Two men wearing khaki uniforms briskly walked through the tall grass and bushes towards the sound of wailing. A startled nightjar looked up as the torch lighted the path where it sat. It gracefully rose and silently flew out into the darkness enveloping the village. There were sounds of dry leaves and grass bursting and crackling along the path as small night active dwellers of the Savannah run away from the light. The sound of wailing got louder and was followed by what sounded like a rap of lamentation. A sudden deep silence underlined the men’s arrival at the end of the path. A torch light lit a cleared small yard. In its midst was a small house. The torch lit the tall grass and trees near the house as the men walked to the front door. An owl in a tree nearby gazed at them and then flew off the branch it had been on into the night. The thickset and taller one of them knocked forcefully on the door. There was no response. He knocked much louder. There was again no response. He again knocked. There was a sound of a door inside squeaking open and someone approaching the front door. The man again knocked. The response was that of a male voice asking who was knocking.
‘‘The King’s retainers,’’ brusquely answered the knocking man.
The man inside the house asked what was so urgent that the retainers had come to visit him at a such an odd time.
He was informed that the King had ordered that the man and his grandmother be brought to the palace that very night. The retainer with the torch turned quickly and lit the area behind them. Two dogs coming on the path u-turned and melted in the night. The torch lit the yard close by and the walls of the house. A few metres of open and swept ground divided the bush and the house. The house had been built for the King’s grandfather by colonialists.
The widower of the King, Alinesi, and one of her grandsons, Zambili, were the current occupants. Zambili had always considered the old palace and their Christian faith as some of the symbols of his family’s mental weaknesses and treachery to their ancestors and fellow Africans. His materialistic family, in his view, had shown extreme greediness and being easily corrupted by those in power or had money over the years.
He thought of the old palace as a symbol of not living as one with nature and bonding with the community. Built away from the rest of the village made the first King to be detached from his community.
Being too far from other homes, hidden at the rear of the village and the King not living there anymore, very few people visited it. It had been the first house in the village made of burned clay bricks and roofed with iron sheets. Over the years, the roofing sheets had become rusty and leaked in some parts. The exterior plaster had peeled off on some parts of the building exposing the red mud used as cement. The mud was being eroded by rains. The wood of windows and door frames had lost their vanish. Termites and wood worms had feasted on it. Once in a while a descendant of the first King would call for it to be renovated and preserved as part of the village history. However, when contributions were called from the villagers and descendants of the first King, there were none.
The door opened ajar. A man holding a homemade oil lamp held it up so as to see the faces of the retainers. He recognised them and opened the door wider. He greeted them and invited them to come in. The man holding the torch declined the invitation brusquely and informed him that they were in a hurry. The torch bearer ordered the man to wake up his grandmother.
When his grandmother heard that she was wanted at the palace, she said to her grandson,
‘‘The cats have been crying and kept me awake the whole night. I knew we have a funeral coming.’’
The men she knew as from the palace, when she asked them why they came to summon her at that late hour, responded that they were just messengers and didn’t know why the King wanted her and her grandson.
Zambili and his grandmother were rushed to the new palace. It was a shiny structure that made the surrounding homes look like those of squatters living in their wretchedness. It had the shape and modern trappings of successful urban middle class’s members. Mostly Chinese modern building materials and furnishing ordained it. However, the sitting room had a colonial British governor’s or professor’s office look. The walls had bookshelves with volumes of mostly hard cover books. They were imported mostly from Britain and the USA in the colonial era and just after Zambia attained independence in 1964. The first and second Kings that had ruled there had been avid readers. It was an admirable collection and would have made any librarian excited. However, no one including Zambili who was a book worm, and a prince could borrow a book from there. Though the fifth King, Zambili’s elder brother, had added to the collection, he was not a book fan. He had repeated thrice his grade seven exams at the insistence of his father. When his father passed on, he was in Form Three and promptly stopped going to school. He already had much that even his teachers did not have. So, he claimed. He owned a car and was married and a son. He further argued that he had learned much about life from hustling in the streets of Lusaka than from books.
The palace yard was strewn with a lot of cars that were gifts from politicians and business people.
Zambili and his grandmother when they reached the well-lit palace were led through the kitchen door before his elder brother and the Head Advisor. The guards closed the sitting room’s door quietly after them.
“So, you think you are the messiah?” his elder brother had thundered when he saw him enter the big sitting room.
