephant replied: “I come from the Dorobo’s kraal. He is living in yonder forest and he has killed the serpent and my mother.”
The Masai inquired: “Is it true that there is a Dorobo there who has killed your mother and the serpent?” When he had received a reply in the affirmative, he said: “Let us go there. I should like to see him.”
They went and found the Dorobo’s hut, which God had turned upside down, and the door of which looked towards the sky.
God then called the Dorobo and said to him: “I wish you to come to-morrow morning for I have something to tell you.”
The Masai heard this, and in the morning he went and said to God: “I have come.” God told him to take an axe, and to build a big kraal in three days. When it was ready, he was to go and search for a thin calf, which he would find in the forest. This he was to bring to the kraal and slaughter. The meat was to be tied up in the hide and not to be eaten. The hide was to be fastened outside the door of the hut, firewood was to be fetched, and a big fire lit, into which the meat was to be thrown. He was then to hide himself in the hut, and not to be startled when he heard a great noise outside resembling thunder.
The Masai did as he was bid. He searched for a calf, which he found, and when he had slaughtered it he tied up the flesh in the hide. He fetched some firewood, lit a big fire, threw in the meat, and entered the hut, leaving the fire burning outside.
God then caused a strip of hide to descend from heaven, which was suspended over the calf-skin. Cattle at once commenced to descend one by one by the strip of hide until the whole of the kraal was filled, when the animals began to press against one another, and to break down the hut where the Masai was.
The Masai was startled, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment. He then went outside the hut, and found that the strip of hide had been cut, after which no more cattle came down from heaven.
God asked him whether the cattle that were there were sufficient, “for,” He said, “you will receive no more owing to your being surprised.”
The Masai then went away, and attended to the animals which had been given him.
The Dorobo lost the cattle, and has had to shoot game for his food ever since.
Nowadays, if cattle are seen in the possession of Bantu tribes, it is presumed that they have been stolen or found, and the Masai say: “These are our animals, let us go and take them, for God in olden days gave us all the cattle upon the earth.”
The Masai: Their Language and Folklore A. C. Hollis.
THE STORY OF THE DOGS
In olden times dogs were just like men; they lived in kraals, they kept cattle, and they married like men and women.
On one occasion they engaged in war with their enemy man, and were beaten. Their cattle were taken from them and driven to a far-off country. They at once made an attempt to re-capture their cattle and pursued their enemies, but when the latter heard the dogs approaching they took some sand and climbed up into some high trees. The dogs being unable to follow them stood at the bottom of the trees looking up, and their enemies threw the sand down into their eyes. They were thus defeated and retired to their kraals; but as soon as they had collected their forces together again, they returned to the attack. The men pursued the same tactics as before and took a lot of sand with them into some high trees. When the dogs approached them, they poured the sand down into their eyes, and so effectually prevented them from seeing that the dogs lost themselves and have never since been able to find their kraals. Thus the dog became the slave of man.
The Nandi A. C. Hollis.
THE LIONESS AND THE OSTRICH
Once upon a time there lived on the same plain, that is to say on the same flat earth with yellow grass, an ostrich and a lioness. It happened that at the same time, both had children. The ostrich had six beautiful chicks and the lioness six rather moth-eaten cubs. The reason why they looked moth-eaten was that they had mange and scratched a lot. The lioness, convinced that only the best was good enough for her, one day exchanged her scraggy brood for the six very beautiful chicks. The mother, returning to her earth nest, found her chicks replaced by cubs, and was furiously angry.
A great meeting was held on the plain, which every animal in the world attended, to hear the ostrich’s complaint against the lioness. When all had gathered together – some animals had to wait, for others came from a great distance – the ostrich put her case to the meeting. “Do these moth-eaten cubs belong to me? Do those little feathered perfections belong to the lioness?” But almost all the animals in the world feared the lioness: she was the Queen. So they told the mother ostrich to keep the cubs as they were hers, and to leave the lioness with the chicks. It seemed to be decided, but as the animals started to go home a ground squirrel called Susue said that he had not cast his vote, as being so small he had gone unnoticed. He demanded that they find a tall termite-hill for him to stand on, so that his height would be equal to the other animals. Then he sat on top of it, with his tail hanging down the termite-hill’s chimney, and addressed the animals.
“Tell me, animals, do you know what chickens and what cats are?” They all agreed that they did. “Then tell me, animals, have you ever known a cat give birth to an egg?” “No” was the immediate reply. “And have you ever known a chicken give birth to a kitten?” That clinched matters; but before the animals had reached the obvious conclusion, Susue had jumped down into the termite-hill’s chimney.
The lioness, enraged that anyone had dared to doubt her word, ordered the elephant to put his trunk down the hole and pull out the squirrel. The elephant thrust his trunk down the hole and caught the squirrel by the leg. “Oh, how comic,” the squirrel shouted up to the elephant. “You’ve caught hold of a root and you think it’s my leg! Mind you don’t get ants up your nose.” The elephant let go of the squirrel very quickly and went on trying to catch it with his trunk, until he caught hold of a root. “Oh! Oh! the elephant has caught me and now I shall be brought before the enraged lioness!” “Pull that squirrel up and bring it to me” the enraged lione
ss growled. So the obedient elephant pulled up the root and got ants in his nose.
Told by Ngatini Leboyare and transcribed by Simon Hook, Maralal, 1979.
A Maasai legend of the sun and the moon.
We have been told that the sun once married the moon.
One day they fought, and the moon struck the sun on the head; the sun, too, damaged the moon.
When they had done fighting, the sun was ashamed that human beings should see that his face had been battered, so he became dazzlingly bright, and people are unable to regard him without first half closing their eyes.
The moon however is not ashamed, and human beings can look at her face, and see that her mouth is cut and that one of her eyes is missing.
Now the sun and the moon travel in the same direction for many days, the moon leading. After a time the moon gets tired, and the sun catches her up and carries her. She is carried thus for two days, and on the third day she is left at the sun’s setting place. At the expiration of these three days, i.e. on the fourth day, the donkeys see the moon reappear, and bray at her. But it is not until the fifth day that men and cattle see her again.
When a Masai sees the new moon, he throws a twig or stone at it with his left hand, and says, “Give me long life,” or “Give me strength”; and when a pregnant woman sees the new moon, she milks some milk into a small gourd which she covers with green grass, and then pours away in the direction of the moon. At the same time she says: “Moon, give me my child safely.”
Now cattle feed on grass, and the Masai love grass on this account. Whenever there is a drought, the women fasten grass on to their clothes, and go and offer up prayers to God.
Nine Faces Of Kenya Page 57