By Grace Ogot
(Please note that this short story by Grace Ogot has been further shortened for our readers)
The atmosphere in the village was tense and confused. Every one moved
aimlessly and fussed in the yard without actually doing any work. A
young woman whispered to her co-wife, ''if they have not solved this rain
business today, the Chief will crack''. They have watched him getting
thinner and thinner as the people kept on pestering him. ''our cattle
lies dying in the fields,'' they reported. ''Soon it will be our
children and then ourselves. Tell us what to do to save our lives, oh
great Chief. So the chief had daily pray with the Almighty through the ancestors to deliver them from their distress.
Instead of calling
the family together and giving them the news immediately, Lambong'o went
to his own hut, a sign that he was not to be disturbed. Having
replaced the shutter, he sat in the dimly lit hut to contemplate. It
was no longer a question of being the chief of hunger-stricken people
that weighed Labong'o heart . it was the life of his only daughter that
was at stake. At the time when Oganda came to meet him, he saw the
glisttering chain shining around her waist. The prophecy was complete.
''it is Oganda, Oganda, my only daugther, who must die so young!
Labong'o burst into tears before finishing the sentence.
The chief must
not weep. Society had declared him the greatest of men. But Labong'o did
not care any more. He assumed the position of a simple father and wept
bitterly. He loved his people, the Luo, but what were the Luo for him
without Oganda? Her life had brought a new life to Labong'o's world and
he ruled better than he could remember. How would the spirit of the
village survive his beautiful daughter? ''There are so many homes and so
many parents who have daughters. Why choose this one? She is all I
have.'' Labong'o spoke as if the ancestors were there in the hut and he
could see them face to face. Perhaps they were there, warning him to
remember his promise on the day he was enthroned when he said aloud
before the elders, ''I will lay down my life , if necessary, and the
life of my household to save this tribe from the hands of the enemy'',
''Deny! Deny!'' he could hear the voice of his forefathers mocking him.
Never
in his life had he been faced with such an impossible decision. Refusing to yield to the rainmaker's request would mean sacrificing the
whole tribe putting the interest of the individual above those of the
society. More than that. It would mean disobeying the ancestors, and
most probably wiping the Luo people from the face of the earth. On the
other hand, to let Oganda die as a ransom for the people would
permanently cripple Labong'o's spirituality. He knew he would never be
the same chief again. The word of Ndithi, the medicine man, still echoes
in his ears. ''Podho, the ancestor of the Luo, appeared to me in the
dream last night, and he asked me to speak to the Chief and the
people,'' Ndithi had said to the gathering of tribesmen. ''A young
woman who has not known a man must die so that the country may have
rain.
While Podho was still talking to me, I saw a young woman standing
at the lakeside, her hands raised above her head. Her skin was as fair
as the skin of a young deer in the wilderness. Her tall slender figure
stood like a lonely reed at the river bank. Her sleepy eyes wore a sad
look like that of a bereaved mother. She wore a gold ring on her left
ear, and glistering brass chain around her waist. As I still marveled
at the beauty of this young woman, Podho told me, out of the women in
this land, we have chosen this one. Let her offer herself as a sacrifice
to the Lake monster! And on that day, the rain will come down in
torrents. Let everyone stay at home on that day lest he be carried away
by the floods.''
Outside there was a strange stillness, except
for the thirsty birds that sang lazily on the dying trees. The blinding
mid-day heat had forced the people to retire to their huts.
When
Labong'o stood to address his house hold, his voice was hoarse and the
tears choked him. He started to speak but, words refused to leave his
lips. His wives and sons knew there was great danger. Perhaps their
enemies had declared war on them. Labong'o's eyes were red and they
could see he had been weeping. At last he told them. ''One whom we love and treasured must be taken away from us. Oganda must die''.
Labong'o's
voice was so faint that he could not hear it himself. But he continued.
''The ancestors have chosen her to be offered as sacrifice to the lake
monster in order that we may have rain.''
They were completely
stunned. As a confused murmur broke out, Oganda's mother fainted and was
carried off to her own hut. But the other people rejoiced. They danced
around singing and chanting.
Oganda is the lucky one to die for the people.
If is to save the people, let Oganda go.
In
her grandmother's hut Oganda wondered what the whole family was
discussing about that she could not hear. Her grandmother's hut was well
away from the chief's court and, much as she strain her ears, she
could not hear what was said. ''It must be marriage'', she concluded. It
was an acceptable custom for the family to discuss their daugther's
future marriage behind her back. A faint smile played on Oganda's lips
as she thought of the several young men who swallowed saliva at the mere
mention of her name.
