On reaching his home he said to his cubs : “Go to the pool in the river that the squirrel visits every day to drink and hide in the bushes; and when the squirrel comes, kill him.”
But the squirrel was very cunning. Whenever he went to drink he disguised himself as a bundle of leaves and the cubs did not recognise him.
“The squirrel is not there,” they told their father, “but every day a bundle of leaves comes down to drink.”
“That is the squirrel,” the leopard said. “Next time the leaves come you are to capture them and bring them to me.”
So the squirrel was captured and brought to the leopard, who said: “You cheated me over the meat, and now I am going to eat you.”
“Very well,” the squirrel answered.
The leopard took the bundle of leaves containing the squirrel to his mother and said: “Here is food, you must cook it for me; but you must not look at what is inside. You must put it straight into the pot.”
“Very well,” his mother answered.
When the leopard had gone away, his mother, who was full of curiosity, disobeyed her son and untied the leaves to see what was inside. The squirrel jumped out. She was so taken aback with astonishment that the squirrel was able to throw her into the big pot on the fire. Then he stirred the pot until she was thoroughly boiled.
When the leopard returned he called through the door of the hut:
“Well, is my food ready?”
The squirrel imitated the voice of the leopard’s mother, and called: “Yes, my son, it is ready; come and eat.”
The leopard entered, took the meat from the pot, and ate it.
“This meat is very bitter,” he said. “There is something the matter with it.”
“It is the meat that you gave me,” the squirrel replied, still imitating the old leopardess’ voice, “and you must eat it all up.”
So the leopard did so. As soon as he had finished, the squirrel threw off his disguise, ran through the open door, and escaped. After that the leopard was an object of ridicule to everyone because he had eaten his mother. Wherever he went people pointed him out, and said: “Look at the leopard; he is the one that ate his mother.” Then they would laugh till their sides shook, and the leopard was filled with shame.
4
MUTHENGI scorned women’s huts and women’s stories. At night he would sit in the thingira, hidden among deep shadows thrown by the red glowing fire. There, with thick warm smoke in his lungs and a heavy sense of masculinity wrapping him round like a blanket, he would listen to the talk of his elders: talk of goats and bride-payments, bargains and quarrels, lawsuits and charms and magic, and sometimes of war. Thus he learnt the ways of the world and its people, until sleep crept into his mouth like a caterpillar and thickened his tongue, and he crawled on to a pile of skins at the side of the hut to slumber.
Muthengi was a great favourite of his grandfather’s. The old man talked to him often in the evenings, for he did not want his grandson to grow into an uncouth lad, ignorant of custom and tradition. He took delight in teaching Muthengi the names of all his goats, and soon found that he had a quick and willing pupil.
“When I am a man I shall have more goats than there are names for goats,” Muthengi said. “I shall have ten he-goats called Kimaira and ten called Gicugu, and very many female goats of red, and white, and grey; some with spots on the head, or white stripes round the body, and others the colour of a guinea-fowl.”
“The sound of the mortar travels far over the ridges,” the old man said in rebuke, “but the mortar stays always in the village. Remember that boasting is the speech of fools.” Muthengi was silent, abashed, but he could see from his grandfather’s wrinkled face that the words were not spoken in anger. Later, Mahenia called him out of the shadows to squat at his feet, helped himself to snuff from a black wooden bottle that hung around his neck, and said :
“When the time is come you will be circumcised and become a warrior, and go with other warriors of your age-grade to fight men from Kutu’s or from Kaheri’s ridges; and yours will be the task of guarding the wealth of our clan from the Masai of the plains. The Masai are more terrible than lions, and when war-clubs are hurled against their shields the noise is louder than the noise of thunder. If you are to win renown in war your heart must be fearless, you must be stronger than the victorious buffalo that has trampled upon his rival.”
Muthengi listened entranced, his eyes shining and wide, but he said nothing.
“When you are circumcised,” his grandfather continued, “you must be full of wisdom as well as strength, for fools become poor men for whom none has respect—not even God; and men of other clans hurl insults at them across the river.
