The Bride Price: An African Romance (Chitundu Chronicles)

by Suzanne Popp

  The hunting dogs dropped at her feet when they returned home from the fields. Myna liked their silken ears, some bearing the notches of the relentless wait-a-minute thorns that would tear them when they were coursing through the underbrush. She asked Festal if they might have a pup from one of the litters to raise in the house, but Festal was of the belief that every animal on the station should earn its keep, and what did they need in their house with another mouth to feed? Myrna had no answer.

  It was shortly after this pronouncement that two hunters carrying spears and wearing loincloths stopped by the house and brought a baby duiker for Myrna. They did not speak the same language as Myrna, but they pantomimed having killed the fawn’s mother, and their remorse. She understood their intent, nodded yes, and reached for the fawn, uncertain of what Festal would say to this foolishness. The men left as silently as they came. When Festal returned and saw the tiny fawn, no bigger than a kitten on his sheepskin sleeping mat, he stroked it and pulled it into his arms.

  “What did you name it?”

  “!” (Click).

  Festal called the hunting dogs into the rondavel and Myrna had a moment of dread, until she saw him training them to accept this tiny antelope, making clear to them that this was part of the family when they started to lunge for it. Soon they realized they were to protect it, so it would be safe from them and any predator that might come near the yard. “Click” was the sound of its tiny hooves on the pounded floor, and the Xhosa language of the hunters that had brought it to their home. Myrna wrapped its feet in dampened cloth to keep the fawn from slipping on the slick floors. It would come to her each morning to be let out, then bounce around the yard with all four hooves off the ground. It always nestled behind Festal on his mat at night. Myrna took his gentleness and affection with the antelope as a good sign that he would be tender towards their baby. She couldn’t wait until the baby was born.

  When Winnie Kafuma realized she had missed meeting Myrna, and her husband warned her against delving into the Phiris’ business, she resolved to go and visit Flo, owner of the Big Banana Bar and see what she knew of the woman.

  Flo was at the bar having her hair plaited when Winnie stopped by unannounced. Flo did not have any information to share about Myrna, as she had never met the woman. Winnie did not mention Festal, so no information was gained. She did question what interest Winnie had in her, and put a note in her memory to avoid any controversy with this woman, as she seemed to have an agenda in mind. Flo did not care to have her appointment with her hairdresser interrupted; this was her time to be pampered and catch up with the local news. She offered her visitor no drinks, and in a short time, Winnie left.

  Winnie stopped by the Phiris’ herself a month later. Neither of them was at home and she noticed a chameleon in the arbor. She could not reach it, but it was an animal her husband would like to have for his fetish medicine. She would drop by again and ask Myrna if she could have it. That would be a chance to form an opinion of the woman and make up her own mind about her worth. The community was so easily swayed; she was tired of hearing her neighbors sing the woman’s praises when she had done nothing to earn them.

  Winnie waited until Festal had left for work, then knocked at the Phiris’ door. “Hello. I am Winnie Kafuma, wife of the local healer.”

  “I am Myrna. Come in.”

  “I see you have a chameleon that has climbed into your arbor,” Winnie said, looking in the direction of where she had seen the lizard.

  “Yes. She has been there since I arrived.”

  “My husband would like to have it for his medicine.” As she was talking, the duiker bounced into the sitting area, and Winnie took note of this totem animal. What was it doing here? Did Myrna have special powers? It walked up to Myrna and she stroked it as she talked.

  “I will have to ask Festal if it is all right with him.”

  “I thought you were an educated woman that could make up her own mind.”

  “I can, but I value the feelings of my husband. It may not be to his liking for me to give away a creature that is important to him.”

  “How can a chameleon be important to a cattleman?”

  “I don’t know. But I know I like to be included in decisions. Perhaps we can give you one of her offspring as she is ready to deliver.”

  “It is not important. My husband has many potent ingredients to use.”

  “Thank you for understanding. I enjoyed meeting your daughters very much. They are lively girls.”

  “Yes. That is a good description. I am going now.”

  “Be safe.”

  Myrna told her husband that evening about the visit. “I thought I warned you to stay clear of that woman. She is bad news.”

  “You did warn me. She dropped by unannounced and asked for the chameleon for her husband’s medicine. I told her I would ask you.”

  “The answer is ‘No’. We both enjoy the creature. Why should it be killed?”

  “I agree. I like its chubby cheeks. I will not encourage her. I just wanted your advice.”

  “Well, you have it. Is dinner ready?”

  They sat on their stools watching the sun melt into the tree line at the top of the ridge. Festal was put off by the request for something that he cared about, and by his denying the request when it was by a woman he knew wanted something from him that he didn’t want to give her. Myrna was relieved that the mother chameleon, a comma in the trailing vines of the bougainvillea, would be spared. Her sides were bulging with the promise of young soon to be born. Myrna secretly called her Beatrice and saw her as a good omen.

