Ama

by Manu Herbstein

  “Damba, Issaka,” he called, dropping the cloth on Nandzi's still body. The two warriors had been watching Abdulai's performance discreetly from a distance hoping perhaps that their commander would reward them for their discovery by allowing them to exercise their own erections, but they were to be disappointed.

  “Take this hussy and put her on a horse,” he ordered. “Tie her well. Then collect the cloth and skins and let’s get out of here. This place gives me the spooks.”

  He hid his bleeding finger from them. The blood had soaked through the bandage.

  CHAPTER 2

  When Nandzi came to, she was lying face-down on the back of a horse, securely trussed.

  Her cloth had been wrapped around her and her arms bound to her body with leather thongs. Her legs hung down on one side and her head on the other. Alongside the tethered horse stood another, piled high with the family's chattels.

  Her body ached from head to foot. When she moved, she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen.

  Damba emerged from the compound, carrying two hoes.

  “Ah, the lady has awakened,” he said, threading the shafts of the hoes through the ropes which bound the plundered goods to the pack horse.

  There was no sign of the other members of his party.

  “Water,” Nandzi whispered, but Damba did not understand.

  He untied the horses, put boot to stirrup and hoisted himself onto his saddle. Nandzi felt the animal move beneath her. She had never before been on a horse. For a moment she was overcome by terror so stark that it transcended her pain. Then she heard Nowu's wail.

  “Nowu. Nowu,” she cried.

  She struggled to free herself but there was no escape.

  “The Asante have no use for small children,” Damba said, flicking his whip on the horse's withers, “and, as for you, you will have plenty of time to get down and walk, once we are clear of danger.”

  He guessed that Nandzi did not understand his language, but the sound of his own voice allayed his fear of being alone in Bekpokpam territory.

  Nandzi moaned. Every step the horse took jarred her body and sent shooting pains through her belly. Her tongue was parched and there was a foul taste of vomit in her mouth. At first she lay limp, but the movement of the horse threw her head from side to side and up and down. She felt her neck would snap. So she raised her head as far as the thongs would allow and tensed her neck muscles. A cloud of red dust enveloped them, irritating her nostrils. She sneezed. Her hands were bound. A mixture of mucus and dust hung from her nose until the motion of the horse shook it free. Tears ran down her cheeks and soon her face was marked with red streaks. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. What had happened? What should she do?

  The horse stumbled. Suddenly, as in a nightmare, she felt Abdulai driving into her again She screamed.

  “Shut your mouth, woman,” Damba told her.

  Nandzi shook her head vigorously and breathed out hard through her nose, trying to dislodge a thread of mucus. Nowu, all alone by himself in the compound, she thought; and she despaired. Sick as he is, he might just wander off and be eaten by a some wild beast. Tabitsha will blame me for not looking after him properly. And Tigen, my father, who speaks to me so rarely these days, surely he will not be able to contain his wrath? Then it struck her that she might never see them again. Where is this man taking me? What will they do with me? She shuddered again at the thought of Abdulai. What if he were to take me as his wife? Better to die. With every fibre in her body, she hated him. I will kill him in his sleep and then try to escape. If I have to, I will risk the rage of the ancestors and kill myself afterwards.

  She saw the ground through the cloud of dust and flies which kept them company. Her eyes itched and she squeezed them shut, moving through a dark void, rising and falling with the motion of the horse. The image of Abdulai returned to her again and again. He was a giant black fly, mounting her from behind. She opened her eyes to drive the spectre away.

  They reached the summit of a ridge. Damba led the two horses through a farm. Their hooves kicked up the small mounds of earth, breaking the fresh yam shoots. Nandzi studied the head of the pack horse, its flaring nostrils, the shock of hair which fell forward between its ears, its mild eyes. What does a horse know? she wondered. She looked at the load on its back. With a shock she recognised the pattern of one of Tabitsha's favourite cloths. They must have stolen everything they found in the compound. She gnashed her teeth. It is lucky, she thought, that they put on their best for the funeral.