“That’s his umbilical name remember. He’s Kaunzeunze,” his grandmother had weakly replied beside Zambili.
The King had quickly turned, and his blood shot eyes drilled into hers as he said quietly and venomously,
“Supporting him, hey! You have always loved him! And now you support him because he is named after your late husband, not so?”
His grandmother readjusted the chitenge wrapper covering her shoulders and back. Then looked down. He tottered towards his young brother. A sign that he had hit the bottle hard and taken a few puffs of the traditional cigarettes of warriors.
“And you what do you think you’re correcting here? You loafer! You are really ungrateful! I take good care of you and what do you both do to show your gratitude, hmmm?”
Zambili and his grandmother glanced at each other but did not answer. When he was in that state, they both knew that it was best to hold their tongues tightly. They knew that he was able to do strange violent things when he was in that state.
“You think you understand the world better than I do? Do you think you can change the world with your books and no money? Preposterous!”
Again, grandson and grandmother glanced at each other.
The Head Advisor spoke in a squeaky voice,
“Honourable leader it’s very late. You have been on your feet the whole night. Please could we after you have rested maybe come and talk as a family?”
The King’s turned his neck quickly like it was that of a serpent and glared at his advisor.
“Did I hear you say something?” he shouted.
The old man stepped back hurriedly and looked furtively towards the door. The King then thundered,
“No! Then keep your mouth shut unless I order you to open it!’’ Then he turned his neck and head around slowly like he was a giraffe to look at his grandmother.
‘‘What were we talking about!’’ He said quietly and clicked his right hand’s thumb and middle finger in an effort to recall.
‘‘Oh yes! We must deal with this issue now and not later. I have taken care of you boy and put up with your uselessness for too long. How old are you? Boys 13 – 15 years start having girls and children. They build their own family huts. How old are you? Almost fifty! At five or six we get kicked out of our grannies’ huts! But you’re still hiding behind your grandmother’s skirt. A very handsome guy but scared of approaching girls! Did the European priests think you were a beautiful woman and butt you? Answer me.”
Zambili grimaced.
“Aaah no,” Zambili replied as he rubbed one eye. He looked down and his right foot started to tap as he thought,
“Six legitimate and almost two hundred bastard children fathered! And none of them have gone beyond grade twelve because of their father’s attitude to books. Mostly village cannabis smokers, drunkards and bullies living off their father’s positions. Getting undeclared and taxed commissions from land seeking farmers and investors.”
The King tottered as he moved a step towards Zambili. Zambili looked blankly at his elder brother’s angry face and then the book collection. The King stopped looked, then at his Advisor, then his grandmother and back at Zambili.
“Why do you act strange boy? Did other boys turn you into a woman at the seminary? You bring shame to our name. You cannot even beat a woman. You were always getting walloped by even the weakest boys in this village and I was the one fighting your fights. Drop your trousers let’s see, are you a hyaena? Turned female after birth?”
Their grandmother pulled her chitenge tightly around her.
“Aaah King there are people here. That is not a way to talk to a brother!’’ their grandmother interjected weakly.
He stared at her and then spoke to his younger brother again,
“Why don’t you ask her for mutototo if you can’t raise it?”
His grandmother winched at his insults. Aphrodisiacal herbs were extinct in that land. Zambili weakly raised a hand as if to a primary school teacher. Getting no permission to speak, he dropped it slowly.
“You could have been someone if you could listen to me!” the King bellowed and angrily waged a finger at Zambili.
“Look at you! Very poor but educated. If I don’t buy clothes for you, you would not even change them. Silly man! You could have a good job, been a PS (Permanent Secretary), Ambassador somewhere or head of a government agency. How many important people have eaten with us in this place? I introduced you to presidents and ministers, but what do you do?”
Zambili was mute and staring at the tiled floor. The big and ceramic tiles made his feet cold. It had become fashionable in town to use external tiles on internal floors. Zambili wondered if it would not have been better to have a traditional floor of clay mixed with cow dung in a village dwelling. His elder brother’s raspy voice cut through his thoughts.
“You don’t follow up even when they tell you to go and see them. You have your funny excuses. Oh no, what about the people that have been working hard in these organisations? How will they feel when I jump them and take over the corner office? Blah blah blah.”
The King inhaled deeply, opened his mouth and swallowed saliva as word failed to come out. He turned to look at his grandmother. She had closed her eyes and clasped her hands on her mouth as if praying silently.
