The Last Abtembuzi

In the time when Kitara was the whole world, when the King could shout from Mubende Hill and his voice was heard in the lakes, there lived the Abatembuzi. They were not like us. They were tall. Their skin was the color of morning milk. Their beards touched their chests. When they walked, grass did not bend. When they spoke, cows listened. And they did not die. Not really. At that time, the king was BUKU. King Buku was small. He was the smallest Abatembuzi, and that made him angry. To make himself look big, he built big things. Bigo bya Mugenyi — a palace with trenches so deep you could lose a whole village inside. He made his slaves dig it with their bare hands for ten years. Buku had one thing he loved more than his trenches. His daughter. Her name was *NYINAMWIRU*. Nyinamwiru was beautiful in a way that made old men stop talking. Her eyes were like Lake Albert when the sun hits it. Her hair was black like night without moon. Every prince from Buganda, from Ankole, from beyond the Nile wanted her. But Buku refused all of them. Because the oracle at the hill had told him: "Your daughter will bear a son. And that son will kill you and take your throne." Buku called his one-eyed guard, Kagoro. "Build me a tower," he said. "With no door. With no stairs. Only one small window at the top, where not even a bird can enter. Put Nyinamwiru there. Let her die old and without a child." So they built it. On top of Mubende Hill. A tower of black stones. And they put Nyinamwiru inside with one cow, one maid, and enough millet for ten years. Nyinamwiru cried for 30 days. Then she stopped crying. She started singing. Songs so sad that the cows at the bottom of the hill would cry milk instead of giving it. One day, a hunter passed. His name was *ISIMBWA*. He was not an Abatembuzi. He was the son of Kyomya, who was half-god, half-man. He was hunting a white leopard that only appears once every 100 years. He heard singing. He looked up. In the small window, he saw an eye. Just one eye. "Who are you?" he shouted. "I am the girl who is not allowed to be a woman," she answered. Isimbwa was clever. He did not try to climb. Guards were everywhere. Instead, he went to the garden. He picked the ripest, sweetest _gonja_ — yellow banana. He smeared it with honey. And with the strength of a god's grandson, he threw it. Straight. Through the small window. Inside, Nyinamwiru caught it. She had not tasted honey in one year. She ate it. She licked her fingers. Nine months later, in secret, with only her maid helping, she gave birth to a boy. He was not crying. He was smiling. His eyes were white like lightning. She named him *NDAHURA*. Buku heard the baby cry. He stormed the tower, breaking the wall with his own hands. "Witch! You lay with a spirit!" He took the baby. He took him to the River Kafu. "Throw him," he told Kagoro. Kagoro threw the baby into the roaring river. But the river stopped. The water split. The baby floated on top of the water, sleeping, as if the river was his bed. The water carried him back to the bank. Buku was afraid now. "Take him to the forest! Leave him for lions!" Kagoro took him to Bugoma Forest. Left him under a Mvule tree. That night, a female leopard came. She did not eat him. She had lost her cubs. She lay down. The baby drank her milk. A farmer found him days later, playing with leopard cubs. He took him to his village and raised him as his own. The boy grew fast. At 5 years, he could lift a cow. At 10 years, he could run faster than a horse. At 15 years, his eyes would turn white when he was angry, and the rain would stop. At 17 years, he asked the farmer: "Who is my mother?" The farmer told him the story of the tower. Ndahura walked to Mubende. Barefoot. No spear. No shield. At Bigo, there was a wrestling festival. King Buku, old now, was watching. He loved wrestling. Ndahura entered. "Who are you, boy?" Buku laughed. "You have no clan marks." "I am the child you threw in the river," Ndahura said. "And the river refused me." The crowd went silent. Buku stood. "Then wrestle me. If you win, you are king. If you lose, you die." They wrestled. Not like men. Like gods. The ground shook. The trenches of Bigo cracked. Buku used his magic spear that never missed. It missed. Ndahura put his hand on Buku's chest. Just one hand. And Buku fell. Not dead from strength. Dead from prophecy. His heart stopped because it knew its time was over. Ndahura stood over his grandfather. "I did not want to kill you," he whispered. "I only wanted you to let my mother out of the tower." He went to the tower. Broke the wall with one push. Nyinamwiru came out. Old now, but still beautiful. She hugged her son. That day, the Abatembuzi gathered. All the tall, light, old