Unintended Prey

“So. You want to be a big man.”

“And why not, are big men not the children of women too.”

“Sure, but how often do porters become big men.”

Fala paused briefly at this.

“I am no longer a porter. Also, I am not talking wealthy like the Baba Jali, I just want to be able to get the things I want, when I want. Like Mukono.”

They both went silent for a while, each thinking about what they wanted.

All he wanted was coming in on the dau from Muscat.

He turned back his gaze and squinted slightly as he focused on the point where water touched the sky.

At her insistence, both wooden gates were held wide open, each by a piece of tree trunk. It allowed the breeze from bahari to stream into her hut. It was not enough.

Just in front of her hut, almost at the center of the stockade, was a large mango tree. She asked the servants to set up the Amu daybed under it’s shade. She needed air. He was suffocating her.

Still, he followed her outside and was leaning over her now. She could not get away from him.

“Yes, I’ve heard you…Whatever you do, do not get entangled with our guest” she affected a lisp and in spite of her mood thought it amusing.

He did not.

He brushed past the new servant girl as he stormed off.

“Do not develop affection for our guest”, again she affected a lisp.

“I do not even know the warrior. I mean, who even asks that?” she wondered aloud. “If anything the friend seems more of a catch.”

She was born a shenzi and she wanted nothing to do with that world. Mukono was born a town-person, he would never understand.

The sun was directly overhead when the triangular shape of the sail suddenly appeared out of the water. The watcher that Mukono had sent with them turned around and signaled that this was the dau they had been waiting for. His heart leaped.

Finally, hongo, now he could go to the lake.

They passed through the town as they ran down to the port, the smell sickened him. The stench of cowrie shells drying in the sun mixed with the reek of open drains along which human excrement flowed and vermin crawled. No wonder the town-people bathed themselves in the scents of the Arabs. He avoided stepping on the little piles of fruit, shark meat and trade things of the Omani sellers as they darted through the salt market.

They got to the port just as one of the many hire canoes was pulling up beside the dau. It had two men on it, one who steered and the other rowed. He could see the sailors let down a large package wrapped in sisal sack and he also saw a man get down from the dau into the log canoe. Turning back, they weaved through the jumble of sailing vessels and pulled up to the side of the port. The three occupants carried the heavy sisal sack and just as they crested the steps he grabbed the man that had been brought to shore.

“Mustafa. Yes?” the man nodded.

“You have it?” the man nodded again.

He felt that he would pass out from joy. His grip on Mustafa’s shoulder steadied legs that had gone weak.

It was the next day and he was helping Mukono oversee the porters as they made up the goods into loads — the iron wire was most important and was cut up into manageable lengths for the journey. There was a bit of brass and copper wire as well as beads which were put in canvas bags. Some cloth too, this was rolled into long cylindrical bales. He was directing the preparations at one corner of the stockade.

He was lean and muscular, a form that she realized was not displeasing to her eye. She watched from beneath the shade of the mango tree, her new favorite space, as he barked orders and drew order from the clutter in the yard.

She had both her feet up on the day bed. Now she slid and stretched herself out, placing her left foot on the ground. It was a delicate foot with long, thin toes and nicely clipped nails. She had dyed the tips of her toes with henna, and round her ankle was tied a string of red and white beads. They slid forward as she arched her foot. One side of the kanga slipped, parting to mid-thigh.

Three watched, one averted his gaze. She noticed this and she bit her lip. She moved back in affront. It was almost a new experience for her, she was partly angry and partly surprised and partly something else she did not understand. At the moment she mostly angry. Famous warrior or not, he was still a shenzi.

She felt like her head was spinning and a loud ringing noise enveloped her existence. They had been having an argument about ‘the incident’ as he was now calling it.

He was not confident in himself, and more — he had dared to threaten her.

‘Old man, I left that place a long time ago.’ she whispered to herself.

The churn of her thoughts was interrupted by the servant at her door.

“Mistress, there is someone here to see you”

Standing behind the servant they were out of sight but she could see their shadows. She quickly positioned herself and nodded at the girl who stepped aside to let in Barsang and Fala.

They were here to thank her for her hospitality. It was at Fala’s insistence.

Town-people and their ways.

It did not take long and Tamani got up as he turned to step out. Fala had positioned himself on the inside of the door and just as she passed he tugged at her wrist. Barsang felt her pause and he turned back in query.

She was looking at Fala. Her eyes seemed flat.

He had seen that look before.

Once, he had been on look out. He had been standing on a small ridge that overlooked a dust bowl. The ridge formed a perfect circle except for a break on its western side. A distance away, almost at the center of the bowl, was a large tree under whose shade sat a she-leopard. It had been like that for one part of the day. She flicked her tail, he changed grip on his spear. They went back to rest.