  “You, our ancestors,” she whispered, using words she had heard spoken by the elders, “who send us rain, and shelter our homes and our farms from winds and lightning, it is I, Nandzi, daughter of Tigen, speaking. I have no drink to give you, but you will surely know the reason.”

  Tears came to her eyes. She concentrated on her task.

  “The Bedagbam came on their horses and stole our goods. Their leader assaulted me. They abducted me from those who nurtured me and cherish me. My small brother, Nowu, is all alone, sick with fever and exposed to the wild beasts. Father of my father Tigen, father of Tigen's father and your forefathers before you, whose names are lost in time, strike down our oppressors. Especially, I beg you to kill the cruel one who raped me, who does not deserve to live amongst human beings. Hear my call. I will give you food and drink when I am able.”

  Then a thought came to her. Perhaps it is the ancestors themselves who have sent this trouble to me. It was just as I was tasting the meat soup that the raiders came. The ancestors are punishing me because I ate meat.

  So she spoke to them again.

  “Father of Tigen, it is me again, Nandzi. It is true that I tasted the antelope soup, but I only took a small sip. I had no evil intent. If I have angered you by my conduct, I implore you to forgive me. I will never repeat the offence. I promise.”

  “Stop that mumbling,” said Damba, and then, “Oh, oh. Trouble ahead.”

  He secured the leads of the pack horse to his saddle.

  Nandzi noticed the concern in his voice and raised her head. In the distance, ahead and across to the left, a figure approached them on foot along one of the raised pathways. She recognised Itsho's familiar form.

  “Itsho,” she called, but the light breeze carried her voice away.

  Damba said, “Shut your mouth.”

  He brought his bow from his back and pulled an arrow from his quiver. At the pace they were moving, their path would cross Itsho's. Nandzi raised her head again. Itsho had seen them and halted in his tracks. He, too, had his bow at the ready.

  “Itsho, Itsho!” she screamed again.

  This time he heard his name called.

  “It is me, Nandzi,” she called. “Run, run for help. The Bedagbam kidnapped me. They are many. On horses. Run, run or this one will shoot you.”

  Itsho hesitated. Then, slowly, uncertainly, he moved back the way he had come, watching them, keeping just out of range.

  “Nandzi,” he called back. “Is that you?”

  Nandzi repeated her warning.

  Damba shortened her horse's lead, bringing her closer so that he could pummel her on the back with his free fist, crying “Shut up, shut up!”

  Knowing that Damba did not understand their language, she called again to Itsho, who had had second thoughts about fleeing and was again approaching them.

  “Itsho, keep clear. It is too dangerous. Run. Get help. Follow our trail. Catch us in the night.”

  Damba reached down fiercely and placed his hand over her mouth. Then she remembered Nowu. She sank her teeth into a finger. With a curse he snatched his hand away.

  “Itsho. Nowu is all alone in the compound. He is feverish. Go for him. Please.”

  Itsho stood at a safe distance and watched them pass.

  “Nandzi. I have heard you. I will do what you say. Never fear. We will rescue you as soon as darkness falls. The Bedagbam are cowards. We will kill them all. To the last man.”

  Damba watched him uneasily, bow at the rea
dy. When they had passed by, he kept looking over his shoulder.

  Nandzi saw Itsho follow the horses' tracks back towards the compound. Her pain returned. But the encounter had given her comfort and hope. She fell into an exhausted, uneasy sleep.

  * * *

  Nowu was lying under Tabitsha's mango tree, fast asleep. Itsho felt his forehead. He was still warm, but the high fever had passed.

  “Nowu, wake up. We're going to look for your Mama.”

  “Where’s Sister Nandzi?” asked Nowu.

  “Now up on my back,” replied Itsho, not knowing how to reply.

  “Bad men took Nandzi away,” Nowu said, to no one in particular.

  “I know, Nowu,” said Itsho. “And just as soon as I have handed you over to your mother, I am going to chase those bad men and beat them and bring Nandzi back to you. I promise.”

