Kintu

by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi

  “Calm down, young man. Are you sure?” Kityo whispered.

  “Ask my grandfather, Kanani, he will tell you. Bweeza knows me as well.” Paulo was forced to whisper too.

  Kityo led Paulo to an isolated place and asked him to wait there. He went into the shrine and returned with two other men. He pointed at Paulo. “He claims to be Tutsi. Apparently, Kanani is his grandfather.”

  “At the moment, we will try anything. Call the assistant.”

  After listening to the story the assistant said, “A Tutsi with Kintu’s blood is perfect. Find Bweeza while I get my instruments.”

  The assistant returned with a metallic bean-shaped bowl. Kityo, seeing the sealed needle and syringe, nodded his approval. “Sealed—very good.”

  “We are not the uncouth type,” the assistant said tightly.

  He asked Paulo to make a fist while he unsealed the needle and syringe. The assistant then tapped at a vein in Paulo’s arm until it stood out. He wetted a cotton swab in disinfectant and started cleaning the spot.

  “Why don’t I draw the blood for you? I am a doctor,” Kityo offered.

  The assistant stood up. “I am a trained nurse—would you like to see my certificates?”

  Just as Nsimbi inserted the needle, Kanani ran out of his tent shouting.

  “Leave my grandson out of this! He’s not one of us.” But Nsimbi continued to draw blood as if he had not heard.

  “Keep still,” he said to Paulo.

  “My grandfather is mad,” Paulo smiled.

  “Aren’t they all?” The attendant pulled the needle out and pressed the spot with cotton. “Hold it,” he said while he peeled a strip of plaster to cover it.

  “Jjaja, I offered,” Paulo explained to his grandfather.”

  “Do you know what you’ve done?” Kanani shouted at him hysterically. “Bring that back,” he shouted at the assistant who disappeared into the shrine with the blood. Kanani ran after him.

  “It won’t work, it won’t work,” but the attendant did not return. “He’s not Tutsi. He’s Ganda. Don’t do it, please,” Kanani pleaded but the attendant did not return. “I am telling you my grandson has no Tutsi blood in him whatsoever, don’t use his blood, you could bring danger to him.” By then, Kanani’s hysterics had caught the attention of the rest of the clan.

  The attendant returned. He held an urn. In it were herbs and coffee beans.

  “Is he Tutsi or Ganda?” he asked Kanani.

  Paulo said, “My name’s Kalemanzira, but the family calls me Kalema.”

  A hush fell over the clan. Even the assistant froze. A man, close by, shivered. An elder who had so far stood apart came over and peered at Paulo. Kanani sat down like a sack of charcoal. The assistant walked back into the shrine triumphantly.

  “He thinks he is Kalemanzira,” Kanani’s voice was hollow, “But he is the kind of child our culture calls mawemuko.”

  The assistant flew out of the shrine, tossing the coffee beans and herbs.

  8.

  Isaac recovered first. Everyone else was still frozen. Paulo was saying, “It can’t be true, my grandfather will lie about anything in the name of God,” but no one heard. Isaac touched his hand and helped him up. “Look at me,” Paulo pleaded with Bweeza as Isaac led him away. “You said I look Tutsi.” Bweeza opened her mouth but no words came. He turned to Kanani, “Jjajja,” but Kanani did not look at him.

  “Come with me,” Isaac said quietly. It was instinct probably borne out of coming into the world as a result of an ugly act that made Isaac respond to Paulo’s turmoil. He knew that Paulo needed distracting. “Come to my car.”

  Then, as Isaac and Paulo walked down the hill, the clan came alive and everyone spoke at once. “It is the lad himself . . . he’s been here all weekend hovering,” Isaac heard someone say as they came to the kitawuluzi. They got into Isaac’s car and he drove away.

  For a long time, they drove through marshy valleys, flat plains, and silent woods. Isaac could not bring himself to look at Paulo let alone say something. Driving on the road, it felt as if the curse had traveled the same road from old Kiyirika to find everyone wherever they were scattered.

  “What is mawemuko?” Paulo asked.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Uh uh.”