Suddenly, a warthog appeared over the opposite ridge. It looked around then cantered to the bottom of the slope, slipping slightly as it did. It looked around again and for a moment he thought its eyes settled on the feline. Then it began digging for roots, its rear end facing the tree as it did. The leopard slowly got up, staring impassively at the boar as it did.

It was the same look Tamani had as she stared at Fala.

She looked down at her wrist and gently pulled it away. She looked up at Fala, smiled, then stepped out into the courtyard.

Their attention was diverted by an approaching cacophony of sounds. There was the delicate sound of tinkling bells and the jingle of iron bangles. Barsang looked around and saw an old lady walk through the gates of the stockade. Her step was measured and she supported herself with a stick made from the magnificently twisted branches of some shrub. She was wrapped in a long cotton sheet beneath which peered cracked and dusty feet.

Behind the ancient crone waddled a buxom female of about twenty. Her face was painted with patterns in white and she had a leather band round her brow which was ornamented with cowrie shells and from which hang a veil of finely worked iron chainlets. It was a work of art. He marveled at the profusion of beaded strings that were wound round her neck and that hang to her ample bosom. Her arms were equally loaded with iron and brass bangles about which hang a number of tiny bells. She had round her waist a skirt of dressed leather that reached below her knees and round her ankles were iron bangles which jingled each time she stepped.

The old woman sang for the young woman, she praised her for the seed in her, exhorted her to bring forth a healthy baby, a fine warrior or beautiful lady. She blessed the ground and cursed any that would startle her and so cause the baby harm.

The procession of the twosome was headed in their direction and Fala rushed out to meet them. He had expected them though later in the day. She had come to see him off, they would be new parents by the time he got back.

He brought her over to introduce her. His wife, Malaika.

Barsang greeted her as warmly as he could.

Tamani had taken in the procession at a glance and had kept walking to her daybed. By the time Fala was walking his wife over she was seated on its edge. As he introduced them, she swung her legs onto the daybed and stretched out without uttering a word. She then covered her face with a cloth and placed her hands behind her head, entwining her fingers as she did.

“Ala!”

It dripped contempt.

They were all stunned.

That evening he went to settle accounts with Mukono Ruku.

“Did you notice Malaika’s headdress? It is quite beautiful is it not.” It was said like an afterthought. He recognized Tamani’s voice.

“What about it interests you? You are not Mtuweta nor are you expecting your first child.”

There was a pause, it was thick, and for a moment the evening breeze was still.

“You should tell Fala that I like it, it will please the simple man”

He was within earshot but still some distance from their residence. He withdrew and returned to his hut. They could settle accounts in the morning.

It felt like he was witnessing again the leopard advance, closing the gap between her and the boar. She did not charge, she just walked across the dust bowl, and he could sense from that distance the menace in her tread. He stood transfixed.

Her gait was regal yet the claws peeping between her paws whispered violence each time they kissed the dust. Taut muscles rolled, dappled hide rippled, flat eyes never left their prey.

It was their last night at his residence and Mukono was most charming as he welcomed them for the evening meal. His cooks had prepared a feast. There was fish of different kinds and fowl, some roasted and others cooked in stews, there was egg and mutton and goat dishes, and accompaniments of tomatoes, boiled sweet potatoes, yams and cassava as well as green maize and treats of sugar cane and ripe golden bananas.

The meal was followed by generous amounts of mead and a dance performance by a maiden from Tuweta.

By the end of it all more than a few sets of eyes were wet with tears of mirth.

“Malaika’s headdress is quite lovely is it not, only this evening Tamani was telling me how beautiful it is”

He was seated next to Mukono and Fala was beside him. The words passed across his face.

Morbid anticipation, it was the same then. He was mesmerized by the big cat as she walked. She got within fifty feet of the warthog before the wind changed and the boar caught her scent. He turned around and was so startled by how close she was that his legs stretched straight out and he dropped on to his side. Barsang thought the creature had died from shock and even the leopard was stunned momentarily.

He looked up just in time to see the change in Malaika’s mien, surprise and rage flashed across her face. And something else, fear. It was gone in the time it would take a dragonfly to flap its wings.

Fala smiled at Tamani as he accepted the compliment.

“It was made by a Mkirima of Rombo, at this they are the best in Azania, maybe even Bara”

“I hear that they work for nothing but praise but only from those who are praiseworthy”

Fala smiled at that bit of legend, he had heard it too.

“No, not really, they work for pay, not much but certainly not nothing. I had to provide a third more iron than was needed for the chains, and this had to be fashioned from ore taken directly from the earth. What is true though, is that they will only work for you if they like you, it’s an interesting sort of pride they have”

“Oh that’s too bad”

He saw the feint as Fala gave her a look of surprise.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Well because it would be that you are praiseworthy”

“Where was it said that I am not” he quickly retorted

Her eyes smiled at his boldness though her upper lip curled mockingly.

Before she could respond, Mukono got up, signaling the end of the meal. The strained courtesy was apparent as he praised the effort of his cooks.

