The River Between (3 page)

The hills and the ridges now lay behind. This was a plain, the only such level stretch of land in this country. If you strained your eyes and peered into the misty distance you could see the land of Ukabi. It was all peaceful on this plain, which was said to have been a field of battle, once long ago. A few cattle pulled and mauled the grass while others lay down looking vacantly into space, chewing.

Suddenly, two boys emerged from the bush. They began to fight. One was tall and his unusually long neck and limbs made him appear older than he really was. He was Kamau, son of Kabonyi from Makuyu. The other, Kinuthia, was shorter with surprisingly strong muscles. His slow wide eyes well matched his smooth forehead. He lived with his uncle at a village beyond the two ridges away from Makuyu. His father had died early.

At first the boys fought with the sticks they had gone to fetch from the bush. The green sticks caught each other in mid-air several times and were soon in pieces. The boys threw them away and one piece touched a cow, which stood up quickly, frightened. It moved a few paces from the struggling pair, waking two others on the way. Then it looked in the opposite direction, unconcerned with the fight.

Kamau and Kinuthia were now wrestling. Their arms were interlocked and the two boys went round and round without either getting the better of the other. Kinuthia tried to lift Kamau off the ground and then trap him with his right leg. The attempt always failed. Kamau had his struggles too. Though not usually voluble, today he was eloquent with threats.

“You will know who I am,” he warned, at the same time using his right knee to hit Kinuthia's stomach.

“Cow,” cried Kinuthia with pain.

“Hyena.”

“Even you,” Kinuthia hissed back.

Kinuthia appeared much more collected, and an observer would have thought that he would win. But he tripped over a sharp stone and soon was lying prostrate on his stomach. Kamau bent over him and pinned Kinuthia's hands behind his head. His face was grim and contorted as he used his head to dig into Kinuthia's face, making his nose bleed. The boy underneath Kamau's knees felt pain. He thrust his legs in the air hoping to catch Kamau by the neck between the legs. Blows fell on him and he was bewildered, not knowing when and where the next blow would follow.

Two cows that had moved away together turned their heads and watched the struggle for a while. Then they bent their heads, thrusting out their tongues to pull and maul the grass like the others.

Just then, another boy came running from a group of cows a distance away.

“Stop fighting!” he shouted breathlessly as he stood near the pair. Kamau stopped, but he still sat on Kinuthia.

“Why are you fighting?”

“He called me names,” answered Kamau.

“He is a liar. He laughed at me because my father died poor and . . .”

“He called my father a convert to the white man.”

“He is!”

“You beggar.”

“White man's slave.”

“You . . . you . . .”

Kamau became furious. He began to pinch Kinuthia. Kinuthia looked appealingly to the other boy.

“Please stop this, Kamau. Didn't we swear that we of the hills were comrades?” He felt helpless. It was three days earlier that they had sworn to be brothers.

“What do I care about comrades who insult my father?” asked Kamau.

“I will do it again,” retorted Kinuthia between tears.

“Do now.”

“I will.”

“Try!”

Kamau and Kinuthia began to struggle. The boy felt an irresistible urge to fall on Kamau; he pulled a blade of grass and began to chew it quickly, his eyes dilating with rage and fear.

“Kamau,” he burst out.

The tremor in the boy's voice sent a quiver of fear up Kamau. He quickly looked up and met the burning eyes, gazing at him. Meekly he obeyed the unspoken command. But his face went a shade darker than it normally was. He slunk away, feeling humiliated and hating himself for submitting. Kinuthia stood up unsteadily and looked gratefully at the boy. The boy kept on lowering his face, gazing at the same spot. The feeling of pride and triumph he had suddenly felt at seeing Kamau obey him had as suddenly subsided to one of regret at having done that to him. Perhaps it might have felt better if Kamau had stuck it out and he had had to use force to remove him.

The boy's name was Waiyaki, the only son of Chege. He was quite young; not of Kamau or Kinuthia's age. He had not even gone through his second birth. Waiyaki was, however, already tall for his age. He had a well-built, athletic body. His hair was tough and dry with kinks that finished in a clear outline on the forehead. Just above the left eye was a slightly curved scar. He had got it from a wild goat. The goat had run after one of the herdboys. Seeing this, Waiyaki had taken a stick and run after the goat shouting. The goat turned on him and jabbed him with its horns, tearing the flesh to the bone. His father arrived in time to save him. That was a long while ago. The wound had healed, leaving him a hero among the boys although he had run after the goat for sheer fun and enjoyment of the scene. That, however, was not the sole reason why the other boys, young and old, promptly followed him.