  “It’s sort of . . . incest.”

  Paulo did not react. Then he gave a short laugh. “She actually told me!”

  “Who told you?”

  “She’s always insisted that I should look to Uncle Job as my father. I am sure one time she said, he is your father. But I thought it was just a way of speaking.”

  “Your grandmother told you that?”

  “My mother! Uncle Job is her twin.”

  For a while, Isaac kept his eyes on the road. Then he stopped the car.

  “You need the rituals—shrine-building, burial, stick-rubbing, ablution, quick.”

  “The medium is dying, remember,” Paulo said nonchalantly.

  Silence fell again. Then as if to even a score Isaac said, “My father raped my mother. He was thrown in prison and he lost his mind.”

  “She even named me after him but my grandparents refused.”

  “Who named you?”

  “Because they’re so close.”

  “Who?”

  “The twins.”

  “Which twins?”

  “My parents.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’re back to modernity,” Paulo said excitedly as if he had not just said that his parents were twins. “There is a bar on the network.”

  Isaac did not know what to do with the sudden turn. He looked at Paulo to work him out, then with equal excitement said, “Good!”

  In Masaka Town, the network signal got stronger. Paulo stepped out of the car to make a call. Isaac watched him keying the phone then he put it over his ear. Paulo looked uncannily Tutsi: lanky, sharp pointy features, a bridged nose, very dark, even skin, and very dark gums. He got a response, smiled, and moved further away from the car. Paulo seemed to have lived a cosseted life. Isaac felt a pang of envy. Why was Paulo, a child of incest, loved and good-looking while he, a child of mere rape, was shunned and ugly? The call ended and Paulo walked back to the car. Isaac started the engine.

  “That was Nyange, my girlfriend.”

  “I thought you were calling your mother?”

  “And say what? Hallo, Mother. Is it true your brother is my father?”

  Isaac kept silent.

  9.

  Kanani did not look at Paulo as Isaac led him away. Something heavy, like a boulder, compressed his chest. Everything seemed to be parting from him. He had dealt the Devil a knockout blow but it seemed like he had hurt himself in the process. God’s intention for bringing him to the reunion was now clear. He had come clean. Yet, he felt neither relief nor triumph. It had to be the strong presence of evil in this place. It was time to leave.

  As he walked back to his tent, he became aware of Miisi following him, but like everything else, the feeling was remote. As he packed his bags, he looked up. Miisi stood outside the tent watching him. Kanani laughed. “You look like a muscle-man waiting to throw me off the premises—only you have no muscles at all.”

  Miisi said something but Kanani did not catch it. He finished packing and stepped out with his bags. “God works in mysterious ways,” Kanani sighed.

  “I’ll have to drive you to Masaka,” Miisi said, removing the pegs of the tent from the ground.

  “You don’t like me,” Kanani said.

  The tent collapsed.

  “You need to be removed.”

  “I’ve become the abomination,” Kanani said.

  “You’re one of us. But at the moment, you have to go so that our grandson can be received by the clan.”

  “You’re only too happy to say that.”

  “Let’s walk down to the car park.”

  Kanani wanted to say to Miisi, “You can’t bully me, I am an elder,” but felt too tired to fight. When he got into the car, he b
owed his head. “We have nothing to hide anymore.”

  “How does it feel now?” Miisi asked as he reversed the car.

  “Sin is sin,” Kanani said emphatically.

  “This was not yours to confess.”

  “We took part in the concealment.”

  “Your confessions are lies.”

  “That’s for God’s work. This concealment was for selfish reasons to cover our shame.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “To witness for God.”

  The two men talked matter-of-factly, quietly, almost like friends.

  “You’ve been hiding in your tent. You only came out to see if anyone wanted prayers. Why did you bring Paulo?”

  “God was in control.”

  “No, Kanani. You brought him because you thought he was the curse.”

  “God led me here. It was His will.”

  “Part of you believed that he needed the rituals, didn’t you, Kanani?”

  “How could I? Rituals are the Devil’s ways.”

  “You could’ve asked us for advice.”

