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Underground eXperts United File 588
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Underground eXperts United
Presents...
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[ The Midnight Dance At Noon ] [ By Simon Moleke-Njie ]
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THE MIDNIGHT DANCE AT NOON
a short story, with a parapsychological introduction
by Simon Mol
When your eyes are closed - you are the Absolute...
There's no distance
Between the north and south poles...
There's no me or you... only a stupendous Totality
That manifests as an Incomprehensible darkness...
When your eyes are closed
You dissolve into an equation, in which one plus one is infinite.
INTRODUCTION
Saturday January 13th 2001
It is 3:30 AM. I am travelling at a tremendous speed in the inner planes.
I come face to face with the image of my mum. This unexpected encounter
jolts me in a pitiless impact that leaves no time to figure things out. She
is shouting an instruction at me. She is telling me not to focus my
attention on other people - relatives and friends.
I tell her I have a right to do as I please and deal with whomever I
feel like. She says I shouldn't defy her or else I will have to contest with
her wrath. I tell her there is no point in getting angry over the issue
because it makes no sense.
At this, she gets really mad at me! Her face takes an unnatural
prolongation with her neck stretching like that of a giraffe - "I will kill
you if you fail to obey me!" she yells at me at the top of her voice. My
totality is at this point concentrated on my forehead as I look her in the
eyes and tell her "this is impossible!" I say this with my 'will' rather
than with my voice as I haven't any at this point.
It is a carefully calculated and masterly executed act of 'Liemba', a
deadly manoeuvre which has penetrated my fortress and is frightfully
close... in inner facts, too close to inflict injury. I remind myself that
in this particular world, blood relation doesn't count. I advice myself to
stay an inch no longer. Urging with a psychic monster makes sense only in a
computer play station. I admit defeat and flee, fast too. It takes less than
the speed of thought by the velocity of inner time to return to this side of
reality in which you are reading this.
Yes! I fled from 'that world'... a world governed by the principle of
self-judgement. It is only now that I ponder over the episode and wonder for
the first time if it really is the projection of my mum who is thousands of
kilometres away according to the human lore of time and space. I arrive at
an inconclusive hypothesis that perhaps it could be a first degree
impersonation.
Sunday January 14th 2001
I had two visitors today from a religious congregation that has been trying
for over a year now to convert me. I allow them to come whenever they ask
for my audience, as listening doesn't hurt. I often gather useful
information on other areas as they come bringing along with them their
experiences and personal philosophies about life.
I was born and raised in a catholic home, and attended a catholic primary
school. Even though now I believe a more practical religion is Poetry, I
still don't intend to be converted from my traditional religious roots.
Every religion has the seed of truth buried in, and if man would allow these
to flourish in true spiritual democracy, any religion would satiate man's
spiritual cravings.
As Max Muller said, "there is no false religion, nor has there ever
really been a false religion, unless you want to call a man a false human
being." Culture and tradition embody a religious dimension in their
totality. To disregard or undermine a people's tradition, is tantamount to
an insult on creation.
When a person is forced against his will to change his religion or
tradition, it might even result in mental instability as any change affects
our total perception of the world around us. Imagine being forced to abandon
your pattern of breathing and adopt a new one after, say, twenty years. In
its manifold manifestations, Nature has a reason and room for everything.
There is a right to have as many religions as man is capable of creating.
It is the same as the variety of dishes that every country or people have.
Food is food, and every single dish can arrest the pangs of hunger. If we
don't like the taste of a particular one, we switch to another. Sometimes we
get fed up with an excess of a particular type. We abandon it and come back
to it later when we feel like. It would be wrong and foolish for a Chinese
to claim that only by eating fried rice with sticks that hunger can be
stopped. So too an African would be wrong in asserting that only by
swallowing fufu with palm-oil soup. It goes for everyone, and religion is
no exception.
Certain plants flourish in particular areas because of the climate. Try
hard as you would, it wouldn't do well elsewhere. So too with spiritual
theories and practices. Certain ideas flourish in particular places because
of natural squeaks - or this is how I see it. Perhaps I am wrong. But at
this stage of my ignorance, I like this theory.
To open our religious discussing, one of my visitors told me that before
coming to me, they had been earlier to one of their targets for conversion
- a Vietnamese; "He lost his mother recently and we tried to console him,
reminding him of the promise of resurrection," she told me adding, "it was
difficult to make him believe in this, and he asked me several times if am
sure of this. He wasn't sure of himself and told me that in their tradition
they believed that after forty nine days a deceased faces judgement, after
which he or she goes to heaven or hell or whatever realm of punishment or
reward their believe system stipulates. After burial and while pending the
forty nine-day judgement, relatives are expected to offer prayers and
sacrifices on behalf of the deceased. I noticed that there was a table in
his room which was littered with fruits, candles and incense on behalf of
his deceased mother.