“There are many kinds of knowledge of which you must learn. There is knowledge of crops and of seasons; of the planting of millet at one season and beans at another; of the scaring of wild pigs and the trapping of porcupines. There is knowledge of the smoking of beehives so that the bees swarm in your barrels; and of cattle so that cows grow fat with calf; and of goats, that they may increase; and of trade, that you may exercise greater cunning than your neighbour. There is knowledge of magic, and of war; of love, and of good manners, so that you shall not pick quarrels with your kinsmen, nor disgrace your clan. There is evil knowledge of sorcery and witchcraft, from which you must learn to protect yourself; for the world is full of evil, and the ignorant man who lacks protection is like a lost kid who strays outside the goats’ enclosure in a land that is infested with hungry hyenas. There are so many kinds of knowledge that I could not tell you the whole of it, even if I would; and all this you must learn.
“ But now I shall tell you of one kind of knowledge which you must know before you are circumcised and become a man; and this is the knowledge of our people, the Kikuyu, and of how God created our people and the whole world; for even the Masai were created by God.”
Mahenia helped himself again to the black powder from his bottle, and sniffed deeply. Points of reflected light jumped like dancing fireflies about the chains that dangled from his neck, the ear ornaments that hung below his shoulders and the bangles on his arms. His crinkled face looked wise and kindly in the firelight. Muthengi squatted by his knees, all sleep forgotten, his eyes wondering and rapt.
“In the beginning God made the world,” Mahenia said. “First he mixed the land and the water, as women mix clay for a pot, and he made Kerinyagga, and moulded the world around it. And then God made the first man, whose name was Gikuyu, and sent him to dwell upon the earth at a place beside the Chania river. But the rainbow which then lived on the land, and was something like a snake, came and fought Gikuyu; so God gave him a wife, whose name was Mumbi, the creator, from whom all the people of our race are sprung. In time Mumbi bore nine daughters, and from the wombs of these nine daughters came the ancestors of the nine groups of our tribe. To-day the descendants of these nine daughters fill the world, and the men of each group are as brothers, for they come from the womb of one mother.
“When you are circumcised and go upon long journeys you will meet men of your own group, which is called Agachiku, and they will give you food and shelter and make you welcome. And you may not take a girl from your own group for a wife, because your ancestors and hers were the same; nor must you marry a girl from your mother’s group, for her ancestors and the ancestors of your mother were the same.
“Now Gikuyu had a son Njiri, and told him divide the waters from the land. This Njiri did. He dug many channels, and the water flowed into them, and they became rivers. Then God imprisoned the rainbow in the waterfalls, where it lives to this day. Sometimes you may see it there, bound to a rock under the spray. At night it comes out of the water in search of goats or cattle to eat, and it climbs among the trees, but its tail must always remain in the water.
“At the beginning of the world the Kikuyu did not dwell on this side of the mountain; they lived on the side nearest the sunrise, where the Wakamba, who were then of the same tribe as the Kikuyu, now dwell.
A long time ago an old man and his wife started on a journey across Kerinyagga. On the way they grew very hungry, and were about to die from lack of food. So the old man climbed up the mountain to see God and ask for food. God was sorry for him and gave him sheep and goats; and from these animals all the sheep and goats of the Kikuyu are descended.
“God gave him all the land on this side of the mountain, which was then forest, to cultivate; and he gave the plains below to the Masai for their cattle. Today the Masai drink from the rivers that flow from the hill they call Sattima, and the Kikuyu drink from the rivers that flow from Kerinyagga; but neither may drink from the rivers which belong to the other.
“God also created a race of hunters, the Agumba, who lived in the forest in holes in the ground, and fed upon honey and the flesh of wild animals. But the Kikuyu must never eat the meat of wild beasts, whether they are bushbuck or elephants, pigs or rats. Those who do so will become unclean, and fall sick, and die.
