by Robi, Carol
“They are such a pair. It is quite romantic, I declare!” Nyerabu, the lighter skinned girl with the deep voice says determinedly.
“Why do you say so?” My conversational mood does surprise my saro members a great deal. I tend to be quite silent, preferring to listen to conversation rather than lead it.
“Well, I’d say because we all know that they are perfect together and will end up together, though they choose to ignore it until the end,” she explains as a matter of fact.
“He can’t hide from it anymore now,” Nyangi Ngoti states. “She’s on her eighteenth cycle now, and if he doesn’t propose once and for all, she’ll have to accept any of those many proposals she’s already gotten.”
“True!” The girls all agree.
And so the conversation goes on, interchanging between foreseeable couples, most heart stopping proposals experienced, and those most awkward. Those in my cycle already proposed to, or having a warrior they desire speak passionately about them, praising their qualities, while I listen on quietly, reminding my heart to behave itself. Just because he hasn’t proposed to anyone as yet does not mean that he’ll propose to me.
Remember that he doesn’t even desire you that way! I remind myself, whenever my thoughts stray too far, and prove adamant against correcting their path.
I force myself against searching the lake and it’s extensive beach for signs of him. I don’t need to say his name to know whom my heart seeks for. I force my eyes to the ground as I follow my peers into the lake, having discarded all my necklaces to the ever ready neck of my mare. She’s used to bearing my jewellery, and doesn’t fret like the stallion Merengo gave me does.
Although I previously had begun growing courageous enough to spend whole afternoons basking on rocks even when warriors come to flirt with my peers, I do not wish to exert myself as much today. I opt to keep myself underwater again, hiding between the rocks, just my face pushed above the water, listening in as my peers around me flirt away while splashing in the water or basking.
Groups of interested warriors come and go, and those among my peers already engaged to be married break away to talk with their betrothed, leaving a very small number behind.
Too small for me to be comfortable with, and I pray it doesn’t get smaller, or else I’ll be expected to actively participate in conversation or risk being accused of rudeness.
And as luck would have it, the gods being as cruel as they normally are, he does come when there’s only four of us left. My heart stops, it does, when he and his peers swim over to us. A smaller number now as most of them have already proposed and been accepted. His best friend, the second most eligible man after him, is yet to propose.
He and I are kindred spirits, I think to myself, for we are both in love with people we’ll never have.
They talk with us about all typical topics which we’ve already extensively discussed with the other peers of warriors that have been our way. When I say we at this moment, picture my peers, for I remain mute all afternoon. They discuss the annual royal fete the Nyabasi king will hold in honour of his yet unattached children, and my peers promptly reassure him that they shall all be in attendance. How could they miss it?
“What about you, princess? Shall you be in attendance?” Hope as I may that he might be referring to another princess about, I know that it is to me he speaks. My heart quadruples in my chest, my stomach coiling in so taut knots that I fear I’ll buckle over.
“I.. I wouldn’t miss it, prince,” I say with difficulty, my voice cracking and nearly failing.
Luckily that is all the answer he needs from me. He doesn’t talk to me anymore, and concentrates on conversing with my peers a little longer, before he and his peers move on.
More groups of warriors come to flirt with us and leave, and soon the afternoon does wear off, and we are forced to start heading home.
I wish to wait until he’s left for home before I can leave the water, but for some reason he lingers behind, talking with the few maidens about, or the warriors who live nearby and don’t necessary have to hurry on home.
“Come on, princess. We must leave now,” Nyangi says kindly, and once again I’m glad that I never chose to hate her for whatever past indiscretions she might have been involved in. She is a kind soul after all, and has come to respect me as the rest of my peers have.
I force myself to follow them as we swim back to shore, then rise to our feet and leave the warm water.
We are crossing the sand when I hear the approaching running feet with the famous war cry, and all my peers gasp as they begin turning, in anticipation to see who is about to be proposed to.
My heart drops, drops so low as I watch the Nyabasi prince rush our way, shouting out a war cry to which his peers answer in support, spear in hand, and my sister right ahead.
He is to propose to her! I realise with failing resolve, and love her as I may, I have never hated anyone as much as I hate her at the moment.
However my heart stops, literally stops when he runs on past her, surprising everyone among my peers as there are no more maidens past us here at the beach. The means it is one of us.
“Oh gods, thank you!” I hear Nyangi call beside me, and now there is once again one I dislike dearly. How dare she? How dare he? My sister deserves him more than the philandering girl in my group does. I’ll never forgive him if he chooses to marry anyone else in the kingdoms and scorn my sister, yet she’s the most deserving. She’s princess.
All semblance of thought escapes my mind when he sinks the head of his spear into the sand beside my feet, and drops onto one knee, his gaze holding mine.
Chapter 29
“Nyangi, of the house of Umbe-
Daughter of kings and queens!
Bearer of my heart, and all I hold dear.
Be gentle now, my ailing heart appease,
And accept me now, none else will I have.
Long have I loved, and within me I’m without doubt!
It is you I will have, it is you I love!”