I assured him not to worry and invited him to join us in prayers. He told
me that he cannot stop worrying because since he got news of her death, she
has been visiting him in dreams and saying that she is angry because he did
not attend her funeral. 'This happens every night, and now I am damned
scared! She frightens me!' he told us. I told him that it wasn't his mother
but a trick played by the Devil. 'Don't believe in this nonsense', I assure
him," my visitor narrated.
I didn't say anything. I remembered my dream of last night and realised
then that my visitor is standing between myself and the Vietnamese. Though I
didn't know him, there is a binding factor between us. His world is
strikingly similar to mine with the only difference that he didn't believe
in himself. In reminding myself that there exists space and time only when
our eyes are open, I perceived a silent cultural war that threatened the
Vietnamese's psychological stability. My visitor, I released, had tried to
bring down a world that was mounted by the Vietnamese's totality, a world...
his world that was assembled from the day he was born, and she had tried to
bring it down with her religious arguments. "This is a ridiculous dimension
of moral and spiritual aggression." I said to myself silently but showed no
visible sign of disagreement. It wasn't necessary.
Never, never license
the eyes of a chanting man
to pierce your soul...
the gods are charmed
by his lyrics,
and...
are bound to fulfil his intentions -
and if these be evil
then... you are a thing of the past.
Warsaw, 3:53 AM, January 17th 2001
THE MIDNIGHT DANCE AT NOON
by Simon Mol
The Trans-African express bus from Accra finally reached the city of Douala
at exactly 7:45 PM. A tall, slim young man of twenty seven highlighted,
making for the bus station along with other passengers. He was fair in
complexion, with a broad and serious looking face that endowed his
character with the features of absolute self-discipline, as a psychologist
would interpret his protruding cheek bones, large chine, wide and white eyes
that always carried a straightforward stare and a broad forehead.
He had a black briefcase in his left hand and was pulling a large
travelling back with his right. He was dressed in a blue/black trouser under
a blue checked long sleeve shirt, with a blue/black coat hanging loosely
over his left shoulder. He had on a black shoe of Italian design. He looked
elegant and walked with the springy strides of a successful criminal defence
lawyer, but he wasn't one. He looked too elegant for the part of the
continent where he was returning from, and where he was heading for - his
home. He belonged to a different world in appearance, and his mind(?)
Nganje got briefly swallowed by the crowd. Some of the people he rubbed
shoulders with looked at him... others looked like him or he looked like
them... and looked at them. Of all in the crowd he seemed to be the only one
pressed for time. This was what he thought and had to restrain himself out
of self-discipline from shouting or pushing at them. It is written that
"journeys end in lovers meeting."
He was rushing to reunite with the woman of his life. He was rushing to
be assimilated by her desire set ablaze by three years of tormenting
craving. He had resolved to offer no resistance to her fire and had decided
to allow himself be overpowered by her emotions that had reached a volcanic
crescendo after three years of absence when he left to continue his studies
on social sciences in the neighbouring country of Ghana. He finished after
two years and spent one year there working.
All the while in Ghana he was dreaming of Eposi. The dream of his life
and reason for being alive. It was impossible for her to visit him during
the interval, as it wasn't generally safe for a young lady to travel alone
by road out of the country. Incidents of rape and murder often happened and
so they reluctantly decided to bare the brunt of absence and keep their love
aflame through frequent letter exchanges.
Nganje scanned the waiting crowd until his eyes fell on her. His face
glowed with a broad smile and he waved excitedly. As their eyes met... this
opened a world which immediately swallowed him... and her as well.
It was their world, a secret world for just the two of them which was
created and sustained by their combined dream... a powerful dream that
defied physical laws, bridged distances and reduced three years to a simple
rainy day that interrupted their game... a game for just the two of them in
which victory was just as sweet as defeat. Nganje uttered a suppressed groan
typical of a man who's been emotionally starved. He felt the animal in him
coming back to alive and he encouraged it. An invisible energy cut across
the distance between them and settled on his generative organ, he felt a
light tingling along his spine to the top of his head.
