Synopsis
This is a story of hope gone awry. The people of
Yawezekana are a people who have lived with misfortune for five generations.
When finally they get word that their restoration and hope is on the way, they
take utmost precaution to ensure all goes well. Joy is a young lady whose dream
of becoming a pilot is finally getting realized. Something goes awfully wrong
during her first test flight and she finds herself lost in time. She wakes up
from a comma to find herself in the midst of people who behave like they have
been expecting her all along. She is their hope. When the moment of truth
finally comes and Joy disappoints everyone big time, the people of Yawezekana
are flabbergasted. They question hope....
There is no medicine like hope, no incentive so great, and no tonic so powerful as expectation of something tomorrow. --Orison Swett Marden
(Part One posted on 11/04/2012)
***
...The loud bang was at first frightening to the two old men.
They decided not to go anywhere near the source but then curiosity took its
toll on them. The two were grazing their flock of sheep and goats in the dense
forest. They left the flock behind and sauntered towards the scene of the
crash. The sight was foreign to the two. The unfamiliar object that had
produced the bang was hanging precariously from branches. Fear intertwined with
curiosity for the two grizzles. It was curiosity that made them approach the
object but fear ensured they did so with the prudence of a nuclear scientist.
‘Were those human forms they were seeing inside?’ They
wondered. By now, they were standing next to the aircraft. It had crashed into
a dense forest and had been caught in-between branches. The nose of the craft
was a few feet above the ground. The doors had flung open and the fuel tank was
discharging its contents slowly. The two old men noted that the two odd looking
humans in the plane were in dire need of help. They took hold of the lady and
pulled her out of the sophisticated object. The seat belt had proved to be a
challenge to them but they had eventually freed her. Blood was still gushing
out from the back of her head and one of the oldies made a mental note to do
something about it. They carried her and rested her next to a stream that was
flowing nearby. The old man who had made a mental note to treat her bleeding
took some herbal leaves from a nearby bush and rubbed some on her cut. He then
scooped some water and poured it on her head. He left her to go and help his
colleague free the other stranger.
Unlike the lady companion, the old men noticed that the man
had no belt running across his chest. His legs were however stuck under some
gadgetry below his seat. The pulling started gradually but it became evident
that more force was needed to free him. The old men were now pulling with all
their might and just as they were about to give up and seek an alternative
strategy, one of the branches holding the plane snapped. The plane nosed into
the ground and without warning, it burst into flames. Nothing in the near
vicinity was spared by the inferno. A dark cloud of smoke filled the evening
sky and could be seen over a long distance. The yellow-orange flame from the
fire lit up the entire forest and it formed a heavenly complement to the orange
western sky of the setting sun. It was not until after three hours had passed
that the fire started dying out. That evening, three helpless people got
cremated deep in the forest of ancestors. Unknown to the occupants of the
aircraft, their crash would mark the beginning of an important event in the
nearby village of
Yawezekana
***
The chief’s compound was hosting a very extraordinary baraza.
The chief and his council of elders were already seated on their three legged
stools chanting about the weather, the harvest, the cattle and every other
nitty gritty as only the aged can discuss. The God of the people of Yawezekana
had been kind to them that season. The granaries were packed with food and the
cows were reproducing in an unprecedented way. The future was already bright as
it were with the produce and now this! The
ancestors must be pleased. The elders concluded. Omghanga, the village diviner was seated alone at a far corner
chanting to the spirits. Several villagers had arrived and were taking in the
warmth of the rising sun.
The village
of Yawezekana
The curse had cost them their pride and identity as a people.
Their once vibrant socio-economic livelihood had fizzled out and had been
replaced by days of despair and life on the edge. Working became a nightmare
necessitated by the need to place bread on the table at the end of the day.
Situated right in the middle of the dense forest of
ancestors, Yawezekana was a self sustaining village locked away from the rest
of humanity. The village had never come into contact with the outside world. The
elders had lived all along wondering how the situation had come about. Omghanga had consistently maintained
that it was a curse from the past and that the hope of a restoration lay in the
future. The diviner had continued with his divination in the hope that the
ancestors would reveal to him how this restoration would come about. After
years of chanting and appeasing, the ancestors had finally elucidated to him.
He now knew exactly when the rain had started falling and why. This was the
agenda on which the baraza had been constituted.
After almost everyone had gathered, the chief called them to
order. Omghanga was ready. And so were
the ancestors.
Omghanga rose from where he was seated and
lifted his hands to the sky. People said he talked to the dead more often than
he did to the living. He said people minded other’s business more than they
minded their own. He was a diviner. His business was to bridge the living with
the dead. His major task was to relay to the living the wishes of the dead. He
took his calabash and flywhisk and paced around the compound daring the evil
spirit and inviting the ancestors to offer counsel. His upper body was dressed
in an aged leopard skin and a monkey headdress. His loincloth was made from cow
hide. He had a necklace of small guards hanging from his neck and some jingling
pods on his leg. His face was scared with tribal markings which ran all the way
through his chest to his exposed belly button. The crudely made clutch rested
comfortably under his right armpit. He moved gracefully around the villagers
singing and chanting interchangeably.