  * * *

  By the time Itsho reached the dead man's compound, the funeral party had left for the burial ground. Itsho handed Nowu into the care of Sekwadzim's wizened elder sister.

  Sekwadzim's clanswomen were carrying his body, wrapped in cloth, to the grave side. As Itsho arrived, the cloths were being unwound. The dead man was laid naked on the ground, his hands over his genitals. Itsho could say nothing until the ceremony was over. One by one the elders addressed the dead man, reciting his virtues and asking him to greet their ancestors at the place where he was going. Impatiently, Itsho shifted his weight from foot to foot. To whom should I tell the bad news? he wondered. Tigen is always distant when I greet him. Tabitsha, I know, is fond of me, but her father is only now being buried. It is a bad time to approach her. Moreover, he thought, this is a matter for men. He moved closer to Tigen. At last the body was laid gently in the grave and the clansmen began to throw soil on it.

  Itsho tugged gently at Tigen's sleeve.

  “Father of Nandzi, I must speak with you. It is urgent.”

  Tigen looked at him in surprise. He noticed that Satila, Nandzi's husband, was watching them. It would not be wise for him to be seen talking to his daughter's lover in public. But the serious expression on Itsho's face disturbed him.

  “Yes, what is it?” he asked.

  Itsho drew him aside and spoke in a low voice. He came straight to the point. There was no time for the customary civilities.

  “Nandzi has been kidnapped,” he said. “The Bedagbam have taken her.”

  He told Tigen all he had seen.

  “I will call the elders together,” said the old man.

  “There is no time,” said Itsho. “If we do not start soon, we will miss their trail in the dark.”

  Tigen nodded. The grave was now full of earth. The women were making their way back to the hamlet. The calabash of Sekwadzim's spirit was broken and the young men pressed the pieces into the mound.

  Tigen started to speak.

  “Attention. Attention,” he called.

  Itsho asked him quietly, “Shall I go to break the news to Nandzi's mother?”

  Tigen nodded. The mourners were silent, waiting for him to continue.

  “This young man, Itsho, who is known to you, has brought me very serious news. A party of our hated enemies has raided my compound and abducted my daughter, Nandzi.”

  Satila stepped forward but Tigen motioned him to silence.

  “They may have taken others. We must raise a war party of the young men immediately. There is no time to waste. They must track the marauders and attack them before dawn. I apologise to the elders for not asking their approval first, but action cannot wait for custom at a time like this. The young men should collect their weapons and meet at once at late Sekwadzim's compound. Itsho will lead them to pick up the trail. May Sekwadzim's spirit and the spirits of our ancestors guide them and bring them success. Death to the Bedagbam!”

  The funeral party broke up in confusion.

  Satila said to Tigen, “I will join the young men.”

  Tigen moved to pacify the elders, apologising for his lack of ceremony.

  “No, no,” said one greybeard, “You did right. The ancestors will smile upon you.”

  * * *

  For a moment, Nandzi wondered where she was.

  She rubbed her eyes and then remembered: she was playing a part in a nightmare. The first dim glow of dawn was in the sky. Around the walls of the room she saw the sleeping forms of her fellow captives. She badly wanted to piss. In the doorway the guard lay snoring. She rose quietly and moved to an empty place along the wall, lifted her cloth and stood with her legs apart. The urine hit the earth floor with the sound of a cloudburst. She looked around, but no one had woken. Her beads. She noticed they were missing. Of course, that monster had ripped them from her waist. How would she manage, she wondered, when her period came in a few days' time? But so much could happen in a few days. Maybe Itsho will rescue me and I will be home by then. What has happened to Itsho and the men? Surely they must be out there in the dark? But if they delay just a little longer, it will be light and then it might be too late.

  She strained her ears. The guard was snoring. Outside all she could hear was the hum of the crickets. The Bedagbam had talked late into the night. They must all be asleep like the guard at the door. Itsho! Come now! Attack! Attack! She willed them to action.