My heart beats faster than the tomba drums during the mating at a wedding ceremony as I hold her eyes.
Never have I experienced true fear as I do at this moment. Never has anyone terrified me as much as she does.
I watch her eyes, pleading with them. Please don’t deny my, my eyes beckon. For if you will, I will plead. For you I will grovel, and a fool I’ll appear, and with that you’d have broken me. Please don’t break me, I plead.
Her eyes are unreadable, her gaze unblinking- shock the only emotion I read.
Shock? How dare she be shocked, when I’ve so evidently been taken by her. She must know, surely she must know that I’m enslaved to her affections. This cannot come as a shock. Surely she must know!
“Please..” I start to say lowly, but have no chance to complete for her lips begin to move.
“I will,” I think I hear her say.
No! I still my heart against soaring. No, she can’t have, can she? I question myself, remaining on my knee as I look up at her, hand around my embedded spear beside her.
“I will,” she says again, much louder this time, enough that her peers hear her and begin cheering exuberantly.
She must have agreed, I convince myself. Why else would they cheer so? They wouldn’t be so cruel as to celebrate were she to refuse me.
When I meet her eyes this time, I see the affirmative answer in them. She will marry me, that much those large pools say. Whether I misheard the words from her lips, the message in her eyes I wouldn’t mistake.
“I have something for you,” I say in a ragged whisper, ignoring the cheering, singing and dancing in celebration going on around us. Her whole group of peers are now singing songs of her praise that I do not pay much attention to, as all my peers are now singing. They knew I’d be proposing as I’d alerted them earlier, they just had no idea to whom, except for Chacha of course.
“You do?” She asks in a shocked whisper, her bare breasts heaving visibly with the emotions she�
��s keeping locked up inside.
“I do,” I confirm, oblivious to all the celebrations around us. I then reach into the nook I have in my shield, and bring out the string of cowry shells and a large ruby that I’d personally made.
“It is crudely made,” I say regretfully, puzzling on whether she can hear me above the singing around us. “But I made it while thinking of you,” I say.
Her eyes widen as though in surprise. It still shocks me to think that she had no idea of my deep interest in her.
“I know you have more than enough jewellery..”
“I love it!” She says nearly breathlessly, her affected tone warming me up, her eyes nearly brimming with tears.
I must hurry, I remind myself. She doesn’t like so much attention, and the last thing I want is to embarrass her in front of her peers.
“I thought you could wear it, as a symbol of my affections for you,” I tell her, my heart beating so loud and fast that I fear it will burst, my hands now shaking as I tie the string around her ankle, her skin smooth and soft to touch, driving me mad with a desire to possess her, to let all know that she’s mine.
“I will wear it forever, my prince!” She whispers.
My prince! Oh how lovely it is to hear her term me so. She isn’t my subject, so as per customs she’s only to term me as the Nyabasi prince, or prince Makena. However to hear her now say my prince. A promise in itself.
“Farewell, my princess,” I tell her, loving the smile I see her display, right before the first fat tear rolls down her face. Her peers immediately break in between us then and bare her away, and I’m left on my knees right where I’ve been since I proposed to her, my heart bursting with so much joy than I thought it possible for anyone to feel.
“Congratulations, my prince,” Chacha says then, helping me up, while my saro members echo his words, tapping my shoulder lovingly.
Joy! I’ve heard songs about it, poems and chants, but now I know that nothing could ever truly describe the feeling.
Chapter 30
Joy! I’ve heard songs about it, poems and chants, but now I know that nothing could ever truly describe that feeling! I’m thinking to myself as I awake this morning.
I’m engaged to the only man that has ever captured my attentions, and affected my heart so much so that I wished I’d die rather than lose him, is the heartwarming thought that crosses my mind as I quietly step out of my bed this morning.
I do not wish to wake Matinde, as she’s been rather irritable these past days. A great deal of it stems from my being engaged to marry prince Makena.
She’s not heart broken, that isn’t it, otherwise I wouldn’t allow myself to be this happy. Matinde never really loved him. She loved his title, that much I know. She loved the title she’d come to hold one day, that of queen. How odd it seems that that which had made her desire to be Makena’s wife so much, is that which I dearly dread about being his wife.
Gods please let his father live all my life, I pray again this morning, as I quietly stroke the fire in our maiden house. Chacha’s daughter now sleeps in here with us, being that this is the maiden house in our kingstead, and her saro has just been initiated into maidenhood. The maiden gooti is large though, large enough to house about ten maidens at a time.
Muiya, Chacha’s eldest daughter living in here with us, now sleeps in Wei’s former bed. It annoys me that she so easily can be replaced, but I do not have the heart to scold my niece. So pain me as it does, I let her lie on my beloved sister’s former bed.
Once the fire crackles alive again, I rush across the yard onto the opposite side of the kingstead, ignoring the river stone paved paths my brothers take painstaking time in maintaining, and run across the short tufts of grass until I reach my mother’s house.
I now slow down my pace, and walk in quietly, holding the door slowly as it retreats so that it doesn’t bang and wake mother or my brothers sleeping in here with her.