He rushed through the arrival formalities and quickly joined Eposi beside
the waiting car. In respect of this sacred moment it is better to skip the
scene of their first meeting, for how would the imagination capture it? How
can words describe what transpired then? In the height of their folly, a
folly that when set on course, rushes like a moving stream, only they knew
and felt the speed at which they were travelling, without moving an inch
from where they met for the first time after those three years of
separation. Time stood still for them, and in their kissing they travelled
with such speed that blinded them to the watching crowd as kissing and
hugging in public is as rare as the falling of snow in their village. It is
considered a moral aggression against public order and treated as a taboo.
After a long interval in which they virtually melted into each other
without uttering a single word except for the audible rapture of their
kisses, they finally came around and got into the waiting old, battered mini
wagon - a Peugeot 404 with a range of inharmonious colours resulting from
countless repair works with a shy, shabbily dressed young country boy as its
driver.
Nganje had arranged for only Eposi to meet him upon arrival to express the
esteem he held her in. The occasion was also aimed at providing enough
special time for their first meeting. But another reason also was that
coming from such a trip could easily provoke the evil-eye back in the
village from witches and those of malicious intentions. And so he wanted to
give his arrival a low-profile as much as he possibly could.
"Beti darling!" Nganje managed at last, addressing her by her last name,
which he was fond of.
"Naoa!" she replied using his grandfather's name, whom Nganje loved
dearly. 'Naoa' in their native tongue means rock. He smiled and clutched her
with both hands, and tenderly too, like a child would hold a precious lump
of ice-cream. His mouth found hers, and for a brief moment they were lost in
ecstasy, completely oblivious to the driver's embarrassment.
"Beti darling separation is the worst ailment that can befall lovers,"
adding, "I promise you it will never happen again."
"Oh! Naoa!" she muttered and starting weeping.
"Come on Beti, stop it... I tell you this won't happen again, it's over
now forever believe me." He said, wrapping her in his arms. When he spoke,
she noticed that his accent had taken on a Ghanaian touch.
"Naoa darl, it is your people again! They don't want us to wed. Your
senior sister says our wedding can only happen over her dead body. She meant
it. We had a quarrel over it as I couldn't stand it anymore. She said your
family is prepared to go the extra mile to prevent it. She went further to
say 'our ancestors shall perform 'the night dance at midday' if this wedding
comes to pass'... a very serious thing to say Naoa, it is a threat, and I am
scared!"
Beti starting weeping uncontrollably at this point. She sobbed and wailed
aloud. This startled the driver and he stopped.
"Come on Beti, don't dramatise the situation, you are making a storm out
of a teacup. A here now to take care of everything," he paused for a while
and continued, "by the way driver, stop at the very next motel, I want a
place were we won't be recognised. Get a room for yourself and one for us
and meet us at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow morning."
Naoa then turned to Beti, "did you tell your mum about this development?"
"No I didn't," Beti said, adding "If she knows about it, it won't be good
for us, you know she is very principled.
She had managed to bring her bubbling emotion under control aided by the
persuasive and confident touch of Naoa.
He led her from the car. All his fatigue immediately left him when he
felt her so close. He scanned the environment, drinking in the splendour of
the village air, which was very, very purifying. It was the second best
thing that happened to him in one day. It had been so long. He surveyed the'
area as far as his eyes would see and the fast falling darkness would
permit. Thatched houses formed a zigzag along the twisting lane that cut
across the little village, with fruit trees on both sides.
The motel itself was a splendid display of local craftsmanship - wooden
sculptures standing tall and proud, proclaiming the creativity of masked
talents. He summed their worth mentally and figured that the products would
fetch a chunk of money in Europe. He selected a bamboo chair and sat down
with Beti on his lap. He ordered a cup of matu-tu- from the waitress who was
dressed in tiger skin with her breast pointing at a provocative angle; a
strategy aimed at attracting and distracting local clients and tourists who
usually stopped there for a rest.
Naoa sipped from the cup - a traditional treasure made from the horn of a
cow revered by elders. His imagination fled to his days in the village
before he travelled and settled there for a while before returning to the
present, which was dedicated to. She was drinking water and her head rested
on his knee.
"Beti, if you believe in me as your man, then stop worrying." Naoa said
and went on, "I acknowledge the enormous responsibility and crucial decision
that rests on me, for it is either you or my family. I know that I can't
have it both ways. But know that your love to me is very serious. I have
never loved before, and don't intend to love another if you give me the
chance. When I look into your eyes I see nothing but love. My greatest
satisfaction stems from knowing that you care for me. I will Beti, give you
marriage... the ultimate token of love from time immemorial."