As he spoke, Barsang saw Fala turn and whisper something to Malaika who was seated on his other side.

He could see her and he saw her face loose its sheen. There was a small protest, quickly cut off.

She saw him looking and turned her gaze to him, her eyes were pleading.

“Tamani, you should have it, Malaika is almost due and will soon be confined to the house. She will soon discard it” Fala said. Everyone knew this could not be true.

He had already reached out to help Malaika take it off and she placed both her hands on the headdress as though to assist but she unconsciously held it down. Fala tugged at it and it came off.

He then tried to hand it over to Tamani but still seated she placed her palms by her side pushing down on the mat and stuck out her chest, she had full breasts.

“Praiseworthy man, won’t you place it on my head” she taunted

Fala smiled and got up in response to the taunt. He walked over to where Tamani was seated and placed it on her head. Tamani placed both her heads on his wrists as he did.

Mukono coughed. Fala, suddenly aware of the scene, turned to go back to a dazed Malaika.

Barsang was still looking at the headdress and so saw the look in Tamani’s eyes as she looked at Fala’s back then down at Malaika. It was possessive. A wry smile.

It was quickly followed by a haunting scream, a shrill cry that pierced more than the ear, it seemed to penetrate to the soul.

He knew the sound of an animal that has seen its death. It was a sound hard to describe for there are not many sounds like it. It is the sound of a tree falling in the forest. It is the back side of a new born baby’s cry. He considered the boar. Just as suddenly as it had dropped, it was up and running. It had turned back and it ran fast, it was now headed straight at him. He could hear that sound. The boar was slower than the leopard and she would eventually catch up to him but not before they got to where he stood. If he turned and ran he would be prey too.

He turned to see Malaika storming towards Tamani and reading the situation, guessed at what was about to happen. He tried grabbing Malaika’s arm as she passed by but she twisted away and muttered curse words at him that caused him to pause in affront.

He looked past Malaika and was struck by the look of Tamani. She seemed perfectly calm, an island in the maelstrom that swirled around. The faintest outline of a smile traced her lips as she reached back with her right hand and held her lower back. She sneered. She was taunting Malaika.

By this time Fala, who had stood stupefied all the while, recovered his wits and forcefully hugged his wife. They were stood a feet away from Tamani. He began whispering in her ear and slowly calmed her down.

“Hey shenzi, you can have it” she had ripped the headdress off and she threw it down at the dust between them. Malaika looked up and Tamani was looking straight into her eyes. She was perfectly still, nothing moved but the brown of her eyes as they shifted to focus on Fala’s back. Malaika saw it, Barsang saw it.

Malaika had been driven into frenzy; she let out a scream, more a howl, it was primal. She pushed at Fala causing him to stumble back. Before he could regain his balance, she was past him and was bearing down on Tamani. Her hands were stretched out ahead of her, her fingers curved talons scratching for Tamani’s face.

Curved talons, her claws were now exposed, they gripped the ground, increased her speed. She bore down on the boar, both charged up the slope, up at him. He breathed in and the world around him seemed to slow down. He could see the tiny specks of fresh dirt flying of the warthogs tusks each time its hoofs tore into the ground. He could see the wisps of tears streaming from its eyes as the wind whipped against its face. He had been standing on his right leg with the sole of his left foot pressed against the inner part of his right knee, leaning on his spear for support. He placed both feet on the ground, slightly spread apart. He had both hands on the spear shaft and pushing down, used this force to thrust himself back and out of the way. The wind was knocked out of him as he fell and his back hit the ground. He saw from below the leopard leap over the ridge. He saw its outstretched claws and turned around to see them rip into the boar’s hind quarters.

He snapped back just as Malaika got within arm’s length of her intended prey, Tamani stepped to the side, grabbed both Malaika’s wrists and swung her round, using her momentum to slam her into the ground. All those watching cringed at the force of the impact.

There was a moment of silence.

It was a cold morning, the dense fog that pressed down on wet grass hid all but the very near from view. Porters appeared and disappeared like jini in a dream as they moved about tying this and whispering that.

The injustice that had been performed mocked the prayers of the traders, even they knew this. There was no guarantee of a safe journey,

Every one of them was conscious of the unborn life that had been lost.

To cover shame, the two wretched souls had been sent to their village at the sound of the first birdcall. They were accompanied by the herbalist who had been called in last night. The bits of iron, the scraps of beads, the oddments of trade things given to the broken man as a token, sickened even the giver.

Barsang was subdued, he had mourned with his friend and for his friend through the night. He had comforted a broken soul that he hardly knew.

He was tired as the journey began.

He blinked as a bright beam of light cut through the fog. It quickly disappeared. The sun was not going to appear this morning.

As he stood there in the chill, somewhere inside, deep inside, the embers of quiet thrill still burned beneath the ash of his despair.

He had hongo, he had the Huko.