Ize ize ikwaghala
Ize ize ikwaghala
Omkwe khwenu mukhangala
Ize ize ikwaghala
Khuse khuse mapambala
Khuse khuse mapambala
Ogwambu khwenu mukhangala
Khuse khuse mupambala
When he came to the elders, he spent quite some time there
moving to each individual and speaking in a language best known to diviners. It
was not until most villagers had become pissed off with waiting that he turned
to address them.
“Omkwe,’ he
intoned.
“Khuse,” they all
replied.
“Omkwe khane,”
“Khuse,” they
repeated.
“The ancestors of Yawezekana, our fathers who enjoyed the sun
before we knew the warmth of the womb.” As the diviner uttered these words,
everyone else had their hands raised to the heavens. He continued, “You who
were wise before the inventors came up with the word. You who saw rain, malady
and blessings when they were still several moons away. Ikwa!”
“Ikwa khula,”
“Ikwa!”
“Ikwa khula.” The
villagers answered back. Their hands were still raised to the heavens and
beckoning. This was the ritual followed in welcoming the ancestors. There was a
sudden whirling of the wind and a cloud covered the sun momentarily causing
some shade to fall on them. When calm returned, everyone was convinced that the
ancestors had taken their place amongst the gathered.
“My people,” Omghanga
continued, “the spirits have finally spoken. After years of deliberation and
querying the mist has finally cleared. Our ancestors have finally opened up the
whole story. My good people of Yawezekana, healing is on its way…” he went
ahead and narrated to the curious villagers the source of their malady…
***
It had all started during the reign of chief Ikoza. The chief
had ruled over his people with an iron fist five generations ago. He was known
for his great lust and covetousness. Anything not in his possession was so only
under one condition; it was not fit for royalty. His family owned the best land
and livestock. Whenever he set his eyes on anything he desired, it would not
spend the night in the hands of its rightful owner. He married a new wife every
season after harvest. A parade of his wives would put the miss world pageant
into shame. They were women of great beauty and curves. His children alone
could wage a war against an enemy frontier of several hundreds. Some of his sons’
wives were older than his latter wives. The old chief was as possessive as he was
lustful. His mouth would water like a hyena that had just spotted a carcass
whenever he saw a girl ripe enough for the royal courtyard.
The chief had for a long time eyed the beautiful
granddaughter of an old lady named Muloza. When the time was ripe and the
harvest had been bountiful, the chief made his move. His latest catch would
return youthfulness back into his veins. The chief thought.
Nkhosa was an orphan who had been brought up by her
grandmother. Her mother had bled to death at child birth while her father had
been fatally attacked by a rhino while hunting in the forest soon after. The
task of bringing up the infant befell the aging lady. To make matters worse,
grandmother Muloza was mono-eyed and her right leg was deformed. Raising an
infant in old age in addition to the deformities proved a prodigious task for
her. She drew her strength from the immense love she had for her granddaughter.
Nkhosa reciprocated this love and dedication with an equal measure of affection
and obedience. Her beauty and character stunned many who came to know her.
Due to her condition, grandmother Muloza was shunned by
everyone in the village. Children mocked and threw stones at her whenever they
met on footpaths. Others were impudent enough to imitate her limping in her
full glare. Women from the market changed direction when they saw her approach.
She had since avoided the market place when nobody showed interest in what she
had to trade. It was not until Nkhosa came of age that suitors started paying
homage to her homestead. Her beauty was a magnet. Nkhosa was not fooled by
their hypocrisy.
It came as no surprise when she had told her
grandmother that nobody would ever separate them. She vowed that she would
never marry. She would dedicate her life to taking care of her grandmother in
old age as she had done to her in infancy. Not even her grandmother could
change her mind about getting married. They had rejected her all her life; they
could as well forget her granddaughter. Chief Ikoza proved a hard nut to crack.
Chief Ikoza tried all forms of advances to win over the heart
of Nkhosa but to no success. He was perplexed. Incase they did not know, he was
the royal custodian of Yawezekana. He decided to use the influence of
grandmother Muloza to prevail upon her granddaughter. They had better
recognize. Grandmother Muloza reiterated her daughter’s stand. The chief was
enraged. He left in haste, swollen like a frog and promising some not so good
things in the near future. Who was the grizzled crippled, mono-eyed, dirty
woman to stand in his way? There was no single evil word known to him that he
did not insult grandmother Muloza with. He saved the worst for last.
Late that night grandmother Muloza and her granddaughter were
tied up and carried by the chief’s emissaries. They were carried deep into the
heartland of the forest of ancestors. Unknown to villagers, there existed a
deep natural well deep in the forest where the chief settled his scores. They
found chief Ikoza waiting for them beside the well…to be continued
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