As I make my way across the slightly chilled outer room towards the fireplace of this house I know so well as I’d lived in it until I was twelve, I catch the familiar musk of father’s scent.
So he’s here too. He must have visited mother last night. The notion makes me smile. Mother is always in a great mood whenever father comes to visit, and she needs to be in that great mood considering the Mereti festival starts today, and we shall be hosting our whole kingdom as we thank the gods for the harvest just completed. Dismal it had been, for the rains had lasted too long and destroyed our crops, but either way, the gods must be thanked. Otherwise we risk them taking vengeance on us, and making our next harvest even more dismal.
Once I rekindle their fire and leave mother’s house warmer than I’d found it, I rush to the kitchens and grab my water gourds to start my water runs. The whole kingdom shall be arriving today, so the tanks need to be full so as to supply them all.
We’d nearly filled them yesterday morning, but of course in the course of the day we’d used some of the water, so that means before all else, we should refill them again.
I make a couple of trips to the brook before Matinde finally awakes, but I do not hold it against her. I’m this active because my soul has a new song to sing. My heart is rejuvenated with a joy so deep, so wholesome, that only the singing larks can chorus it in the early mornings.
Why? I often ask myself in moments like this when there’s no one around me but myself, the birds and the wind. Why is it that it should be I that is blessed with so much joy?
Very busy! That is the only description I can give when asked about this Mereti festival. A very busy time indeed spent running after children to keep them away from running with mud into our houses, or from throwing rocks at chicken and livestock.
Very busy, spent ensuring that there’s enough drink, food, utensils and chairs for all. Firewood must remain in ample supply, and when not enough, I must find mother or my sister-in-laws so that they may replenish the supply, as I’m yet unmarried, and oughtn’t to carry or break wood as it might roughen my hands before I’m married off.
However it is good to be so busy, for it stops me from daydreaming about my love. My morning sun. My heart.
The tickling of the ankle bracelet he made me is a constant reminder of him, so I’m never able to forget. Crudely done as it is, barely precious other than the single roughly cut ruby stone resting on it, I doubt I hold anything as dear as I hold it. Although it barely registers in scale along with all the jewellery I own, it is my most prized possession.
Because it is proof that he does indeed love you! I tell myself. Why else would he have made it for me?
It’s because you are princess, my peers had rationalised as to why he wishes to marry me.
Because you’ll be a docile wife and let him get away with whatever he wants, my sister Matinde had said.
Everyone seems to have a rational explanation as to why the Nyabasi prince would settle for me, when he could have anyone he wishes.
However even with so much reasoning, none of them can explain why he’d made the anklet for me.
It’s ugly, Nyangi had said. It mustn’t have taken him long to make it.
Why couldn’t he order one especially made for you by the famed jewellers in Moreno? Surely he can afford it! He mustn’t have wished to spend much on you, Boke, another peer of mine, had rationalised.
However they don’t know him like I do. I don’t know him much, but I know him well enough to know that it did take him a painstaking long time to make it, because as excellent a warrior as he may be, he must a terrible craftsman. His character is too impatient for it. It’s the same reason why Matinde is so terrible a craftsman. They have the same temperament.
This anklet of mine, so simple and cheap it may appear to others, is blatant proof to me that he does indeed care for me. They may say all they wish to, but this much I know is true. He loves me, me Nyangi of the house of Umbe, the royal house of the children of the fourth sons of our first father king.
He loves me.
&nbs
p; The mereti festival does come to an end, and then begins the laborious time for we fortunate members of royalty, in cleaning up after our guests and tearing down all the construction put up for them.
Never before did I think I’d look forward to afternoons at the Pride Lake to resume, and evening fetes as well. However I do dearly look forward to resuming my social responsibilities, that much I confess right now, for I look forward to seeing him yet again.
“How was your harvest festival?” He asks, shaking his braids free of water, spraying some over me. I duck, to which he playfully laughs.
“Busy,” I tell him. “What of yours?”
“Equally as busy..”
“Liar!” I rush to say, surprising myself at how easy it is to talk to him, now that I know he does indeed care for me.
Love me, he’d confessed.
He chuckles at my outburst, on the corners of his lips forming that smile that makes my stomach turn and tumble with dis-ease, and sends a surge of tormented longing rushing throughout my body.
“Why do you accuse me so, princess?” He asks, his voice a near caress, that has my hair standing on ends and the tips of my breasts upright and erect.
“Because you are a prince. All you do at the festival is drink and dance, while we princesses and wives of princes and kings run around ensuring that there’s ample water and firewood and whatever else our guests fancy having.” I tell him, drawing a long comfortable laugh from him when done.
“This coming from one that doesn’t know the true weight of a hoe, having never done any true farm work before because the smoothness of her hands is most precious!” Now he has me cornered, and there’s nothing else I can do but chuckle.
“Fine,” I concede. “In this, you’ve won.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he now proceeds to say. “I dearly look forward to knowing the true extent of your soft hands.”
I gasp when he says this, and he smiles wider, clearly satisfied at having shocked me enough to draw so audible a gasp from me.