“The bible and our indigenous moral teachings warn me against owing dubious people a favour.” Zambili replied quietly.
The King’s head whipped around to look at Zambili.
“The bible, the bible! What do you mean dubious? You think you live in the world of fantasy books. Be real you’re a fxxn useless son of fxxn…”
King threw a punch that swept the air where Zambili had been before he had quickly stepped back.
The Advisor moved quickly between them.
“Honourable owner of the world, eh eh eh,” his induna chirped in.
The King shouted,
“Eh eh eh what? Has your diabetes swallowed your tongue? Eh eh eh eh… To hell with you!”
The elderly man paled and turned around, and almost hit his forehead into the doorway.
“Honourable leader, I, I, I am just stepping outside to wash my legs.”
The door was opened from outside to let him out. The King called the retainers in and pointing at his relatives.
“Tell the driver to drop them at the bridge.”
Turning to his young brother.
“You! You denied me in front of the whole village. So, I don’t want to ever see you in this village ever again. Take your wife and never return here ever.”
The old woman toddled quickly to the King’s side, knelt and tried to touch his feet. He pushed her away as he moved away to his inner chambers. The retainers pulled her to her feet.
“You people don’t do what you are doing,’’ She pleaded with them. Then to the King she begged,
‘‘Please Mambo don’t send me away. I am on my knees. I don’t want to die away from this village. I am really begging you, please, please, please...”
The King turned as he was about to inter the corridor,
“You get up now or they will drag you! You are annoying me and making me sick. Get out of here both of you!”
********************
The King’s Advisor rushed to the old woman’s side as she was led out of the main door. She raised her right hand to signal that he should not come nearer. He raised his hands to his head and forked the fingers together above his head. He shook his head as the old woman was taken into the waiting car. Zambili bowed his head slightly to the Advisor but did not let the retainer touch and push him to the car. He walked with his head held high. The driver opened the left rear door for him to get in and sit beside his grandmother.
The driver glanced at the palace as he got into the car. He saw the silhouette of someone near the window of the palace’s main bedroom. There was a back light on though it was in the dark.
Zambili’s grandmother instructed the driver on the way to drive them to the nearest village after the bridge. The driver turned his neck around to look at the King’s retainer. The retainer beside the old lady was stone faced.
“Grandmother, I am sorry. The King is counting minutes to the bridge. If I take long, I shall be fired. I have a family…”
The old woman’s voice quavered as she spoke.
“You people why are you doing this? You know that I have no legs. You haven’t even let me take a blanket. It is very cold at the bridge at night.”
No one answered her.
“Jimu, Jimu my grandson. Look at you! Who have you taken after? You have the huge body of my brother, but not his heart. He was a giant and fought beasts and criminals, but not weak grandmothers!”
The retainer looked aside at the vista near the road. The view of much of the vista was in darkness from where he was sitting.
The car swerved and the old woman yelled. The driver looked at the rear and said,
“Sorry grandma! I wanted to hit a hare that was in front of the car.”
“You want to kill us just because you want meat for relish?” Zambili asked.
“No uncle, I wouldn’t harm you! I thought of giving my family something better than the vegetables that we usually eat.”
They had been relying on the abundant wild animals for relish. However, the law was stiff against anyone who killed an animal without a license. Most of the villagers could not afford a game animal license. The King was, however, exempted from that requirement.
“Careful! You may meet a game warden and get arrested,” Zambili warned him.
They were dropped across the bridge that was very far away from any settlement. Zambili had helped his grandmother to get out of the car and to walk.
“I cannot believe that my own grandson can do this to us!” she lamented as she came out.
“Strange things happen in life grandma! You yourself keep telling me the story of Joseph and his brothers.”
The old woman wrapped her chitenge around her body tightly, shook her head and said in a low sorrowful voice,
“Yah, yah, so sad! Not even allowed to carry a calabash of water, my medicines, and snacks!”
Zambili turned to the driver and King’s main retainer.
“You guys may the good spirits go with you.”
His grandmother cleared her voice and straightened herself up.
“Look up at the stars. Have you seen that tonight they have come out in their thousands. Tell your master that the spirits are watching. Do you know what they will do? They will take care of us, the ones suffering today! This one,” pointing at Zambili, “that you have mistreated, he and all of you, shall be kneeling to him tomorrow.”