Naoa said these words sincerely, succinctly, and with such gentleness
that only the soul knows of. It had such a hypnotic influence on her that
she melted like a lump of ice-cream exposed under summer heat. She could
only weep to tell him that she believed absolutely in him.
"Oh! Tateh..." She used the informal name for daddy, "you have changed so
much... so much!" she whispered.
"Yes! Ndolo la mi," he said in their native tongue, which meant 'my
love', and added, "conditions change, but not convictions... the conviction
of my love for you is like the sound of the river behind our village that
never changes." He replied taking her in his arms. He looked into her eyes
and added, "Now let's see if I have changed on the bed too!"
Carrying her like a baby, he entered the little room made of clay and
laid her gently on the bamboo bed. He proceeded to undress her. Drinking in
the splendour of her real identity, he trembled visibly as his senses
reacted swiftly to the charm of her nakedness. His imagination was
temporarily clouded by a wild passion that bordered on frenzy. She saw his
reaction and remained silent. She closed her eyes, hoping that he would get
into her rather than standing there in stupor. It was too much for both of
them.
"This is my day," he managed at last as he struggled off his dress,
"please don't stop me until am through!"
His mouth found hers, descended over her breast and finally unto her
pubic area.
"Oh! darl," she wailed joyfully, "please no!....no! nooooh! Now!"
His tongue descended into her. This drove her into a frenzy.
"You are killing me! Do it now!" she quivered.
And Naoa, like a tired carpenter hitting on a stubborn nail, descended
into her... gradually. She fainted in ecstasy as they simultaneously crossed
the winning line, yet both were blind to the price of the race... the sowing
of the life-giving seed for their first baby. An unmonitored phenomenon
which time wouldn't allow them to unravel.
Oh! fate!
How hard you strike! -
How fast your darkness descends
When the sun is seemingly far from the horizon!
Naoa and Beti didn't know when sleep stole over them. It was the driver's
knock that got them up.
Beti nursed a fear. She wondered if Naoa will stand by her in spite of
all his assurances. Matters of tradition were treated with fanaticism in his
clan, and his tradition decreed that the father should select a wife for the
son. She loved him fervently and couldn't imagine a life without him. Naoa
severed her virginity and was her social mentor as well. He taught her vital
lessons necessary for a woman's maturity- an essential weapon in tackling
the difficult world of male dominance. These things have left an indelible
mark in her mind, and made living without him impossible.
And now this! What will she tell her mother if the wedding failed to come
off? she asked herself.
What will people and her friends think of her? While Naoa was away, some
where teased her, while others provoked her. Others even told her she was a
fool to wait for him, as he will meet a more beautify woman where he was and
get married to her. She had turned down the proposal of many, especially of
Luma - a wealthy and successful banker, to the dismay of her family.
She spent almost a year in Naoa's family home against the wish of her
mum, and some friends and neighbours address her as Mrs. Nganje. She had
clearly defied her tradition in this case as a girl isn't suppose to live in
the home of her fiancee without the first stage of the traditional rites
been performed. Will Naoa do the same for her? Will he defy his tradition
for her sake? His father was against their marriage for the simple reason
that she wasn't a full member of his tribe, as her mother belonged to
another tribe. Her father who could have solved the issue as a member of
Naoa's tribe was of late, having died two years earlier. She wept when she
thought of her father.
Naoa's self-confidence since his return, created fears in her as it made
it difficult to read his mind. She knew their fear was based on selfish
grounds, that she will prevent Naoa from helping them. "How naive" she said
to herself aloud, "how cruel after all what I have done for them! Can't they
think of my situation?" She resumed her crying at this point while waiting
for Naoa who had gone out with friends.
Naoa craved to be alone. It was a crucial period in his life as he had to
make a choice. It was a difficult decision to make and his position was
tricky.
"Still... I must stand up as a man and dance to the tune of my destiny. I
must face what is coming to me," he said to himself.
It was a week since his arrival and he was suppose to start his new job,
but had asked for time to resolve the marriage equation first. He was given
three weeks and time was running out. Last night he had a talk with his
father over the issue of his proposed marriage to Eposi. His father was
inflexible in his decision, which ruled out any marriage to her. He was
running out of time and patience.
He was sitting on a little hill under a tree at a lonely spot behind the
village quite close to the stream where villagers came to fetch water. He
wanted to think, and resolve to leave there only after settling the issue
for once in his mind. He had categorically decided to marry her, and was
hoping that with time he would convince his father to play along, but the
old man was bent on having his way. Already elders in the village were
pointing fingers at him as a recalcitrant who was trying to sabotage
ancestral principles. "How dare he choose a wife for himself instead of his
father," they said within their circle.
