Indaba, My Children: African Tribal History, Legends, Customs And Religious Beliefs. Vusamazulu Credo Mutwa
the happiness to her people was no partaker of it that night.
A dark shadow crawled into the hut through the low arched entrance and the immortal heart of Marimba stopped beating for a few misty moments. Well she knew who it was who had just slipped into the hut. It was the man whom she loved with all her immortality – a man she desired with every vein and artery in her hungry body. But she dared not accept him for fear of sealing his doom.
The reddish-yellow light of the distant feast fires played on one side of his manly face. It accentuated the deepset smouldering eyes and it made the hard lines about his imperious mouth and strong nose appear more harsh.
Koma-Tembo the Masai was, even though seated and at peace, a man born and bred to love, to command and to fight. Marimba watched him through misted eyes as he sat there near the door of the hut and longed for him as an impala longs for the cool waters of a woodland stream. Yet she was praying to the One Thousand Gods that the man should keep his distance and not come any nearer than he was. Well did the deathless woman know that should the great Masai come any closer her fiery emotions would betray her – and him!
‘I see you, Oh Koma-Tembo,’ she said with a great effort.
‘And Koma-Tembo sees the bright sun of his life,’ was his measured reply.
‘Koma-Tembo basks in the sun that scorches,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘There are suns in whose light it is not wise to sit.’
‘I mind not being scorched by the sun that is the incomparable Marimba,’ he said with a smile. ‘Neither do I mind being drowned by the pure river that is she.’
‘Marimba has told the woodheaded Masai many times why she cannot accept him as a husband,’ said Marimba. ‘And yet Koma-Tembo is as stubborn as a frog that refuses to be driven out of the hut with a broom.’
‘From the incomparable Marimba, Koma-Tembo will never take No for an answer.’
Suddenly the princess lost her temper and even as the angry words poured from her mouth, her desire for this son of the Dragon of the Waters grew until it seemed like a mighty wave of burning lava from the fiery belly of Killima-Njaro. ‘You are a fool, Koma-Tembo! You men are all stupid, stubborn fools! Your lust pulls you by the nose right into the valleys of undoing. You will never leave things well alone. I have told you a hundred times that I cannot accept you as my man, because you would be dead within three moons of our marriage. I am trying to save your life, you porridge-brained fool! You must now leave this hut immediately.’
‘Before I leave your presence, Oh sun of my life, I must first hear you say you love me.’
This was too much for the tormented woman. Tears welled out of her eyes, wetting her face, and deep sobs shook her beautiful form. She turned and shrieked at the Masai: ‘You know that I love you – you have known for two years. You only keep on asking because you like to torture me. Now get out of this hut quickly . . . hamba! simbira! You . . . you mulila-busiko . . . Night Howler!’
Koma-Tembo was astonished. His mouth hung open in a most un-Masai fashion. He had not known that his queen had been in love with him for two years already, and that she was held back from marrying him only by the curse on her head. Like all Masai, Koma-Tembo had little use for life – be it his own or anyone else’s – and it was more pleasant for him to spend three moons with Marimba in love and happiness than a whole lifetime of suffering and loneliness. And as he advanced those few paces that separated him from the object of his love, Koma-Tembo knew very well that he had exactly three moons to live – but he also knew that each day of it would be worth more than a thousand lifetimes.
As he took his beloved gently into his battle-scarred arms, he told her so.
Marimba was shocked to feel the hands of the Masai on her. She shuddered and let out a small gasp of fear. Feebly she tried to push him away. But her arms, instead of thrusting, tightened about his neck and drew him closer, while her body strained savagely against him. Her willpower shattered against the rocks of desire and went flying into a million shards of rainbow-coloured crystal. What deadlier betrayer is there than one’s own body? What fouler enemy had the human being than the desire that flows in the blood of his own veins? Marimba was lost.
Later – much later that night Marimba went out into the village clearing to join in the all-night feasting and dancing round the great fires. Never before had her people seen her more lively, more active and vivacious. She was the very fount of song and hilarity, and she danced like an uninhibited tempest ravaging a country.
But Kahawa was not deceived by his mother’s cheerfulness. He saw through it clearly as through a crystal-clear drop of water. He had seen the tall Masai enter his mother’s hut and he guessed the decision she had made even before she announced it to the cheering people.
Marimba had decided to marry again after more than ten years – and she was going to suffer the agony of bereavement once again. All her cheerfulness, all her vivacity, was an attempt at shutting out of her mind this unpleasant fact.
It was a year-and-a-half later and the beautiful queen of the Wakambi was alone in the dark forest. She sat on the bank of the same river which, so many years ago, had seen her second husband attacked and devoured by an old lion. That same river had seen the death of Koma-Tembo, the valiant Masai, whom she had loved as she had never loved any other man before.
Koma-Tembo had gone out with about fifty hunters and snare diggers to trap a rhinoceros that had taken up residence near the river and had developed the habit of charging groups of women who came from the village to fetch water. As usual, Koma-Tembo had volunteered to take the most risky duty of all; this time he had chosen to be the decoy man. In this capacity he had to lure the beast towards the circle of great pits cleverly covered with poles and grass. Once inside the circle, the animal was provoked to blind fury by a shower of stones and sticks hurled by the other hunters who were hiding in the undergrowth. As decoy, Koma-Tembo had to expose himself at this stage and invite the beast to charge him. He would then lead the beast to one of the pits whose cover was strong enough to carry the weight of a human being, but not that of a heavy beast.
Koma-Tembo had successfully decoyed the furious rhinoceros right into one of the great snare-pits, but he had tripped and fallen into it himself. The Masai and the rhinoceros had met the same fate at the points of the deadly stakes planted in the bottom of the pit.
Marimba was disconsolate. She had taken to the habit of going alone into the forest merely to sit in a secluded spot and meditate – with her songs as her only company. But the people she ruled noticed that the more their queen suffered at the hands of the gods the more beautiful became the songs she composed and sang, and the more fantastic the musical instruments she invented.
She invented six different kinds of reed flutes, and pipes.
She was sitting alone near the river when Kahawa, now known as ‘The Left-handed’, came along the river bank at a run and in obvious excitement – a rare thing with him indeed!
‘I am here, Oh Kahawa. I am over here.’
Kahawa came striding through the undergrowth. He was fully armed and he wore the usual hard expression on his face. But his brow was, in addition, clouded by a great puzzlement which surprised Marimba very much.
‘What is the matter, Oh Kahawa?’ she asked as she rose to her feet. ‘What has happened, my child?’
‘Come with me, Oh mother,’ said Kahawa with barely concealed excitement. ‘Come with me, for I have to show you yet the strangest sight of your life.’
Marimba followed her son through the dark scowling forest. She followed him through glades where the breeze whispered in the tall grass and through swamps where otters played amongst the reeds, and swamp birds nested in the tall lubaqa.
They went eastward towards the distant mountains and soon Marimba found herself paving a way up the boulder-strewn