ones. They looked at Ndahura. "You are not one of us," they said. "You are stronger. You are new." And they left. They did not walk. They sank. Into the hills. Into the lakes. Into Mubende, into Kagoro, into Wamala. One by one, the Abatembuzi entered the earth and became _misambwa_ — spirits. Ndahura was left alone. He was no longer Abatembuzi. He became the first *MUCHWEZI*. And that is how the dynasty of the Builders ended. Not with war. With a child who was thrown away, but whom the river and the leopard refused to kill. --- *Why elders tell this story to this day:* When a child is born in Bunyoro and people say "this child is unwanted," the old women answer: "Remember Ndahura. The river will refuse him if he is great." *THE END* --- Here is *PART 2 - THE REIGN OF NDAHURA* Title: *NDAHURA: The Boy Who Became God* --- CHAPTER 1: THE THRONE NO ONE WANTED After the Abatembuzi sank into the earth, Bigo was silent. Ndahura was 17 and King of everything. From the snow on Rwenzori to the salt of Katwe. All the cows, all the people, all the lakes. His. But no one came to crown him. The elders feared him. "He killed his grandfather. He was raised by leopards. His mother was locked in a tower." His mother Nyinamwiru told him: "A throne taken by blood must be washed by milk." So Ndahura did something no king had ever done. He left Bigo. Barefoot. With only his leopard-skin. He walked to every village in Kitara. He did not collect taxes. He gave cows. In Bugahya, where children were dying of hunger, he touched the ground and millet grew overnight. White millet that had never been seen before. In Bugoma, where lions were eating people, he spoke to the lions. "Enough." The lions left and never came back. People started to whisper: "He is not like Buku. He does not build trenches to hide in. He builds bridges." His fame grew. CHAPTER 2: THE 24 BACHWEZI Ndahura knew he could not rule alone. The empire was too big. So he called his brothers, his cousins, his friends — children born from the Abatembuzi and human women. They were also half-god, half-man, like him. They came. 24 of them. *1. MULINDWA* — His best friend. Could talk to water. He made the wells of Kitara never dry. *2. WAMARA* — His half-brother. The most handsome. But jealous. Always jealous. *3. KAGORO* — The one-eyed guard who once threw him in the river. Ndahura forgave him. Made him keeper of the royal drums. *4. ISAZA* — The clever one. Could go to the underworld and come back. The one who would later be tricked by Death. *5. KYOMYA* — His father, Isimbwa's father. The oldest. And 19 others. He gave each a hill. Each a lake. Each a tribe to protect. "Don't rule them," he told them. "Listen to them." This was the first cabinet in Africa. The first parliament. And they called themselves *THE BACHWEZI* — The Illuminated Ones. Under them, Kitara shone. This was the Golden Age. The cows gave milk three times a day. The millet grew taller than a man. The salt from Katwe was traded for gold from Congo. The drums at Bigo could be heard in Buganda. CHAPTER 3: THE GIRL FROM BUGANDA AND THE JEALOUSY OF WAMARA In the second year of his reign, Ndahura went to hunt in Buganda. There, he met *NAKINYA*, a Muganda princess. She was dark, small, laughing — nothing like the tall Abatembuzi women. She did not fear his white eyes. "I am not afraid of you," she said. "My people say you are a god. But you look like a boy who misses his mother." Ndahura laughed for the first time since becoming king. He married her. He brought her to Bigo. He loved her more than cows. More than throne. And Wamara, his half-brother, saw this. And jealousy ate him. Wamara had always wanted Bigo. Had always wanted to be king. He told the other Bachwezi: "Ndahura has become soft. He married a foreign woman. He forgives enemies. He gives away cows. A king must be feared." Slowly, he poisoned their hearts. Only Mulindwa stayed loyal. CHAPTER 4: THE DISAPPEARANCE AT LAKE WAMALA Ndahura knew Wamara was plotting. Nyinamwiru warned him: "Your brother has your grandfather Buku's heart." But Ndahura refused to kill his brother. One day, Wamara said: "Brother, let us go hunt at Lake Wamala. There is a white antelope there that no one can catch. If you catch it, you prove you are still the strongest." It was a trap. At Lake Wamala, the ground is soft. The lake moves. When Ndahura and his 23 Bachwezi entered the lake to chase the antelope, Wamara stayed at the shore. He started to chant — a chant the Abatembuzi taught him — a chant to call the earth. The lake began to boil. The sky turned black at noon. A huge whirlpool opened. Mulindwa shouted: "Ndahura! It's a trap! Wamara!" Ndahura could have used his power. He could have stopped the rain. He could have flown. But he