 • • • 

Chege, his father, was a well-known elder in Kameno. He had now only one wife, who had borne him many daughters but only one son. The other two wives had died during the great famine, without any children. The famine had been preceded by a very rich harvest. Then locusts and worms and a long drought came to bring death to many. Chege had barely survived. His daughters were now well married, apart from one, who had died early. The other elders feared and respected him. For he knew, more than any other person, the ways of the land and the hidden things of the tribe. He knew the meaning of every ritual and every sign. So, he was at the head of every important ceremony.

Many stories ran around him. Some people said that he had the gift of magic. Others said that he was a seer and Murungu often spoke to him. And so they said that he could see visions of the future like Mugo wa Kibiro, who a long time back prophesied the invasion of the Gikuyu country by the white man. Some even said that Chege was actually related to Mugo. Nobody knew this for sure. Chege himself claimed nothing. Ever since he had warned the people against Siriana Missionary Center and they had refused to hear his voice, he had talked little, keeping all thoughts to himself. Chege had told the people of the ridges what had happened in Muranga, Nyeri and Kiambu. He told them of Tumu Tumu, Gikuyu, Limuru and Kijabe. They doubted his voice, saying:

“How do you know?”

“See them, the butterflies.”

“Butterflies? You have never left the ridges!”

“They are there, beyond the ridges, putting up many houses and some taking the land.”

“How could you have seen the light beyond?”

“Fools, fools,” he muttered to himself in despair.

Nairobi was already flourishing, and the railway was moving across the country in the land beyond where not many from the ridges had been. And they lowered their voices and whispered together:

“The white man cannot speak the language of the hills.”

“And knows not the ways of the land.”

But the white man had come to Siriana, and Joshua and Kabonyi had been converted. They had abandoned the ways of the ridges and followed the new faith. Still people shrugged their shoulders and went on with their work, whispering:

“Who from the outside can make his way into the hills?”

Chege had then been young. Now he was growing old. However, he remembered something in his old age. A light shone in his eyes, a flicker of hope. He would guard it and divulge the knowledge to none but the right one.

 • • • 

The boys did not want to be caught by the darkness. They collected their cattle together and drove them home. Many paths ran through the forest to various huts scattered over the ridges. Unless you were careful, you could easily lose your way in the hills; one part of the forest looked so much like another. But the boys, born and brought up in the hills, knew the paths.

Darkness was settling when Waiyaki reached home. Chege had been waiting for him. He called Waiyaki to his
thingira,
the man's hut. He sat on a stool, leaning against the central pole. A fire burned low and, when Waiyaki entered and stood close to the door, Chege took a stick lying near him and poked the fire slowly. Sparks flew upward in quick succession.

“Why do you come home with darkness?” Chege at last asked, without raising his head. He spat on the floor.

“We took the cattle to the plains.”

“The plains?”

“Yes, Father.”

After a small silence—“That is far to go,” he said.

Waiyaki kept quiet. He was never at ease in front of his father.

“Danger lurks in darkness.”

“Yes, Father.”

Again Waiyaki was uneasy. He darted a quick glance at the door. His father had not yet looked up.

“Who showed you the way?”

“I know all the ways in the ridges,” he said proudly to impress the father he secretly feared. Besides this, Waiyaki did not like to be thought young for he considered himself able to make decisions like a man.

Chege looked at his son. He contemplated him for a while. Waiyaki tried to puzzle what his father was thinking. And suddenly it occurred to him that his father had been anxious and had feared for him. A feeling of pride warmed his heart and he wondered if the other boys could boast of such a father.

“You have not eaten.” There was softness in Chege's voice.

“I have just come.”

“Go then and get your mother to give you something to put in your mouth. You must be hungry.”

Waiyaki made to move. But as he was about to go out, his father called him back. Waiyaki now trembled a little.

“Remember, tomorrow is the day of your second birth.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Do not forget,” Chege said with an unnecessary emphasis.

Waiyaki ran to his mother's hut. How could he forget such an event?