"They stubbornly refuse to consider the girl's position in the whole
matter," he reasoned with himself. He disagreed with their conclusion that
he should consult the 'Nganga' (shaman), to predict if Eposi was good for
him. He had been informed by his cousin and best friend that the family had
been to the Nganga, and his finding was that she wasn't the woman for him.
"The Nganga was emphatic about it, saying over and over again that Eposi
belonged to a different world which was fast approaching to claim her!" he
was told.
"Nonsense!" he had replied. He did not believe in rituals, and attended
traditional rendezvous more out of obligation than faith. But the revelation
temporarily clouded his reasoning. "I wouldn't have my fate decided by the
casting of cowries for divination! Impossible!" he said aloud, startling
some birds that were perched on the tree where he was sitting.
"This girl inspired me in the past. I owe my success to her. She helped
me when I was down, traditional principles didn't!... no!" he murmured, "to
let her down is inhuman. I am ready to help my family whenever possible,
even Eposi can't stop me. But when it comes to my private life, I remain the
sole architect of my future.. I will marry her," he said silently, "time is
my witness, and all those things that shall come to pass, which at this
point are shrouded by the unknown... even that which I cannot change."
He felt satisfied with this decision and slowly rose from under the tree,
heading for home. He met Eposi lying on her stomach. She had cried herself
to sleep. She was feeling irritated for no apparent reason, and had been to
the toilet twice to vomit. The first stage of pregnancy was already having
its effect on her. Nganje who had no experience in such matters was alarmed,
but she assured him it wasn't anything strange. News of her pregnancy only
added to his resolution to marry her at any cost. They went to sleep clasped
in each other's arms.
The calling of "Eposi!, Eposi!" got them up from sleep. It was an early
Saturday morning. Nganje looked at the time, it was 6:30 a.m. 'Who could be
such an early morning caller?' he wondered.
"See who it is darling," he told Eposi.
She got up lazily. She wasn't in a very good mood, as she had a troubling
dream. "It is your aunt," she told him.
Nganje dressed and went out. Under the large 'Beke-ku tree' were family
meetings often held, sat his family notables. He had not been informed of
such an impromptu meeting he thought. The children who usually played
'tabala' early in the morning were absent, his youngest Uncle was passing a
round of 'Matu-tu' (a local wine made from raffia palm) with 'Njakatu' (a
tropical fruit) and alligator pepper. Eposi went and greeted them, and
joined Nganje at the veranda.
"Wait for me inside," he told her slowly, with a light pad on her back
and went to join the meeting.
"I salute you all."
He greeted with a light bow of his head in a sign of respect to elders.
"We accept your greetings," came a chorus response.
He realised that none looked him in the face. He knew why without being
told. He sat down and regretted the absence of his maternal grandpa who was
dead, and his mother who wasn't present, as women were not allowed to take
part in such meetings reserved for men. He accepted the Njakatu, but turned
down the matu-tu, thinking it was too early. There was an interval of
general conversation on the weather and the farming season. His most senior
paternal uncle said; "Mola Ngeka has predicted that the rain would come very
late this season because people are abusing the land."
"Oh! that's serious," replied his paternal uncle who is a court clerk,
"I don't treat Mola Ngeka's statements lightly. I remember before the
earthquake he said 'Efas' a moto would proclaim his anger shortly', and in
less than a week, there was the earthquake!" he said seriously. Efas' a moto
is their tribal god believed to be made of stone and flesh and living on
the mountain.
At this point, Nganje's father cleared his throat thereby signalling
silence.
"I called this meeting," he started, "in order to settle the issue of
Nganje's marriage for once," his eyes went round, but avoided Nganje.
He continued, "before I ask his opinion, I would like Mbamba Mbua to
address the issue as tradition demands."
Mbamba Mbua was the oldest family member alive, with one hundred and
fourteen years, yet he was still strong and walked upright.
"I know," he began, "that young people today think they know everything,
even more than those who brought them to life. But only a foolish person
would even attempt to race with beings he cannot see, or dream of breaking a
golden chain of tradition from our ancestors. Some try to defy this
doctrine, and even succeed, but for how long? When man thinks he has
reached the end of the race against the ancestors, it is at this point that
the ancestors even start to race. In the beginning they allow him to shoot
ahead... at human pace, for they are spirits, and their speed is something
human time cannot measure." He stopped for breath, "this is all I have to
say." He concluded and took a long drink from his matu-tu cup - the horn of
a male cow that had been cleaned with a piece of broken bottle to an extend
that it shone like a mirror. There was silence.