Her usually weak voice seemed stronger.
“By the time that this current moon goes down and your master gets to be his normal self, he shall be cursed, and my prophesy shall be fulfilled.”
“Grandma don’t curse us. This is not about our kinship but a job. I am like an army officer and my loyalty is only to the one who appointed me,” pleaded the retainer.
“Is it? You matched me naked to the palace and out of the village. I washed you as a baby and gave you your name. Even an animal cannot forget its relative for a grain of corn.”
The retainer looked miserably at her.
“Hush grandma! Don’t forget that you have BP,” Zambili warned her quietly.
“My mouth is dry, and my tongue is sticky, but I clearly say this to you and your master. Your reign of terror is over.”
The retainer and driver slowly turned and got into the big pick up. As they were driving into the village, they were surprised to see a lot of people standing in groups on the roadside to the palace. Though they could not clearly see their faces, their postures were like those of mourners at a burial. The cocks crowed and the goats mewed cacophonously.
Far away on the opposite side of the road, the sun peeped above the eastern hill. However, a cloud quickly blind folded it as not to see the human sadness of that morning. The temperature suddenly dropped. His grandmother shivered and he took off his jacket and covered her thin shoulders to supplement her chitenge wrapper. Furious with the cloud and wanting it out of sight, the sun blew a great wind.
“You must be tired! Maybe we rest,” his grandmother shouted as the wind engulfed them.
Zambili denied that he was tired and wanted to walk on.
“Nevertheless, let’s stop here my husband.’’
They had reached almost twenty-two kilometres to the main road and were resting once more when the wind reached them. The only baobab tree near the main road to the village marked the twenty-two kilometres. They saw it shiver vigorously. There was a loud shriek followed by a great thud. The baobab came toppling backwards, thundered as it hit the ground and raised dust. Rays of the morning sunlight made the dust look like swirling smoke. Blue headed lizards, hares, mice and squirrels raced about in a confused state.
‘‘This is where you shall build your village. This is very fertile virgin land and there is water nearby. You shall call it Paweme (the place for refugees). Bend over I bless you.”
He sat her down on a patch of grass near the roadside, but she lay back and curled herself in a foetus position. Tears started to roll down his cheek as he bent down. She feebly touched his forehead tattoo and caressed it with the two fingers of her right hand,
“I was the one who tattooed you to protect you against evil and set you on a path of goodness.”
“Mum told me.”
“Did she tell you that I washed you in the water of baobab and other herbs?”
“No, she didn’t.”
His voice was hoarse.
“Aaah, I did and made you touch soil and a stone that is harder than iron.”
“No grandma.”
His tears flowed like the Luangwa River. He had to lean further down to hear her voice.
“Hold my hand.”
It was feeble and cold.
“You’re strong…”
He lifted her up and sat her in his lap tightly and sobbed. After about a minute, he heard her cough and then speak. He looked at her, she slowly opened her eyes.
“From now on you walk alone, but I shall….. be… be… always there with you just like my husbands, parents and other ancestors are.”
She coughed and again closed her eyes. He felt for a pulse on one of her wrists. It was very weak.
He lifted her up and started running. He had to find water. There were no wild yams and fruits near the roadside. So, he needed to run to the nearest village he thought in order to save her. After some time, the heat of the sun got too much, he felt also thirsty. His legs got tired, and his chest got heated up and cried for rest. He sat with her on his lap under a tree and begged for a car to pass and give them a lift. There was an ambulance that usually drove between the village clinic and hospital in town. However, no car passed.
“I know you shall be fine. Send a message to your grandma, Nina, to bring you the briefcase of your grandfather and my bag of seeds. May you reign with wisdom and fairness for all peoples and the universe.”
Grandma don’t say that. Hold on, Lalanji is just around the corner. We can get you help there to get you to the hospital quickly.”
However, she seemed not to hear him.
“Shake my hand.”
He again proffered his cold hand to her. She shook it weakly. Her hand felt very small and light.
“This is my final goodbye. I bless you and all your descendants. May you find happiness and peace here. And I pray for you that the good forces shall win the battles for your heart.”
He wept as he closed her eyes and stood up. He strapped her light and lifeless body to his back with her chitenge. She had strapped him to her back as well when he was a baby. He could not tell how he found the energy to walk to the nearest village about fifteen kilometres away.