looked at Wamara — his brother — and he chose not to fight. "Let Kitara remember us as gods," he told Mulindwa. "Not as brothers who killed each other." And together, the 24 Bachwezi sank into Lake Wamala. Not dying. Disappearing. Into the water, to become spirits of the lake. Only Wamara was left on the shore. Alone. King of nothing. He ran back to Bigo. But Bigo was empty. The cows were gone. The drums were silent. The trenches were filling with water. The people said: "The Bachwezi have left us. Because we let jealousy enter." CHAPTER 5: THE COMING OF THE BABITO After the Bachwezi vanished, Kitara broke. Wamara tried to rule, but no one listened. He died alone, childless. In the chaos, a hunter came from the north. A Luo man named *KATO KIMERA*, but also called *ISINGOMA MPUGA RUKIDI*. He was grandson of Isaza (who had gone to the underworld). He found the royal drum, the royal spear, and the white cow — all left behind at Wamala. He beat the drum. The drum answered. He became the first *MUBITO*. The first of the Babito dynasty. And the Babito still rule Bunyoro-Kitara today. Omukama Solomon Gafabusa Iguru and now Omukama Oyo. But every year, at Mubende Hill, the Babito still pour milk into the earth and say: "Drink, grandfathers. Abatembuzi, Bachwezi, forgive us for what Wamara did." EPILOGUE: THE BOY TODAY They say Ndahura never died. On nights when Lake Wamala shines white, fishermen see a boy of 17, barefoot, with white eyes, walking on water, looking for his wife Nakinya. And when a Munyoro child is born who is too clever, too kind, too strong for his age — elders whisper: "Ndahura has returned. He came to check if we finally learned to love without jealousy." That is why in Bunyoro, you never fight your brother over cows. Because the last time we did, we lost our gods. *END OF PART 2* Here is *PART 3 - ISAZA AND THE UNDERWORLD* Title: *ISAZA: The Man Who Visited Death* This is the darkest story in Kitara. Even old men whisper it. --- CHAPTER 1: THE CLEVER ONE Of the 24 Bachwezi, ISAZA was the cleverest. He was not the strongest like Ndahura. Not the most handsome like Wamara. Not the kindest like Mulindwa. He was the one who asked questions. "Where does the sun go at night?" "Why do cows give milk and bulls do not?" "What happens when we die?" Ndahura loved him for this. "You will be our eyes where we cannot see," he told him. Isaza lived at Bwera Hill. He had many cows, many wives, but he loved one wife more than air — *NYAMATA*. She was small, quiet, with teeth like pearls. She never spoke loudly. When she walked, even chickens made way for her. Isaza's gate was guarded by his loyal servant *KWEZI*, whose job was to count every cow that entered and left. One dry season, a man came to Bwera. He was very dark. His teeth were filed to points. His cloak was made of bat skins. His eyes never blinked. "My name is NYAMIYONGA," he said. "I am king of the Underworld. I heard you are the cleverest man in Kitara. I invite you to my home. Come see how the dead live." No living man had ever been invited to the Underworld. Isaza, because he was clever and curious, said YES. Nyamata cried. "Do not go. The dead do not invite the living unless they want to keep them." Isaza laughed. "I will go for 2 days. If I am not back on the third sunrise, send Kwezi to find me." He took his white cow, his white stool, his white spear — symbols of a Muchwezi — and followed Nyamiyonga. They walked for one day. The ground became cold. Trees had no leaves. Birds had no songs. Then Nyamiyonga opened a crack in a rock at the hill of Rwengo. Cold air came out. "Enter," he said. Isaza entered. The crack closed behind him. CHAPTER 2: THE UNDERWORLD The Underworld was not what Isaza expected. It was exactly like Kitara. Same hills. Same lakes. Same cows. But everything was backward. The sun shone at night. People slept during the day. Cows were milked from the left, not the right. People greeted each other by turning their backs. And everyone was there. His grandfather Bukuku. His great-grandfather Kintu. All the Abatembuzi who had sunk into the earth. They were not spirits. They were alive. Farming. Laughing. But they did not recognize him. "They drank the water of forgetting," Nyamiyonga explained. "Here, you forget you were ever alive." Nyamiyonga's palace was bigger than Bigo. He had 10,000 cows that never died. 10,000 wives who never aged. And he had one daughter he loved more than everything — *NYAMWONYO*. She was as beautiful as Nyamata, but her eyes were always wet, like she had been crying for 100 years. Nyamiyonga had a plan. He was king of the dead, but he wanted more. He wanted cows that give living milk. He wanted a living son-in-law. He wanted Isaza to stay forever and marry