  “You?” Kanani could not contain himself any longer. “You’re the Devil Himself, but I am not frightened of you.”

  “Now you’re mad.”

  “We praise you, Jesus . . .” Kanani started singing Tukutendereza Yesu, the Awakened’s theme song. The song was a comfort in difficult situations.

  “It makes sense now—why your children turned to each other in this way.”

  “Your blood has washed . . .”

  “I hope there’s a God so He can burn you forever.”

  “I thank . . .”

  “Shut up!” Miisi banged the dashboard. “Sing that song at me again and I swear I’ll turn into Satan himself and abandon you here in the wilderness.”

  The car fell silent until Miisi and Kanani arrived in Masaka Town.

  In Masaka, Kanani was surprised that Miisi waited with him until a taxi came. When Kanani realized that he did not have the fare—Paulo was supposed to drive him home—Miisi gave it to him. But when he got into the taxi Miisi whispered, “Spare the passengers your stories of cavorting with the Devil this weekend.”

  Kanani stepped out of the taxi and stood before Miisi. His eyes were getting wet but he could not stop himself.

  “You may pretend to be skeptical about the curse and the Devil but something evil came upon my children like a bird upon eggs and that boy hatched,” his breath came in gasps. Miisi looked away. The taxi filled and drove off. “The day Paulo came home and told me that his name was Kalemanzira, or Kalema if we wished, he might as well have shown me the Mark of the Beast, 666, on his body.”

  Miisi held Kanani’s arm and led him back to his car. When Kanani sat down, tears came down like a stream. Miisi sat with him in the car while he wept. He did not say a word. He did not look at him. Kanani stopped crying and looked at Miisi. Miisi looked straight ahead. Kanani opened his mouth but stopped; he had been about to tell Miisi that he feared that all his faith and good works had been in vain, but instead said, “I am ready,” and stepped out of the car. As the taxi drove away, he smiled weakly and waved to Miisi.

  10.

  When Miisi returned to the campsite, he found Kusi’s military presence littered all over the hill. At first, elation surged through his body—Kusi had managed to come to the reunion, however late—but then he was alarmed: Kusi had come with all her army paraphernalia. It was three o’ clock and local residents had begun to arrive. Miisi was worried that the little village would be frightened by the presence of so many armed soldiers. What did people think of armed men in their sacred place? Miisi rushed to apologize.

  But as he walked through the camp he noticed that the earlier anxiety over Muganda seemed to have thawed. The cousins were clearly waiting for him. He braced himself for the usual curiosities about him being Kusi’s father—why had he not mentioned it; where did the name Kusi come from? But she is so tall!

  As soon as she saw him, Kusi hurried toward him and threw herself at him. There was an unusual vulnerability in her eyes. She looked tired and her air of self-control was gone.

  “Before you complain, Mzei, I have done all the rituals I was told to perform. I’ve put my mud on the shrine. I’ve buried the patriarch and I’ve drawn three jerricans of the ‘Holy’ water from the gorge to take home for everyone. When I get back, the first thing I’ll do is to have an ablution.”

  “It’s true. She did as she was told,” Elder Kitooke stepped in. Then in an injured tone he asked, “Now, why didn’t you tell us that the distinguished General Salamander is our daughter, Miisi?”

  “Her name is Kusi. Salamander is her war persona. How is Muganda?” Miisi changed the subject.

  “Kusi has a few Tutsis in her personnel. One of them gave us some blood and Muganda is coming around.”

  “Kusi cannot stay. As you can see, her men are like red ants,” Miisi said apologetically.

  “I am taking you with me, Father,” Kusi said, her in-charge aura back. “There’re critical issues I need you to help me with.”

  “But I can’t just leave. I have a duty here.”

  “Miisi, if our child needs you,” Kityo pointed at Kusi, “then she needs you. Everything here is done, all that is left is to make sure that the taboo is disposed of safely. We shall bring you a full report.”

  “Where is Kamu?”

  “He could not come.”

  “I am not sure—”

  “You know my job, Father,” Kusi interrupted. “Today I am here, tomorrow I am there. When something should be done, it’s done immediately.”