  Myrna was in nesting mode. She made small covers for their drinking cups with stones tied at the base so flies would stay out of their drinks and baskets that covered the food she was preparing. All the food scraps were saved and put in a heap for the chickens and goats to eat outside of her garden wall. The brooms and whisks for the household were held on one wall in the storeroom by loops of crocheted rags, which also had been used to make a rug in front of the washroom, the doorway, and the kitchen to keep rocks and debris out. For herself and Festal, Myrna made lotions and soaps, pumice for her heels, and a waxy hoof dressing she used on the calves’ hooves during the dry season. Her husband enjoyed all the projects Myrna made to keep their home smelling fresh, and it saved on their expenses. He also liked to surprise her with materials to see what use she could make of them. One day, he carried home the branches of a tree worn smooth by the wind and the rubbing of animals. The following day she turned them into a set of clothes pegs for the wall beside their bed. Another piece of wood became a shoe scraper for the doorway.

  One day Festal came home just as Myrna was returning from a trip to town. She had caught a ride with a neighbor and his wife, and returned with them. Festal arrived early and met her absence. His brow furrowed in anger and dismay.

  Myrna thanked the driver and dismounted from the donkey cart. She walked into the house and put her scarf and bag down when Festal suddenly took her by the shoulders and shook her in rage. She let her body go limp and he shoved her to the bed in anger. She did not apologize for her absence, nor did she rush to prepare the dinner. Festal knew he was out of control, but he could not rid himself of the anger or the fear that her absence had raised in him. Myrna waited for him to calm down.

  “Why did you leave the house and not tell me?”

  “You were away. I did not know I was confined to the house. Am I a prisoner?”

  He was silent as his face contorted with the pain of her words. She told him she had ordered something for him in town. She had asked him earlier about his childhood, and he had told her abruptly, “That is none of your business.” She had wanted to surprise him with a birthday gift.

  Ten days later the gift arrived and she handed it to him to open. It was the first birthday gift he had ever received and he wasn’t sure what to do. She waited while he pulled the paper away from the box and pulled out a red harness for the donkeys. It was new and had no breaks or rough patc
hes. The brass fittings were glistening and clean and the collars had clips for a string of bells that came with the set. The reins were long and supple with snaps for easy removal. Festal smoothed the leather over his fingers and explored every inch of the harness. His eyes were bright and he had a half smile on his face. Immediately, he left to gather his hobbled animals. That afternoon they drove around the hillside, stopping at houses and waving to their neighbors. The two hunting dogs coursed along beside them like proper coach dogs. Festal sat proud in the driver’s seat guiding his team. That evening, after he had hobbled the donkeys and cleaned the harness, he brought it into the house and hung the red collection of straps on the wall to the side of the doorway, with the bells suspended from the door itself. From then on, the door made a pleasant ringing sound when it was opened. Both of them would learn to open the door silently, once the baby arrived.

  There were many families in Copperfine. Myrna came to know the majority of them through her visits, and by inviting them to have tea at her house. She knew how to make chamomile tea, and red bush tea, as well as cinnamon. It was a pleasant break for women to come over and see what project she was working on, or how her duiker was doing. ! (Click) was a novelty in the village, as few people had a pet, and no one had thought of keeping a wild animal as one. Just before the baby was born, the chameleon had hatched out half a dozen young ones. Word spread through the village and soon Winnie came to claim one. She spotted the lizard and immediately asked for it.

  “I asked you before for the chameleon. I know you would not want to stand in the way of someone’s healing,” Winnie said.

  “What cure does the lizard provide?”

  “I am not the healer. I do not delve into my husband’s work.”

  “Nor do I. But it seems there is no urgent need at this time for chameleon cures. Keep in mind that the lizard is producing more of her kind. Should you need one for a definite healing, we can provide one.”

  “You said you were going to ask Festal’s opinion. Has he made a decision?”

  “I have. My decision is No. I did ask him about it and we are in agreement. Have you seen the new pattern that I am working on? I hope to make a cradle cover to protect infants from mosquitoes while they are sleeping,” Myrna said. Winnie glanced at the sketch.

  “I will have to send my girls over. Neither of them has learned to sew and perhaps you would be able to teach them.”

  “I am limited in what I can do, but what I know, I am happy to pass on.”

  With that, the two women parted and Myrna cleaned out the cups. Festal would soon be home and she had a meal to fix. She put away the patterns and watched Winnie pass through the yard, watching the chameleon on its perch above the melons.

  Myrna made a meal of cabbage relish, tomatoes and peppers over rice. She added a pinch of cinnamon to the mugs of tea and had a small bowl of roasted groundnuts. When Festal was done, she brought up the topic of the lizard.

  “Festal, Winnie, the fetish priest’s wife came over today. She wants us to give her the chameleon for her husband’s practice. I asked her what cure it provided and she couldn’t say. I told her we could be approached if there was a definite cure that the lizard could provide, otherwise, the chameleon continues to have life.”

  “You would do better to stay away from her. She is a power in this community and I have always avoided her as I thought she wanted something from me.”