The lean figure in
the door way startled Oganda who was rapt in thought about the man she
loved. ''You frightened me, Grandma'', said Oganda laughing. ''Tell me,
is it my marriage you were discussing? You can take it from me that I
won't marry any of them.'' A smile played on her lips again. She was
coaxing the old lady to tell her quickly, to tell her they were pleased
with Osinda. In the open space outside the excited relatives were
dancing and singing . They were coming to the hut now, each carrying
gift to put at Oganda's feet As their singing got nearer Oganda was able
to hear what they were singing:
If it is to save the people,
if
it is to give us rain,
let Oganda go.
Let Oganda die for her people,
and for her ancestors.
Was she mad to think that they were
singing about her? How could she die? She found the lean figure of her
grandmother barring the door.. She could not get out. The look on her
grandmother's face warned her that there was danger around the corner.
''Mother, it is not marriage then.'' Oganda asked urgently. She
suddenly felt panicky like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat. Forgetting
that there was only one door in the hut, Oganda fought desperately to
find another exit. She must fight for her life. But there was none. She
closed her eyes, leaped like a wild tiger through the door knocking her
grandmother flat on the ground. There outside in mourning garments,
Labong'o stood motionless, his hands folded at the back. He took his
daughter's hand and led her away from the excited crowd to the little
red-painted hut where her mother was resting. Here he broke the news
officially to his daughter.
For a long time the three of souls
who loved one another dearly sat in darkness. It was no good speaking.
And even if they tried, the words could not have come out. In the past
they had been like three cooking stones, sharing their burdens. Taking
Oganda away from them would leave two useless stones which would not
hold a cooking pot.
News that the beautiful
daughter of the Chief was to be sacrificed to give the people rain
spread across the country like wind. At sunset the chief's village was
full of relatives and friends who had come to congratulate Oganda. Many
more were on their way coming, carrying their gifts. They would dance
till morning to keep her company. And in the morning they would prepare
her a big farewell feast. All these relatives thought it a great honor
to be selected by the spirit to die, in order that the society may
live. ''Oganda's name will always remain a living name among us,'' they
boasted.
But was it maternal love that prevented Minya from
rejoicing with other women? Was it the memory of her agony and pain of
childbirth that made her feel so sorrowful or was it the deep warmth and
understanding tha passes between a suckling babe and her mother that
made Oganda a part of her life, her flesh? Of course it was an honor, a
great honor, for her daughter to be chosen to die for the country. But
what could she gain once her only child was blown away by the wind?
There were so many other women in the land, why choose her daughter, her
only child! Had human life any meaning at all - other women had houses
full of children while she, Minya, had to lose her only child!
In
the cloudless sky the moon shun brightly, and the stars glitters with
bewitching beauty. The dancers of all age group assembled to dance
before Oganda, who sat close to her mother, sobbing quietly. All these
years she had been with her people she thought she understood them. But
now she discovered that she was a stranger among them. If they loved
her as they had always professed why were they not making any attempt to
save her? Did her people really understand what it felt like to die
young? unable to restrain her emotion any longer, she sobbed loudly as
her age-group got up to dance. They were young and beautiful and very
soon they would marry and have their own children. They would have
husband to love and little huts for themselves. They would have reached
maturity. Oganda touched the chain around her waist as she thought of
Osinda. She wished Osinda were there too, among her friends. ''Perhaps
he is ill', she thought gravely. The chain comforted Oganda. She would
die with it around her waist and wear it in the underground world.
In
the morning a big feast was prepared for Oganda. The women prepared
many different dishes so that she could pick and choose. ''People don't
eat after death,'' they said. Delicious though the foods looked, Oganda
touched none of it. Let the happy eat. She contented herself with sips
of water from a little calabash. The time for her departure was
drawing near, and each minute was precious. It was a day's journey to
the lake. She was to walk all night, passing through the great forest.
But nothing could touch her, not even the denisens of the forest. She
was already anointed with sacred oil. From the time Oganda received the
sad news she had expected Osinda to appear any moment. But he was not
there. A relative told her that Osinda was away on a private visit.
Oganda realized that she would never see her beloved again.
In
the afternoon, the whole village stood at the gate to say goodbye and to
see her for the last time. Her mother wept on her neck for a long time.