Nganje's father pulled out his snuff box, hit it thrice with his left
thumb and inserted a lump of snuff into his large nostrils. Nobody spoke.
Finally one of his uncles, a retired police constable injected, "Yes Nganje,
we are waiting to hear from you."
Nganje looked round at them, he was alone and their presence was too
strong for him, but he remembered Eposi and his promise. This seemed to add
to his strength. Mbamba Mbua bowed his head, with his walking stick held in
both hands. Everyone was looking at Nganje, and he started speaking slowly.
"The situation is quite difficult, and I can't at this point disappoint
her. To do this would mean an unforgivable betrayal. No parents... I humbly
wish to execute my promise to her."
He did not tell them that she was pregnant. In spite of his scepticism
concerning traditional rituals, he wasn't taking chances. It had to be kept
a secret for now. Beside such a news would spark an uproar.
"Nganje listen to us, we are your blood and we have a right to decide
which or what blood comes into this family," said the retired constable.
"But then you should consider the position of the subjects concerned,
myself and Eposi," he answered.
"Are you trying to be an advocate of modernism?" asked his uncle the
court clerk. "Perhaps and advocate of individualism," he replied coldly as
he was getting at the edge of his nerves, "let's try to be reasonable in
this matter, you are pushing me to the edge of the cliff. I wouldn't be able
to live with my conscience for the rest of my live if I frustrate Eposi...
and you are asking me to frustrate her!"
"It is not frustrating her. She and her family will understand... they
are not strangers to our tradition," interrupted Ilongo - a most senior
cousin of his - who is a professional palm-wine taper and traditional
hard-liner. He belonged to the famous and feared 'elephant cult' and
everyone was afraid of him... including Nganje who in the past didn't want
to have anything to do with him. But now he had outgrown his fears and was
ready to challenge whoever challenged his decision.
"You should know that I wasn't the only suitor, Eposi turned down others
for my sake. It would be cruel to let her down on my part. It would be
suicidal. I respect our tradition, but tradition I think, has a limit when
it comes to matters of the heart, for I feel the pain, when you aim blows at
her even in her absence," Nganje said firmly.
"How dare you!" shouted his father, "out of my sperm!"
"Slow down papa," cautioned Nganje, "lets try to be fair. We blame our
leaders for tyranny, and denounce inflexible capitalism. But this is an
instant of sadistic tyranny and crude capitalism buried behind
uncompromising traditional laws. But as it is my future we are talking
about, I think I have the final word here. Tradition has its place in a
community, it does influence a society, but not a conscious individual... at
least not me," he said with an Olympian calmness.
"This is simply incredible! I!... Ngolo Lifafa!... a child that sprouted
from a drop of my sperm!... dares to break this golden chain from the
ancestors! May I live not to see the outcome of it! May I be deaf and dumb
when the Ancestors shall descend to ask for the defaulter to be pointed out!
May I have no fingers left to point my own son!" shouted his father.
A silence followed. Everyone including Nganje knew his father had reached
the threshold of opening the judgement door... a serious dimension at the
way things were going. Mbamba Mbua clutched his walking stick in both hands,
he was visibly under psychological tension. As the oldest family member
responsible for the protection of the family when it comes to matters of the
gods and ancestors, he knew this particular situation was out of his
control.
"No! Ngolo!" retorted Mbamba Mbua, "please! stop it before the 'midnight
dance is performed at midday! The consequences would be out of my control
then... or yours!"
"It is already out of our control" replied his father.
"Nganje!... please apologise before it becomes too late," advised one of
his brothers in-law.
"For what?" he asked, "well, perhaps for being born! I see no wrong done
on my part that warrants an apology. This is my life remember, and I will
not allow any foreign opinion to decide my future!" he was at the end of his
patience and was already angry.
"Nganje! you call our tradition 'foreign opinion? Generation after
generation and you become the first to break this chain of ritualistic
order!" responded Ilongo, adding, "If you think you are strong enough, then
I ask you to swear by the family shrine and go your own way... alone!"
"You don't have to invoke the gods in this," Nganje replied, " I am not
against native customs. I am simply considering the stakes. I, Nganje!...
have to live with a woman all my life,... not your life,... not a god's
life! My life!" he almost shouted, then brought himself under control and
continued, "can you tell me why two people who love each other cannot live
together because a traditional custom says so?" he finished, looking around
slowly.
"Okay," said Ilongo, "we shall see where this love will lead you to. You
are showing us your ability to speak big grammar not so? After all the
efforts to educate you, now you rise against the family!"
