Midnight Sun

Abruptly, a strange odor hit the hotel, all eyes to the door where a walking stick enters first then an old lady stand a few steps from the door. A thick spit of saliva mixed with tobacco hang on the lips before hitting the floor. The noise was cut short as everyone headed to the door, some with plates of mixed chapati with beans others could not continue with the meal. Nkoka, the wizard did not move an inch as her wrinkled face tried to recognize just one of them. She then took a seat at her favorite corner from where the attendant would serve her two unpaid rolls of tobacco. She opened the first, put it into her mouth, then the lady attendant opened several buttons of her blouse to receive the spit of the old lady as a blessing. Those who paid her visits in her homestead, respected her so much but she was feared by those without association with her. It was overwhelming how the lady had caught the attention of the then Machakos district, stretching from Machakos to the now Makueni county to the coastal region. People of all ages would trek long distances to seek her expertise. Many would come sick some go well others never had a chance, some sort deliverance from witchcraft while others needed her services to make their businesses prosper, political gains and sort influence. People believed in her so much that some called her a god so her compound never lacked people. Up to this old age, Nkoka never had any other woman make her food neither did she buy food stuffs from the market. Her followers provided everything, only that she never let anyone else cook for her. She always said that her kitchen was a sacred place not to accommodate anyone including her three daughters-in-law and many grand children. Some said that was an order from her late husband Kambi, while others believed that it was an instruction from her gods. She was sickle shaped from age, her stick shaky in her left hand, the bend lady took step by step towards her home. Not a single child tried to imitate her walking style as they did to other elderly women passing by the road. Indeed they stopped playing and sit by the road. “Mwakya”, She said the Kamba greeting of elder to young ones “Aaa”, replied the kids. Once in a while Nkoka would use her elbow to thrust to the back her kiondo which never left her back. At the gate, three elderly women with their heads covered with white clothing waited for her. They take a bow and usher her in as she shook their hands then spit on their palms. They ululated as they followed her lead. More elderly women came from all directions carrying full kiondos on their backs. All heads covered in white clothing. They would shake her hand then get a spit before placing their goods in the house. When the number was enough, they say in a circle in the ever clean compound. An indistinct chatter would be heard followed by ululations. The sun was going down in the west and the people of Nthwani were sure of a sleepless night. Yet another kilumi night. Immediately the sun went down… Dududu..du… dudu… du.. the drums beat, titi ngwa titi ngwangwa titi another beat as the women went in a circle shaking their shoulders moving around Nkoka who sat on a three legged stood at the center. ching…ching…ching went the bangles of their feet as they ululate. This would go on till the early morning where the ladies would meet the bare footed children going to school. The kiondos on their backs, this time empty. On days like this, the ladies would give support to their host, Nkoka, then money as offering. Usually, a kilumi night would come in anticipation of rains. No one would convince a kilumi member that it would not rain as they believed that Nkoka was the god of rain and her word was final. Many would refer to the kilumi night to prepare they farms for planting s they believed that rains were imminent. Nthwani had been hit hard by drought since the short rains did not rain but people had hope for the long rains in April. Hardly could one see a branchy tree since they had been cut to feed the cattle. Some removed their grass roofs in the houses to feed their cows and on a tree a boy would be seen removing the bird nests for the cows to eat. The skinny animals could not stand from their zoos, the villagers would support them up. The situation worsened after the trees had been cut, the land was bare, no grass at all, women would go to the well at dawn only to return in the evening with half cans of water. The population of cattle went down, one death of the cattle was a blessing in disguise as the people would feast from the meat. Children were never seen at home during the day, there was full attendance in Kwala Primary school not for quest of education but there was relief food for the pupils. Days passed and all signs were indicating rains, the evening was stormy and the entire area was red from the strong winds. Nkoka stood outside her compound, a calabash at hand she placed a c***s head in it the a burning piece of wood wound the calabash. She went to her verandah where her rusty roof would drop its water then placed the calabash there. This was a way of her to delay the rains for another kilumi night. She believed the gods would never put rain water in her sacrifice. True to her faith, the storm died, and that night, the drums went again. Dududu..du… dudu… du.. the drums beat, Titi ngwa titi ngwangwa titi another beat as the women went in a circle shaking their shoulders moving around Nkoka who sat on a three legged stood at the center. Ching…ching…ching went the bangles of their feet as they ululate. Every faith one has, comes with its blessings and honour, may be the reward comes from the faith, the one that blesses is lenient enough to forgive the stupid nature of humanity. The life of a man is too depended on the supernatural beings that they believe in, thus, each kind of worship finds a way of being superior to the other in the hierarchy of worship. The kilumi women would never recognize any other form of fellowship as they said their lives were the way they were because of the sleepless nights they spent in the kilumi. That afternoon, a white land cruiser entered the compound, the district commissioner had paid his visit to her. He was a regular visitor and this time he had come with his friend. Every end of the month, the commissioner would visit to pay his tithe to his god. They commissioner was first to go in, then later his friend who was carrying a white c**k for the service. He wanted his life to be good, his job secure and his family bound to him. The men then gave their goodies to Nkoka, two