  “All right then,” Miisi, feeling ganged-up on, conceded. “Kitooke, Bweeza, and Kityo, we need to bring the child, Kalema, into the clanfold. We also need to decide how we’re going to keep this place going. How do we stay in touch with the Tanzanians? We need to find a caretaker.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t do anything without consulting you.”

  “Kityo and Kitooke, you must take care of Kalema. He needs careful attention.”

  “Of course, now go,” Kityo waved Miisi on to leave.

  In a moment, Miisi was packed but as he walked to Kusi’s car he remembered. “About Suubi—Bweeza, what is your plan?”

  “Tomorrow, I’ll take her back home. I’ll stay with her until she is able to use her hands again.”

  “That is selfless of—”

  “I am the Great Aunt. What else is my duty if not to look after lost ones like Suubi?”

  “I would like to hear Suubi’s side of the story though. As soon as I am finished with Kusi, I’ll find her and we shall talk.”

  Miisi hugged his three cousins. “I think we’ve done a good job so far,” he whispered. “Tell Isaac I will have to see him again to thank him for his good work and,” Miisi said as he got in the car, “You must come to my home and visit. I have a lot of little kaperes.”

  As he waved at the elders, Miisi was sure he had seen a distinct look of worry on their faces but he did not dwell on it.

  All the way home, he could not get Suubi out of his mind. To him, Suubi’s spinning was similar to the lambs’ kicking as they were slaughtered. Was transpossession the “slaughtering” of consciousness? He had heard of the “slain in the spirit” phenomenon in the new churches. Had the Christians inadvertently stumbled onto something profound? When Muganda was possessed, he fell as if dead. Was this because his consciousness did not resist being suppressed? Miisi was frustrated. It was all so elusive. How could he retrieve it from Christian perversion when he could not grasp it himself? He could not wait to talk to Suubi about her experiences.

  11.

  When Isaac and Paulo returned to Kiyiika, the place was filled with locals. Outside the shrine, traditional dancers were changing into their costumes. The whole atmosphere was of merrymaking and celebration. It was as if the earlier troubles—Muganda’s imminent death and Kalema’s presence—had evaporated. Not sure what to do, Paulo stayed in the car. Isaac rushed to the shrine.
Muganda was lying on his side, visibly breathing. The death-sheet had been taken off him. Elder Kitooke saw Isaac and whispered, “Elder Miisi has had to leave in a hurry.”

  “Why?”

  “His only surviving son, Kamu, was murdered. We’ve not told the clan. We don’t want to kill their hope so soon.”

  “Oh, is he not one of the two children he had left? When did he die?”

  “Way back on the fifth of January but Miisi didn’t know.”

  “My wife died on the same day.” The two men were silent for some time. Then Kitooke remembered. “Is our son Paulo Kalema still with you?”

  “In the car.”

  “It’s time to bring him in. Let’s go and get him.”

  “Where did you get the blood for Muganda?”

  “Elder Miisi’s daughter, Salamander.”

  “General Salamander?”

  “The very one.”

  “She’s the daughter?”

  “He said he had a daughter named Kusi but who knew that Kusi was an army general? Anyway, she had Tutsis among her bodyguards. One of them gave us blood.”

  When they got to the car, Kitooke opened the door with a large smile. “Where is my son?” Paulo stepped out into his arms. “Let’s see how Kintu’s blood marked you. Yes, the Tutsi stole you for himself: come.” Elder Kitooke now held Paulo’s hand as if he were a child. “Come on, Kalema: let me show you off to the clan. And how is Nnakato, your mother?” But before Paulo could answer Elder Kitooke continued, “You see our beliefs; you see Isaac?” Isaac nodded as Kitooke carried on, “These Christians have sowed doubt about our own spirituality but I dare say you are the lad incarnate,” he said this as if he had met Kalema of old. “I hear Nnakato, your mother, had only you?”

  Kitooke prattled on, suggesting that Kanani’s twins were unwitting conduits of the uncanny return of the Tutsi back into the family. Isaac stayed close to Paulo to reassure him.

  12.