“And remember well that, because you are born into the Agachiku group, you must not work in iron as a smith, nor use the knife of the circumcisor; for if you do these things a deadly curse will fall upon you. Men of the group Mwesaga, also, may not work in iron; the eyes of the men of that group can see the rain before it comes from behind the mountain; they have a charm to stop rain. And you must beware if men of the group Eithaga should ever praise you, or your goats, or your crops; for they know the secret of a very powerful curse which they can use to bring sickness upon you, or your goats, or your crops.
“Now the generation which followed that of Njiri the son of Mumbi was called Mandoti; and the generation that came from the eastern side of the mountain was called Mathathi. After the Mathathi the rule of the country passed to the Chiera, and then to the Ndemi; during this age many trees were felled. Then came the generation Iregi, the revolters, when tall warriors came with spears from the north. My father belonged to this generation. When he grew old, he and the men who were circumcised with him relinquished the rule of the country to the generation Maina, which is my generation, and which still governs the land. One day the next generation, Mwangi, will take our places; and after that the generation Muirungu will follow. And the oldest men of the ruling generation, whose wives are past the age of child-bearing, are charged with the conduct of sacrifices to God, if he should be angry and hold back rain; for it is only the elders of the people, those who have finished with governing the country, who can speak with God and prepare sacrifices under the sacred fig-trees to please him. For God is very old; and yet he grows no older, and he lives alone.”
“If God is so powerful that he can command the rain,” Muthengi said, “he must have many cattle—more than he can count.”
“God has no cattle,” the old man answered. “He does not need them, for he has no wives nor sons. The Kikuyu are his cattle; and when they show increase he is pleased. Children are the wealth of the Kikuyu because they enrich their father’s clan; therefore a barren woman is like a barren cow: she adds nothing to the wealth of her husband’s clan. It is only through the evil magic of enemies that women and cows become barren.
“When you become a man you must walk in peace among your neighbours, show respect for elders at all times, and give no offence to strangers, lest they curse you. You must show courtesy to old women and step from the path so that they may pass; for old women beyond the age of child-bearing know a powerful curse to bring barrenness upon wives and cattle, and even upon goats. And you must respect the property of all men and women; for the child who steals food from his stepmother’s granary will steal the goats of his neighbour when he becomes a man, and for this he will have to pay heavy fines. If he offends often, he will perhaps be slain by his kinsmen as the louse is slain between the fingers; or perhaps by a spirit that lives in the fire of every hut, whose eye is red and never closes. This spirit will rise up when a thief enters a hut, and suffocate him, and the owner will find the thief’s dead body on the floor when he returns. Remember this, that the thief brings shame upon his clan; and remember too the saying: another person’s ornaments tire the neck. Now you must sleep, for you are a child; but if you behave as I have told you, and obey your father’s commands, when you are circumcised you will become a great warrior, and capture many cattle, and bring wealth and honour to your clan.”
By this time Muthengi’s eyes were heavy, and sleep was mixing with the wonder in his mind as rain mixes with earth.
“There is so much to learn,” he said; “a man must have great wisdom to know everything.”
The old man chuckled, and sucked up a deep pinch of snuff.
“When you are a warrior and your blood is hot, you will know everything,” he said. “When you become one of the ruling generation you will know much, but less than before; and when you are old you will know little, save that growth follows rain, that the tree destroyed by fire cannot put forth new roots, that seed will ripen again into seed in its own time, and that no man can foretell the whims of God. Now sleep, for the moon is high and you are young.”
5
WASERU returned to his father’s homestead at noon, but the old man was at a beer-drink, and it was after nightfall before he appeared. He greeted his two sons cordially and sat down by the fire in the thingira to tell them all the gossip he had heard. A man just returned from a visit to a kinsman, two days’ journey down the rivers, had brought news of a disastrous Masai raid on the district called Wyaki’s, after the leader of warriors in that region. He had observed, too, that many people were growing a crop, new to him, called maize. Seed had been brought during the rule of the last generation by tall, red-skinned men with hairy faces who came sometimes from a long way off to exchange elephant tusks for beads, wire and bangles, and for a kind of cloth that was stronger than bark. Because the big ears were wrapped in a thin green cloak, birds could not get at them, so the crop was an easier one to cultivate than millet. Waseru listened to this talk with great attention, for birds abounded in the forest. He had eaten maize and found it good. When he could get some seed, he decided, he would tell his wife to plant it.