Nyamwonyo. So he tricked him. Every night, he gave Isaza food that made him forget one day of his life in the upper world. Beer made from mushrooms that grow on graves. Day 1 — Isaza forgot his cows. Day 2 — He forgot Bwera Hill. Day 3 — He forgot Ndahura. On the 4th sunrise, he forgot Nyamata. And on that day, he married Nyamwonyo. Up in Kitara, Nyamata waited. Sunrise 1 — no Isaza. Sunrise 2 — no Isaza. Sunrise 3 — no Isaza. On the 4th sunrise, she called Kwezi. "Go find my husband." CHAPTER 3: KWEZI GOES DOWN Kwezi followed the same path. Found the same crack. Entered. He found Isaza sitting on a white stool, wearing bat skins, holding Nyamwonyo's hand, smiling with empty eyes. "Master," Kwezi whispered. "It is I, Kwezi. You told me to count your cows. Your cows are dying of thirst without you. Your wife Nyamata has not eaten for 4 days." Isaza looked at him. "Who is Nyamata? Who are you?" Kwezi was clever too. He had not drunk the beer. He took out something from his bag. It was Nyamata's _kikoyi_ — the small cloth she tied around her waist. It still smelled like her — smoke and milk and shea butter. He put it to Isaza's nose. Isaza smelled. In one second, 4 days of forgetting broke. He remembered. Everything. Ndahura. Bigo. Nyamata. Kitara. He screamed so loud that the dead cows in the Underworld gave milk for the first time in 100 years. "NYAMIYONGA! YOU TRICKED ME!" Nyamiyonga smiled. His pointed teeth showed. "I did not trick you. You chose. You drank. You married my daughter. You are dead now too. You will stay." Isaza stood. He took his white spear. But in the Underworld, a living spear cannot kill a dead king. Nyamiyonga took his own spear — a black spear made of shadows — and pointed it at Kwezi. "Your servant will stay too. Or I kill him." Isaza had to choose. His freedom, or Kwezi's life. He chose Kwezi. "Let him go. Tell Nyamata I am alive. Tell Ndahura I was trapped, not that I betrayed Kitara." Kwezi cried. He did not want to leave. But Isaza pushed him through the crack. The crack closed. CHAPTER 4: THE CURSE Kwezi returned to Kitara. Told Nyamata everything. Nyamata did not cry. She shaved her head. She wore black barkcloth. She became a widow while her husband was alive. She walked to Bigo to tell Ndahura. Ndahura listened. He did not speak for a long time. Then he said: "My brother Isaza is not dead. And not alive. He is in between. He will never come back. Because once you marry the daughter of Death, you belong to Death." From that day, Isaza became the messenger between worlds. When a person in Bunyoro dies, they say: "He has gone to be with Isaza." When a person dreams of their dead grandfather, they say: "Isaza sent him." And Nyamiyonga? He finally got what he wanted. A living king in the Underworld. But he also got a curse. Isaza, every year, on the day he disappeared, is allowed to come to the crack in the rock and look at Kitara. Just look. For one hour. He cannot step out. If you go to Rwengo Hill today, old priests will show you a crack where cold air comes out even in hot season. They put milk there. "Drink, Isaza," they whisper. "Remember us. Don't forget us again." And if you listen at midnight, you can hear two women crying on opposite sides of the earth — Nyamata on top, Nyamwonyo below — both crying for the same man. That is why in Bunyoro, when a man is too curious, mothers tell him: "Don't be like Isaza. Some doors, once you enter, you never come out." *END OF PART 3* --- Here is *PART 4 - MULINDWA AND THE WOMAN WHO BECAME A RIVER* 1023 words --- Of the 24 Bachwezi, MULINDWA was the softest. Ndahura was the strongest. Wamara was the most handsome. Isaza was the cleverest. But Mulindwa? Mulindwa could hear what others could not hear. He could hear water talking under the ground. He could hear a child crying three hills away. He could hear cows dreaming. That is why Ndahura made him the keeper of water. Where Mulindwa walked, wells filled. Where he slept, rain followed. Mulindwa lived not in a palace. He lived in a small hut near a swamp in Bwera, because he liked frogs. He had only one wife, and he loved her like a madman. Her name was *NAMULINDWA*. Namulindwa was not beautiful like Nyinamwiru. She was short, dark, with big hands from working millet. She laughed too loud. She had a gap between her teeth. But when she laughed, Mulindwa felt like the first rain after a long dry season. They had no children. They tried for ten years. No child. In Kitara, a man without a child is like a drum without skin. People talked. "Wamara says you married a barren woman," Ndahura once told Mulindwa gently. Mulindwa smiled. "Then I will be barren with her." One year, the dry season refused to end. It came in June and stayed until March. The sky was