  “She is sending her daughters here to learn to sew.”

  “I don’t want them in the house. Teach them somewhere else.”

  Myrna did not have the problem of telling the girls not to come, because neither of them was inclined to want to sew. They did not come and Myrna saw very little of their mother in the year to come.

  Myrna did cultivate friendships among the other women.

  Mrs. Mulengo watched the new wife walking down to the riverside where the women did their laundry. Most of them had been scrubbing away for the past two hours and had their clothes rolled up in the basket ready to take home and dry. They had been talking about the case of the missing child at the cattle station and what should be done to safeguard against further disappearances. Everyone had an opinion. The child was albino and some thought this was the reason for its going missing. One of the fetish sellers had probably seized the child, as they were considered powerful medicine. Mrs. Mulengo hissed a signal and everyone stopped talking. They were silent as Myrna approached and then spoke of more pleasant things.

  Myrna had met the women on her first day at the cattle station and visited some of them in their homes. She was a welcome addition to the village as she had new stories to tell, and had married a man long a mystery. Festal had worked for years besides their husbands, his parents were from a village not far away, but he had never courted or showed any attention to them or their daughters. At forty-four, most had written him off as one of those men who did not prefer children or marriage. Apparently, they had been wrong. This wife was beautiful and pregnant. They would study her to see what it was about her that had attracted a man they thought unattainable.

  Myrna put down her sack of clothes and pulled out the washbasin and board she brought from the house. She had a bar of lava soap and trousers that needed serious scrubbing, as well as a couple of pairs of socks that had not come clean. As she rolled up her sleeves and began to scrub the clothing, the women checked out her dress and the sandals she wore on her feet. One of them made a little sashay with her hips and sang a little ditty about laundry and how the scrubbing was like a man needing rubbing. Myrna couldn’t understand the words, but the gist of the refrain was clear. She laughed out loud and rubbed the bubbles on her arm with a stiff finger, which made the other women roll in appreciation.

  They began to dance a bit as they enhanced the story, assuring her that she was part of their group. Myrna could have done the wash at her rondavel, as hers was one of the few households that had storage for water, and a huge pot to boil enough for a laundry. But she wanted to join in and let the neighbors know she welcomed their company. Some of them pulled out a few mopani worms and a little sack of dried groundnuts to share. The morning passed pleasantly and the work was done before she knew it. As she walked back to her house, one of the women signaled her daughter to assist her with the wet laundry in her tub. When they reached the house and the girl set it down, Myrna gave her a ribbon from one of the wedding gifts. The girl smiled her thanks and bounded away with her prize.

  Myrna made her way into the community with a certainty and purpose that surprised her husband. Festal had always held back from the communal gatherings. Although respected by the men he worked with, he was not popular. No one knew what set him off, or what pleased him. He worked hard, but he didn’t play. After his marriage, this began to change. He attended more of the gatherings where food and news were exchanged, and work was done. Myrna did not make apologies or excuses for him when he did not come or join in. She had fun herself and liked being with the community.

  When she started working with the women, Festal saw how the skills and confidence of the women increased. He welcomed her questions when she asked him for advice. She never asked when it wasn’t necessary, and never to manipulate him into joining the work or doing it in her place.

  .

  CHAPTER 16

  PLAYFUL

  Festal enjoyed being grilled about the wedding he had just attended of Stephen and Esther. He didn’t go into great description, but said the bride reminded him of a box chicken, all fluffed up and poufy white, unable to move on its own. Myrna asked him questions which only he could answer. Sometimes he teased her and told her things that could not possibly be so. He did it lovingly, but she would hit at his chest and say, “You are lying!”

  Festal had never played, and now, in their little round house with the stupefying beauty of the pastures and the valley outside the door, and this wife inside who played with him, let him win, provoked him just a little, let him be the lion and the mouse, told him about the mouse
and the elephant, and other stories of her village, and wanted to hear the tales he knew, and devised one game after another, he learned to laugh and to enjoy being with another person for no other reason than the fun of companionship. He learned to play and to be frivolous, in small doses. By the time the baby was apparent, Festal was in love with the woman and the girl. He couldn’t wait to see the son they would have. In his evening hours he fashioned a small bull out of eucalyptus wood as a toy for the baby. Then he made a rattle of the cowboy whistle pod which he had polished smooth and made sure no sand remained in it.

  Festal’s herds were thriving. His companions were friendlier, and his orphaned calves grew into sleek heifers that would soon freshen with healthy calves. From the first crowing of the cock in the morning, to the last laughter at night, their home was his haven. But the fear of losing what he had built woke him at night, making him sweat with anxiety. For Myrna, this was a time of gestation, of going over what had been important in her life and what the arrival of their baby would mean and how it might change their lives. She did not worry about the delivery or the health of their baby. She had seen her mother pregnant. And saw how making a space for another child was all a natural part of life. She thought about what she would teach the baby and how she would dress it and care for it. It never occurred to her that a child would be a new thing for Festal.