  There were four in the assault party. Each wore only a loin cloth. They had smeared their naked bodies with shea butter. Their task was simple but dangerous. It depended on all the Bedagbam being asleep. Timing was critical. Too early and it would be too dark for the archers to find their targets. Too late and they would lose the element of surprise and with that, probably their lives too. Silently, taking extreme care with each footstep, they crept into the ruined compound. Quickly each selected his victim. At a signal they slashed simultaneously at the exposed skin of the sleepers with their razor sharp knives. Their aim was not to kill, but to cause as much pain and bleeding as they could. Even as the first cries of their bloody victims rent the early morning air, they slipped away into the half light.

  The screaming caused instant panic. The Bedagbam, waking, believed the enemy were amongst them. They struggled to their feet, grabbing their weapons, rubbing their eyes. The wounded cried for help, but their comrades’ first priority was to save their own skins. Man for man, the Bedagbam feared the Bekpokpam. They would do their utmost to avoid fighting with them hand to hand. Yet, as they grasped their swords and staffs, ready for just such close combat, there was no enemy to be seen. Their assailants might just as well have been ghosts.

  Abdulai came to his senses first. A cruel man, he inspired fear amongst his subordinates; but he also inspired respect and they depended on his leadership.

  “The horses, the horses,” he cried. “Leave the wounded. We will come for them after.”

  His men grabbed their saddles and rushed towards the horses, which had been tethered by a thicket of cassia.

  As the Bedagbam warriors emerged from the protective mud walls of the compound, somewhat clumsy in their heavy leather armour, they made a perfect target. Itsho and his comrades rose to their feet and fired their first volley of poisoned arrows. It was still too dark to make out the individual forms and they shot indiscriminately into the moving mass of men. Others shot at the horses. Some of the Bedagbam tried to return to the compound, but Abdulai was there, urging them on. He knew that once they were mounted, no one could match their speed and the extra range their height gave them.

  “The horses, the horses,” he cried, again and again.

  Their leather armour was protection against all but the swiftest arrow. To achieve a kill, the poisoned tip had to enter exposed skin. The horses were a more vulnerable target, but they were tethered close together and the poison took time to act. So the horses nearer the attackers formed a protective barrier for those behind. Disturbed by the noise, the arrows, the wild whinnies of pain of those which been struck and the evident panic of their masters, the tethered beasts tried to rise on their hind legs. Their masters swore at them as they quickly and skil
fully saddled up.

  Again and again, the Bekpokpam loaded, drew and released. The poisoned arrows whistled through the air.

  Nandzi moved from captive to captive, trying to release their bonds, but the knots had been well tied and her fingers were stiff. The first man she freed stood undecided whether to help her or to flee. Outside there was confusion. It was impossible to tell from which direction the attack was coming. Unarmed, he did not know what to do.

  “Run, run,” she told him. “Run round the back of our people and join them.”

  She was struggling with the next man's bonds.

  “If only I had a knife,” she thought.

  Abdulai, already mounted, urged his followers on.

  “Mount, mount,” he cried.

  His horse prancing, he glanced around. Now there was enough light to see those of his companions who lay where they had fallen, begging for help as they died a slow and painful death. There was light enough, too, to see the enemy. Impatiently, he waited until he judged sufficient of his band to be mounted.

  Then he cried, “Attack, attack.”

  Shooting fiercely, Itsho was the first to run out of arrows. Throwing down his bow and quiver he ran towards the compound, intending in the confusion to liberate Nandzi, if that was all he could achieve.

  He had chosen the wrong moment. Abdulai's horse ran him down. A hoof crushed his skull.

  Seeing the horsemen approaching at a gallop, the attackers fled in disarray. The Bedagbam chased them ruthlessly, shooting from the saddle, slashing with their swords or driving their spears into their enemies as they passed. The attack had failed.

  CHAPTER 3

  Abdulai called in his men and counted his losses.

  Two were dead, victims of poisoned arrows. Another was paralysed and would die soon.

  The medical orderlies, old soldiers, had already used their plant medicines to staunch the wounds of the four men who had been slashed in their sleep. One was fanning the patients with a therapeutic cowstail.