blankets, bedding sheets and fine clothing. The men were made to wait as Nkoka made lunch for them. A hen was slaughtered for stew and ugali was giving its aroma in the fire between the three stones of the jiko. The old lady sang a song as she rolled the meal fairy lady from the thee hills none was better than you between these three rocks, your fire never died, you made a soft hill one side daddy and son the other mum and daughter in the middle our fingers meet. The ugali was now placed in a calabash, truly, not anyone would beat Nkoka in making this tasty kamba meal. Some said she had a special recipe in making it while others said, her fairy lady friends helps her in making it. She was so good at it that the district had recognized it as art with a certificate, yes in cookery. None in the family knew her way of making it, not even if they stayed to watch, she insisted to do it alone. The two men were starving, Ngumu the Commissioner's friend went first to have a taste, only for the old lady to catch his hand mid way, winking a finger to his face glancing at the commissioner. "A note my friend, for the service of art", Said Commissioner "Hahahaaaa", went the friend Nkoka nodded as she received his a hundred note. She cut a piece of the ugali dipped in the stew feeding Ngumu. His face said it all, in his life no meal reached that level not even in the professional hotels they went. Usually, ugali forms a clot on top but one made by Nkoka, never formed a clot. She would sit there with a banana leave winking away any flies from the meal. Humming all the way till the visitors finished eating. The men were to leave, as usual she spit saliva with tobacco on their chests as the left. Sleeping with their wives was a taboo for three days. Nothing comes without a sacrifice and none would dare offend the gods in any way, that believed if you defy the orders, the gods would never accept any other plea and would take all they gave to the affected then punish with a plague. That evening the weather was cloudy and the people slept well. The following day, mid morning, the people heard a far cry. Most ran to the river as the cry became louder down the stream stopping at every cycarmore tree. This cry was the joy of the land, an indication of heavy rains in its season. This was the cry of fairy lady of the shrine on the hill. She was lamenting the woes of the people and passing through the way of water beseeching the gods to wash them . Old Ndomo, the leader of Amuti clan s sat on a three legged stool outside his hut. A smile unfolded from the wrinkled face. "I am Asua, apple of the eye of Ndomo, the great man of the Amuti clan." Said a boy's voice. "You are growing some hoarse in the voice" Complimented Ndomo "May I know what brings a smile to you grandpa in the middle of a cry in the river?" "I will empty my wisdom to my beloved, sit." Asua sat besides his grandpa, a calabash of sour milk at hand for the old man. The narrative began. "One day a girl from the family of a shrine priest was sent to the hill to collect firewood in the company of her younger brother. As they went deeper into the forest, the kids saw a big mango tree of ripe fruit. The ground was swept clean and a stone sat at the bottom. The girl, Nduku went up the tree to get the fruits, unknown to her that this was for the ancestors and no one was allowed to come there except the priests of the shrine. She picked several of the fruits, once in a while tossing to her younger brother. The two had eaten one each, as she threw another, she saw her brother disappearing into the ground. Suddenly, a strong wind hoovered shaking the big tree with great might and irregular pattern. No fruit fell of the tree, but the poor girl. Her head hit the stone and died on the spot after crying for a long time. Unfortunately, her body was never found, but her dress was still there. As her cry lasted, heavy rains fell during the dry season, so her cry has been upheld to to accompanied by rains." "So where did the boy go?" Ndomo sipped his milk again then continued. "The place the earth swallowed the boy, became a cave, and the spirit of the boy became a big snake inhabiting the cave. The mangoes he was carrying, all became pieces of precious stone and the snake guards them till now. Ndukj, the fairy lady will return to the cave and when time is due, she will be heard winnowing from the hill, another sign of good harvest." "Grandpa, you need to live longer, it seems there is too much you have for me." Ndomo smiled again sipping the sour milk. Asua sat there silently watching the hill in reference. From far, one would see it as one, but the natives knew these were three interlocked hills, two hills, one like the old public transport vehicles on the right and another like a half a loaf on the left sandwiching a tall rocky one which looked like a rhino's horn with trees like the mohawk of a viking at the very top. That was Nzaui hill, the epitome of the ecosystem in Nthwani, yet up to date, not all its secrets have been discovered. It is at the foot of the hill, where the historic rock with the footprints of the ancient kamba man with his wife, and a wood for making muthokoi (staple kamba food) made the first landing after creation. The rock made a cliff where the water fell off the river forming a waterfall cascading its waters to the people down stream. A tree stands at the river bank always full of birds singing all day long. Surely Nzaui hill was considered a sacred place, a dwelling of the gods and ancestors. The place earned its respect but much was fear. The locals would not trespass the hill, firewood was to be collected on the outskirts each big tree was ever avoided as it was considered a home of a great man in the land of spirits hence a taboo to cut even a dry wood from it, even the fallen dry woods from the trees were considered firewood for the spirits. Despite a common habitat and likeness in different traits, diversity in faith existed amongst the people.In the heart of the land, stood a structure, the western wall leaning outwards, both the northern and Eastern walls were long fallen, only the poles stood supporting the roof complimented by the southern wall that stood strong with a cross sign on top, this was Nthwani Church. Pastor Luka stood under the tree that was their worshipping place some years ago. Staring at the now worship place, a smile lit his face. "Not so good, yet not where we started", He said "Everything has to obey growth, baby steps, pastor", Said Eva the pastors wife. "That's you again my phylosopher..." The two giggle as they head to the church.