TRIBAL

 

TRIBAL

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kamau the king of the Agikuyu people sat on his throne as his people rejoiced over the victorious war with the Bukusu people. His face was numb, he did not feel anything for the traitors who constantly betrayed the over and over again left him with a wounded heart and a bad taste in his mouth. The leaders of the Bukusu tribe: elderly men with hair white as snow pleaded to Kamau for mercy but he refused gallantly.

“I shall make this cursed tribe extinct and its features, you will see no heirs by the time the great war is over” he said referring to the war with the pale skinned man. There atop a hill, he burned them alive in huge stakes their dazzling blue lesos turning purple in the luminous blue fire. They screamed for mercy but Kamau knew all too well than to trust the tribe, they had to be extinguished.

“My King, what are we to do now?” asked one of his council members’

“Now we wage war against the pale skinned man!” shouted Kamau in a booming voice.

“How are we to fight them? They have crude weapons and iron clad skin” said a member from the crowd.

“Do they not bleed like us? Do they not shed tears like us? These men are not gods; they are people like you and me…They only made themselves gods through giving us false tales like religion and geography. They are not of this land, so we return them to where they belong!” he said as he raised his golden spear above his torso.

 “Prepare yourselves, hold your loved ones close for we are going to war!” said Kamau.

And with those remarks, he left his iron throne and went to his chambers. As the people rejoiced in harmony, singing worship songs and ancient missals. And so, the Agikuyu tribe prepared for war once again not for the conquest of land, money or greed but for the survival of their race and culture.

Five years later

“My son, you have much to learn. Let us go hunting. Grab your bow!” said Kamau to his only son Gikuyu.

They were living in harmony over a decade now, the forest brush that the white men burned to create their outposts grew into a starling sight: lush green verdure filled with luck-luster surrounded their village. So green and vast as far as the eyes could see.

Beneath the village was a stream trickling in harmony as the birds chirped singing songs of praise to the yellow sun that baptized the day. They stopped to look for tracks: deer footprints that light the way and the scent of fresh dung.

The sound of the wind blew past them like a raging waterfall.

“Do you smell that?” asked Kamau.

“Yes father,” said the boy.

He took out his bow and removed his arrow from its’ quiver strapped along his back. And aimed. He missed.

“Boy! What are you doing? Only fire when I tell you to fire!” said Kamau.

Gikuyu hesitantly let go of his bow. They followed the scared deer down the creek. Startled, it galloped near towards the water under a thick bush as if hiding from its captors. With his fathers’ signal he released the bow and pierced the thick skin of his bounty. The deer whined as it tried to escape to the nearby stream. Its antlers looking down and its stride slowing down.

Blood trickling from its belly. It retired at the heart of a small waterfall.

They approached the game slowly. Gikuyu removed his dagger from its sheath and with his fathers’ nod of approval he penetrated its’ skin. Blood gorging out. His first kill, one to remember for a life time. Across the savannah one would see wilder beasts making the great migration in files of dozens. The water splashed as they plunged into the great Maara River.

A rare sight. A beautiful sight.

They made their way back to the village, Kamau carrying the game over his shoulder. Although struggling to keep steady, the years had not been kind his stride was once swift and sure footed became weak and limping. After an injury at the torso during the great war with the pale skinned man.

His wife Mumbi welcomed him home with a peck onto his cheek and a warm embrace. Her smooth face lighting his world like a lantern in darkness. He was weary over the hunting escapade with his son and sat in his hut drinking busaa a traditional fermented palm wine only given to the elders of his community.

He sat down and discussed harvest prospectus with the rest of the elders.

After the great war, peace prevailed and Kamau couldn’t be happier. He cherished the peace with all his compassion for his people. Enough blood had been shed and the land gave birth to new life. A generation of peace was being groomed. Some may not know what happened during the years of war that had taken place hitherto.

Emissaries from far beyond the great sea say that a new threat is at hand not by the English men but a unique race, the men worshipped the same God but spoke in a different tongue and their women would cover themselves as part of customary culture with long satin black hijabs.

But they were kind and shrewd tribe. They did not seek to conquer like the British or even enslaving the people of the ocean. They came to provide enlightenment and trade goods, making the economy formidable with peace being their main goal.

Kamau had never seen this ocean, its vast blueness and beauty. His place was in the forest with his village and tribe. Maybe one day he always said to himself. He said a silent prayer to the gods of the mountain of gratitude and reverence. The pale skinned man was defeated the village was healing and he had a family.

All was bountiful and rich just as his father and his fathers’ father had promised him. A happy life.