Demi na Mathathi were giants of the tribe. They had lived a long way back, at the beginning of time. They cut down trees and cleared the dense forests for cultivation. They owned many cattle, sheep and goats and they often sacrificed to Murungu and held communion with the ancestral spirits. Waiyaki had heard about these two generations of the tribe and he was proud of them. Only he wished he knew what they had looked like. They must have been great and strong to have braved the hazards of the forest.

Sometimes in the bush, he and the other boys played Demi na Mathathi. One day a boy from Koina told Waiyaki:

“You cannot be Demi.”

“Why?” he asked. The other boys came round.

“You are not ready for circumcision. You are not born again.”

Waiyaki looked at the ground and felt small. Then he turned to the group and let his eyes fall on them. His eyes were large and rather liquid; sad and contemplative. But whenever he looked at someone, they seemed to burn bright. A light came from them, a light that appeared to pierce your body, seeing something beyond you, into your heart. Not a man knew what language the eyes spoke. Only, if the boy gazed at you, you had to obey. That half-imploring, half-commanding look was insisting, demanding. Perhaps that was why the other boys obeyed him. His mother always turned her eyes away from his. And some women and big girls remarked that he made them feel shy. But then women were always shy when men's eyes were on them. Waiyaki was not aware of anything strange in his eyes, although sometimes he felt something burn in him, urging him to say and do daring things.

And that day he felt the urge come to him. For a moment he thought himself Demi as he answered back.

“But I am Demi.” And then he saw a tree a little distance away. “See if I don't cut down that tree,” he went on. And he took an ax and rushed to the tree, oblivious of everything. He began to cut it with all his strength and soon the stick that was the ax fell into pieces. At first the other boys had laughed. But they soon followed his example and went around cutting down trees and clearing the forest ready for “Cultivation” just like Demi na Mathathi.

That day Waiyaki went home and told his mother: “I must be born again.”

 • • • 

Now the day had come. And when the sun rose and hit the ground and goats scratched themselves against the wall, Waiyaki went to the back of the hut and let the rays fall on his neck. The burning was pleasant.

Waiyaki wanted to be happy, very happy. Was he not going to learn the ways of the land? Was he not going to drink the magic ritual of being born again? He knew he wanted to be like his father, knowing all the ways of the land from Agu and Agu, long ago.

But he felt dejected. Something he could not define seemed to gnaw at his soul, having first crept through the flesh. He wished Kamau or Kinuthia were there to keep him company. And yet he had wanted this thing. As the sun shone on his skin, he held his muscles taut and shut his eyes, trying to recapture the feeling of importance he had experienced in the days of waiting. The anticipation had been sweet. Now it did not matter. Only after today he would be ready for the biggest of all rituals, circumcision. This would mark his final initiation into manhood. Then he would prove his courage, his manly spirit.

Much beer had been brewed and many elders were beginning to arrive. Two had come early in the morning and were now busy slaughtering a goat. Everyone who was present would eat meat. And the spirits of the dead and the living would be invoked to join in the ritual.

The ceremony did not take long. It was not even complicated. His mother sat near the fireplace in her hut as if in labor. Waiyaki sat between her thighs. A thin cord taken from the slaughtered goat and tied to his mother represented the umbilical cord. A woman, old enough to be a midwife, came and cut the cord. The child began to cry. And the woman who had come to wait for the birth of a child, shouted with joy:

“ali-li-li-li-li-li-lii

Old Waiyaki is born

Born again to carry on the ancient fire.”

For a time, Waiyaki forgot himself and thought he was Demi, bravely clearing the forest, a whole tribe behind him. But when he looked around and saw old women surrounding him, he began to cry again like a little child. He felt the pain of fear inside himself. He tried to open his eyes wide, wide, and for a moment he had a flashing maddening sensation that they would not open. He trembled and thought himself shrinking with cold. He had never felt this before and tears continued flowing, falling to the ground. The women went on shouting but Waiyaki did not see them now. Their voices were a distant buzz like another he had heard in a dream when a swarm of bees came to attack him. He cried the more. People became frightened. This was not what usually happened.

Later in the day, his mother went into the field. Waiyaki, whose head had been shorn of hair, trailed behind her as a little child would follow its mother. And when she went to Honia river, he followed. She dipped him into the water and he came out clean.

He went to bed early. A strange hollowness settled in his stomach. The whole thing had been a strange experience. He was glad that the ceremony was over. But somewhere a glow of pride was beginning. He was ready for initiation.