The great Chief in a mourning skin came to the gate barefooted, and
mingled with the people - a simple father in grief. He took off his
bracelet and put it on his daughter's wrist, saying, ''you will live
among us. The spirit of our forefather is with you.'' Tongue-tight and
unbelieving Oganda stood there before the people. She had nothing to
say. She looked at her home once more. she could hear her heart beating
so painfully within her. All her childhood plans were coming to an end.
She felt like a flower nipped in the bud never to enjoy the morning dew
again. She looked at her weeping mother and whispered, '''whenever you
want to see me, always look at the sunset. I will be there.'' Oganda
turned southwards to start her trek to the lake. Her parents ,
relatives, friends and admirers stood at the gate and watched her go.
Her beautiful slender figure grew smaller and smaller till she mingled
with the thin dry trees in the forest. As Oganda walked the lonely path
that wound its way in the wilderness she sang a song, and her own voice
kept her company.
The ancestors have said Oganda must die.
The daughter of the Chief must be sacrificed,
When the lake monster on my flesh,
The people will have rain.
Yes, the rain will come down in torrents.
And the floods will wash away.....
A
strange feeling possessed Oganda as she picked her way in the sacred
land. There were strange noises that often startled her, and her first
reaction was to take to her heels. But she remembered that she had to
fulfill the wish of her people. She was exhausted but the path was still
winding. Then suddenly, the path ended on a sandy land. The water had
retreated miles away from the shore leaving a wide stretch of sand.
Beyond this was the vast expanse of water. Oganda felt afraid. She
wanted to picture the size and shape of the monster, but fear would not
let her. The society did not talk about it, nor did the crying children
who were silence by the mention of its name.
The sun was still up, but
it was no longer hot. For a long time Oganda walked angle-deep in the
sand. She was exhausted and longed desperately for her calabash of
water. As she moved on, she had a strange feeling that something was
following her. Was it the monster? Her hairs stood erect and a cold
paralyzing feeling ran along her spine. she looked behind, sideways and
in front, but there was nothing except a cloud of dust. Oganda pulled up
and hurried but the feeling did not leave her, and her whole body
became saturated with perspiration. The sun was going down fast and the lake shore seemed to move along with it.
Oganda
started to run. She must be at the lake before sunset. As she ran she
heard a noise coming from behind. She loooke back sharply, and something resembling a moving bush was frantically running after her. It was about
to catch up with her. Oganda ran with all her strength. She was now
determined to throw herself into the water before sunset. She did not
look back but the creature was upon her. She made an effort to cry out,
as in a nightmare, but she could not hear her own voice. The creature
caught up with Oganda. In the utter confusion as Oganda came face to
face with the unidentified creature, a strong strong hand grab her . But
she fell flat on the sand and fainted.
When the lake breeze
brought her back to consciousness, a man was bending over her. ''O...!''
Oganda opened her mouth to speak, but she had lost her voice. She
swallowed a mouthful of water poured into her mouth by the stranger.
''Osinda, Osinda! please let me die, let me run, the sun is going down.
Let me die. Let them have rain.'' Osinda fondled the glittering chain
around Oganda's waist and wiped the tears from her face. ''We must
escape quickly to the unknown land.'' Osinda said urgently. ''We must
run away from the wrath of the ancestors and the retaliations of the
monster.''
''But the curse is upon me, Osinda, I am no good to you
any more. And moreover the eyes of the ancestors will follow us
everywher and bad luck will befall us. Nor can we escape from the
monster.''
Oganda broke loose, afraid to escape, but Osinda grab her hands again.
''Listen
to me Oganda! Listen! Here are two coats! He then covered the whole of
Oganda's body, except her eyes, with a leafy attire made from the twigs
of Bwombwe. ''These will protect us from the eyes of the ancestors and the wrath of the monster. Now let us run out of here.''
He held Oganda's hand and they ran from the sacred land avoiding the path that Oganda had followed.
The
bush was thick and the long grass entangled their feet as they ran.
Half way through the sacred land they stopped and looked back. The sun
was almost touching the surface of the water. They were frightened. They
continued to run, now faster, to avoid the sinking sun. ''Have faith, Oganda - that things will not reach us.''
When they reached the barrier and looked behind them trembling, only a tip of the sun could be seen above the water's surface. ''It is gone! It is gone" Oganda wept, hiding her face in her hands.
''Weep not , daughter of the great Chief. Let us run, let us escape.''
There
was a bright lightening . They looked up, frightened. Above them black
furious cloud started to gather. They began to run. Then the thunder
roared, and the rain came down in torrents.
by Stephen G. Sherman 
by Tim LaHaye