At last, after the meal, Waseru’s turn came. In a low tone he spoke of his journey to Ndolia’s village. He talked of the state of the crops, the health of the cattle, the peace of the country; of Ndolia’s wealth, and of the number of his wives. He spread his talk like a cloak to shroud the hard core of his tale. Little by little he drew it aside until his father could see the ugly shape beneath, the cruel outline of fact. It would have been difficult to say at what point the old man knew that Ndolia demanded seventeen goats, two fat rams, and ten gourds of beer; but before Waseru’s soft voice had finished its tale, he knew the truth.
He sat for some time without speech, gazing at the fire. Then he said:
“The clan of Ndolia is rich and strong and owns many cattle and goats. Therefore Ndolia demands much from my father’s clan, which is not strong, and has few cattle. It was ever thus; it is always the poor man’s goat that is taken by the leopard. I do not think that the council of elders would grant these exorbitant demands.”
“That may be so,” Waseru agreed, “but Matu, my son, has a thahu. How can he be purified unless Ndolia’s curse is lifted ? And how shall this be done unless Ndolia’s demands are met?”
“Matu will grow into a man and add strength to our clan,” Mahenia said. “It is not yet time for him to die. Goats shall be found to pay Ndolia, but not all at once. I shall pay him eight goats before witnesses, together with a fat ram and three full gourds of beer; then he will remove the curse and Matu can be purified. Then I shall dispute the remainder of his claim before the elders’ council. It is enough. Tomorrow I shall visit the muramati. He shall witness the payment, so that there shall be no dispute.”
Next day Mahenia selected the goats with great care. They must not be obvious weaklings, nor diseased, nor over-thin; but neither must they be taken from the fat and sturdy of the flock. They must be the poorest that Ndolia would be likely to accept, and their
choice needed deep thought and nice judgment. The muramati of the clan had given his approval to Mahenia’s plan and sent his son—a quiet, hard-working man of middle age called Gacheche—to witness the payment.
The women, meanwhile, set to work to make beer. Early in the morning Waseru and his brother Ngarariga brought armfuls of sugar-canes and laid them outside the compound, beside the big pounding-log. They stripped off the skin, cut up the white sticks, and threw them into round basins hollowed out of the prostrate log. Three or four women from nearby homesteads came to help Mahenia’s wives. When all was ready the women ranged themselves along the log and began to pound the cane into pulp with club-ended wooden mortars, singing as they did so a high-pitched rhythmic song. Girls carried the pulped cane on big woven platters to a group of men seated a little way off, with open calabashes beside them. Each man took a handful of the pulp, tied it to a short stick with a length of twine, and squeezed the spindle-shaped bundle between his hands. Thick juice ran out into the calabashes in a cloudy stream. Thence it was poured into fat-bellied, thin-necked gourds into which dried alofa pods had already been thrown to start fermentation. The full gourds were taken to Mahenia’s thingira and ranged around the fire, like rotund dwarfs immobile at a council meeting, to allow the beer to bubble and ferment until next morning.
A procession set out early for Ndolia’s homestead. Waseru led the way, driving before him the eight selected goats and a fat ram. Gacheche followed, and then the three women—Waseru’s wife and his two stepmothers—doubled under the heavy gourds. At Ndolia’s they found a group of elders squatting in a circle in the shaded compound, waiting like vultures around a sick zebra for the arrival of the beer. When it appeared there was a stir among them as if a stone had been hurled among the vultures. The old men gazed with faded eager eyes at the gourds, their mouths watering in anticipation.
Red Strangers Page 5