"I believe now that my relationship with this family isn't founded on
love, for when there is love there is kindness, and a willingness to make a
sacrifice. But I see no love here... only a lore and its unbending laws. I
see my people rising against me because I dare to be myself. I am sorry but
I have crossed the rubicon... and there is no turning back.... I will marry
her!" he replied.
There ensued a long silence... nobody moved or said anything. Nganje
remained standing. Five full minutes elapsed. His father reached for his
snuff box, hit it thrice with his left thumb and opened it. Mbamba Mbua
reached for his tobacco pipe, which he succeeded to light after shoving
little dry leaves that he removed from a corner in his hat. After pulling at
it twice, he started: "Nganje my grandson, the soil is trembling under my
feet," he paused, "and under yours," he added. When he said 'and under
yours', he lifted his eyes and looked at him adding slowly, "the love of a
'man', is never expressed in words... but it is often expressed with a gift,
which sometimes is not seen with the eyes. I loved you from birth... I loved
you even before you were born. If I had my way, I would allow you to marry
Esposi. But in this case my way isn't important,... only that of the
ancestors. It is difficult not only for you, but for all of us. For some
time now your grandma has been calling me from 'the other side' and I am
getting set to meet her. It is only there that one has absolute freedom...
that is, when we too become Ancestors. I feel what you feel. I am like you,
but only time stands between us. I have heard your final word but because I
love you, I will not say anything... I must go home now." he concluded,
getting unsteadily to his feet and started walking to the wooden gate and
out of the compound to his home, a few yards away.
A dead silence descended. Other relatives started getting up as well,
going into the house for breakfast, which was been prepared by the women who
had stayed inside the house. Nganje slowly walked back to his room and met
Eposi crying. He took her in his arms.
The issue of his marriage to Eposi was left hanging between him and his
family. However a tension developed between him and his father at home. A
week later he moved into his new flat provided by the firm he was to work
for. Exactly seventeen days after the Family meeting, Mbamba Mbua passed
away. Nganje wept miserably when a relative came to inform him. He knew then
that the old man loved him indeed. They left immediately with Esposi for the
funeral in his new Renault car.
He took charge of the funeral and provided his grandfather a decent
burial. It was the first time he met his family after the meeting.
Throughout the three day event, Eposi kept a low profile in the company of
her best friend - Enjema, who knew about her situation and was giving her
moral support. However the issue of their marriage was temporarily clouded
by the passing away of grandpa.
Two weeks after the funeral, Nganje started making plans for their wedding.
As it was clear that most of his family members especially the older ones
were not in agreement of it, they decided to perform the traditional rites
of meeting Eposi's family in a low-profile, and planned to highlight instead
the court and church marriage rites shortly after by throwing a stupendous
'Bachelors' eve' and a grandiose party the day after. This was to be two
weeks after the 'forty day death celebration' of Nganje's grandfather. As it
is an important celebration in respect of the dead and since Nganje loved
the old man, they decided to be patient.
Eposi's pregnancy was already visible, and the joy of expecting a new
baby gave them hope and helped to reduce the tension provoked by the issue
of their marriage. And now living in the little administrative town where
Nganje had his office, and away from their families, helped to rebuilt their
happiness. They were living in their world once again. Thirty five days
after the dead of Mbamba Mbua and five days away from the 'forty day dead
celebration, Nganje sat with Eposi in their dining room to plan the next
day, in which they hoped to visit a famous market in another town a few
kilometres away to organise a wedding rob, and visit Eposi's mother on their
way back.
"Well darl, so that's it," Nganje said and continued, "we shall get a rob
that befits your beauty, for a wedding should happen only once in the life
of any two serious people. What do you think?" he asked Eposi.
"What can I say Naoa? I cannot wait for it to happen, and the baby too is
happy!" she answered.
"Hummm!... the baby!" Nganje murmured taking her in his arms and
caressing her stomach lightly, "lets go to bed now and hear what the baby
has to tell us, agree?" he asked carrying her into the bedroom.
"As if I have the will to say no!" she said laughing as they rolled on
the double bed, rushing off their dresses and making for under the
bedcovers. They talked late into the night, before falling asleep
simultaneously. They clutched unto each other, but when they reached the
multiple junction of the dream world, each went a separate way.
Mola Ngeka closed the door of his little hut and walked unsteadily to the
front. He stood for a while gazing at the sky. It was a sunny afternoon, and
he knew that he had to get to the motor road about two kilometres away
before the dove sang its midday hymn in respect of nature, which will signal
3:00 p.m. He had already fed the dove its afternoon meal. Since his arrival
in the forest where he lived as a hermit now, a friendship had developed
between himself and the white dove.