white. The cows of Kitara started to die. The great Lake Wamala shrank to a puddle. Even Bigo's deep trenches became dust. The people came to Ndahura. "You are king, bring us rain." Ndahura came to Mulindwa. "You are water, bring us rain." Mulindwa went to the highest hill. He put his ear to the ground. He listened. He heard water crying. Deep, deep down. Crying that it was trapped. He came back to Ndahura. "Water is there. But it says it will not come out. Because we have insulted it. We have been pouring blood into rivers. We have been washing war spears in lakes. Water is angry." Ndahura asked, "What does water want?" Mulindwa listened again. Then his face turned white like Isaza's eyes. "Water wants the most loved thing." The elders met. They said, "We will give 100 white cows. 100 white goats." Mulindwa shook his head. "Water does not want cows." He went home that night. Namulindwa was cooking. She saw his face. "What is it?" she asked. "The empire will die if water does not come," he said. "All the children will die. All the cows." Namulindwa served him food. She laughed. That big laugh. "Then why are you looking like Death has entered our hut? Go and bring the rain, Mulindwa. That is your job." Mulindwa did not eat. He stared at her. He heard water whisper again in his head: "The most loved thing." He understood. It was not asking for cows. It was asking for her. That night, Namulindwa found him awake. "You are thinking of leaving me," she said quietly. Not asking. Mulindwa cried. A Muchwezi crying. His tears were hot. "If you go to the valley and sing," he whispered, "water will follow you." Namulindwa understood instantly. She had always understood him. She did not argue. She did not run. She tied her best kikoyi. She took her milking gourd. She put oil in her hair. "Will you remember me?" she asked. Mulindwa could not speak. "Then remember this," she said. "I was not barren. I was keeping all my water inside me for this day." At dawn, she walked to the dry valley of Kyaka. The whole village followed, thinking she was going to fetch water. Mulindwa followed behind, his feet heavy like stones. In the middle of the valley, where the earth had cracked open like an old mouth, Namulindwa stopped. She started to sing. A song women sing when they grind millet. A simple song. _I am going to my mothers, oh I am going..._ As she sang, her feet began to sink. Not into mud. Into water. Clear water coming from under the earth. The people shouted. "Namulindwa! Come back!" She continued singing. Water now to her knees. To her waist. To her chest. Mulindwa screamed. He ran to grab her. But the water pushed him back. It was strong. Namulindwa looked at him one last time, her gap teeth smiling. "Don't let them forget my name," she said. Then she dissolved. Not drowned. Dissolved. Her body became water. Her hair became reeds. Her gourd became a fish. And from where she stood, water exploded. Not a well. A river. Wide, fast, cold water, rushing, filling the valley, rushing to Lake Wamala, rushing to the cows, to the children, to Kitara. People drank. Cows drank. They cried and drank. It rained that afternoon. For the first time in ten months, it rained. Mulindwa did not drink. He sat at the bank of the new river for seven days. Not eating. Not sleeping. Listening. He could hear her. In the water. Laughing that big laugh. He named the river *KIZIKIZA*? No. He named it *MULINDWA'S SORROW*, but people called it *River Kafu* — because Kafu means pity. And even today, River Kafu never dries. Even in the worst dry season, it flows. Because a woman who loved is still flowing. Ndahura found him on the seventh day. "Brother, come home," Ndahura said. Mulindwa looked at him. His eyes were no longer white. They were red from crying. "I cannot keep water anymore," he said. "Every time I hear water, I hear her singing. I will go far." So Mulindwa left Kitara. He walked south, south, south, until he reached the great mountains of Rwenzori. He sat there, and his sorrow became snow. That is why Rwenzori has snow even though it is in Africa. It is Mulindwa's tears, frozen. When the other Bachwezi later disappeared at Lake Wamala, Mulindwa did not disappear with them. He had already disappeared in his heart on the day Namulindwa became a river. In Bunyoro today, when a bride is leaving her home, her mother pours water on the ground and says: "Go like Namulindwa. Become a river for your new home." And when a husband truly loves his wife, elders say: "He loves her like Mulindwa. He would let her become a river to save the world." That is the story. Not of a king who conquered. But of a man who lost. Because some loves are so big, they cannot fit in one body. They must become a river. *END OF PART 4*