Whenever he sat outside his hut to have the warmth of the sun, the dove
would often perch on the arm of his chair. Mola Ngeka communicated with the
dove in a language understood only by the elements of nature. He had decided
to move away from the main village because he couldn't stand any longer the
growing noise, which destabilised his inner harmony. He went there now only
when he had to see a sick family member, or during funerals.... he had all
he needed in the forest to live peacefully and travel whenever he felt
like... without moving an inch.
Yesterday as he sat gazing into the glowing flame of the little fire in
his hut, he was about to engage in a long journey when his attention was
caught by an unfolding drama, which would transpire the following day. He
knew he had to be at the site not to prevent anything, as he couldn't, but
as a witness. He had to be by the side of the motor road at the precise
spot, at the point called 'the bend of Boana'.
He got there exactly fifteen minutes before it happened. As he stood
there waiting, he fixed his stare at the sky. Nobody paid him any attention
as they were used to his unprecedented and strange behaviour, which some
described as madness.
Eposi was standing by the car waiting for Nganje who had returned into the
house to collect the documents of the vehicle. If he had not forgotten it,
perhaps it would have been a different story all together. But fate has a
way of fixing things to meet its appointment.
They got into the car and when Nganje sparked the engine it failed to
respond... it happened thrice before igniting. He wondered why as the car
was new and had never given such trouble. It was the first time. As he drove
on, he stopped a hundred metres away to give an old lady a lift.
"Ah! my son, thank you very much ooh!" the old lady said, "my bones are
cracking already, and I was just wondering how to make it to the store to
buy kerosene for my lantern."
"You don't need to worry ma," he replied.
"How is my wife Eposi, when are we coming to eat plantain?" the old lady
asked, meaning when will she put to birth.
"Not too long from now I hope, by the will of the Lord," she answered as
Nganje stopped the car to drop the old lady off. They had left the house in
high spirits, but it seemed as if the old lady left with their happiness,
for when they took off after dropping her, a silence descended in the car.
They drove in silence. Eposi released a deep sigh. Nganje didn't say
anything. He wanted to speak, but couldn't. He took in a deep breath and
unconsciously reduced speed, though he was driving within the speed limit.
"Nganje?" Eposi called.
"Yes?" he answered her, but she never continued what she intended to say.
He didn't know what it was and never knew, for it was swallowed by the
mystery of the present. They where just about to negotiate the 'Boana bend',
when Eposi saw what mortals are not suppose to see.... she uttered a loud
scream and jumped from her seat. Nganje under the influence of the surprise
shout, lost control of the wheel. The car infiltrated on the opposite track
reserved for coming vehicles and collided solidly with a timber lorry that
was coming from the opposite direction.
The crash was absolute... and final in its fatality. The sound of its
impact travelled far too, was heard miles away, and merged with the sound of
the drums of the ancestors who were performing 'the night dance at noon'.
Their passing was swift and painless.
Birds flew away in fright. As the echo of the crash faded, the sound of
mourning replaced it, and people started gathering, peeping at the remains
of the little car and its unfortunate occupants. Mola Ngeka wasn't looking
at the direction of the scene, his attention was focused at the other side
of the road where a drama was unfolding, which he was its sole witness. It
was Eposi who came around first. She looked around her and shook Nganje.
They were speechless in realising themselves by the roadside, sitting on the
grass and in their spirit bodies.
They looked in horror at their crumpled bodies in the twisted car. For a
while they watched speechlessly as people started to gather at the site of
the accident. When the police arrived and proceeded to pull their bodies
from the car, Eposi could stand it no longer and yelled, but no sound came
out, or a sound only she and Nganje heard. There followed a second scream
emitted above them, they looked up simultaneously and saw a little spirit
baby hovering above; it was their baby that was to be. Eposi burst out in
tears and reached out for her. This made her to defy gravity and she floated
off. She then pulled Nganje by the arm and to her amazement they floated
together. She wasn't sure of herself, but soon adjusted to the new
phenomenon. She soon lost interest in matters of the fast decaying flesh
that was been bundled away in an ambulance and concentrated on their
newly found freedom. It struck her for the first time, and with the baby in
her left arm and Nganje by her right, she headed for the sea a few miles
away. They all flew in this direction, knowing instinctively that it was
where they belonged.
An endless journey had just begun for them.
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uXu #588 Underground eXperts United 2001 uXu #588
http://www.uXu.org/
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