The Ostrich Girl

He adjusted the arrow-contained quiver strapped around his shoulders to favourable position. His eyes wandered all round the wilderness. This day of today; this Wakwambiliilya was proving to bore hard luck to him. He who strives to execute a certain task with profitable effort has the blessings of the gods in liaison with spirits of good. So he would cast his hunting net deeper into the forest come tomorrow, that is Wakeli or even Wakatatu. But worry was swimming through and mingling with Vaati’s blood, like the way kerosene marries with water the moment the two are kept in one room. He had come to the wilderness when the day was young. And now it was gradually growing old. Yet he had not been able to hunt down any animal down-not even a mere dick-dick or a squirrel.

            It was as though all animals had visited a native doctor who had allegedly given them a charm to disappear from his eyes. Once he sat down on the green grass with a far-fetched sigh of depression, he realized that the sun would soon retire to sleep. Its faint, golden, pleasant rays landed on the lower part of his neck, thus softening his sour mood a great deal. He cupped his chin under his hands and wondered what his family back at the village would put in their stomachs. He hiccupped twice as though he were on the verge of vomiting and rose from the stone. He continued his wanderings through the wilderness with a heavy, mourning heart.
Vaati fixed and fixed patches on the earth’s surface in the direction of the village. He could regularly blow snort out of his nose by the employment of his thumb simply fixing his nostrils well, prompting ridges-like wrinkles to show up on his face. The waste would land onto the earth with the swiftness of an arrow sent to execute a kill. My ancestors would certainly strike my heart for failing to exercise the ability to feed my people, he thought.  An army of aggressive thoughts was doing a shoot-out in his mind while he felt that blood in his veins would really clot into a lump, thus turning him into past tense. This irritating nuisance eased gradually as he neared a certain bush which was more captivating than the others. His heart suddenly lightened up once from a distance he caught a glimpse of what lay in that bush.

  An ostrich egg it was and he made for it with unsure steps as if the bush were burning without succumbing to ashes. In fact anxious mixture of emotions were threatening to get better of him and haul him to the kind of world where only the soul departs to, leaving the body to rot in the soil while at the same time acting as staple food to termites. Vaati had already got used to stumbling into a number of ostrich eggs in his hunting missions. However this particular one was of a completely unique breed. It was six times larger and oval than the usual ones, not forgetting its attractive brightness and bewitching magnificence. With his back a three-quarter erect, he stooped and picked the egg. He cautiously wrapped it with dry leaves, placed it into his empty ithatwa bag and journeyed on to the village. By the time he stepped into his hut a blanket of dusk had already stretched wide enough to mask the whole land. Only the joyous voices of crickets trumpeted from the bush nearby: krrrrrrrr--. Birds of air also coloured the nocturnal atmosphere with their melodious songs. Mwelu, his better-half was appalled to see her husband arrive home at such a fairly late hour of the night. She saw the shadow of his empty look written on his very face play on the mud wall once the flame of the ngwatie nalanye lamp reflected on his direction.

Mwelu had earlier grounded some millet grains into brown, fine flour once she had smelled the air of her husband’s failure to place supper on the table. And moments after his arrival, she served him some brown, delicious ugali with milk. He ate the meal with the appetite of a starved ogre combined with some dramatical executions. He would knead a lump of ugali between his fingers, throw it into an ajar mouth and suck his fingers with closed eyes as though he and his wife were thanking God in the middle of a fervent night. The fingers could spend their substantial time in the mouth, a moment after which he would suck them like a baby. The meal was called off in a matter of several minutes and Vaati grasped the chance to recount to Mwelu how he had come upon the gorgeous extraordinary egg. Days and nights passed. Vaati had seen it wise not to gulp the egg down his throat but instead preserve it. Actually he brood it amongst dry banana leaves. He went down on his knees and sympathized with his ancestors to keep his heart beating to the rhythm of life so that he would see what would become of the egg. Time did not bother to interfere with his aspiration because after nine seasons, the egg hatched into a baby girl. She was as beautiful as the preliminary products arising from the six days of creation. She was blessed with an appealing, marble-like eyes and her skin was enriched with the softness of an earthworm’s skin.

            The girl grew up into a queen of beauty with fairly long legs echoing the resemblance of an ostrich’s. Vaati was very much jubilant that his patience had finally paid off. The villagers also shared in this light moment. They flocked in Vaati’s house in promising numbers to offer their gifts and congratulatory remarks to the lucky couple. Even when the ceremony of giving the girl a name came, the people availed themselves with willing and loose hearts. Amid great ululation, excellent drumbeats, soothing music produced by a mbeve, the six stringed violin and a ranging kilumi dance, Vaati aired the girl’s name. “She would be called Itumbi, meaning a girl borne of an ostrich egg. Nonetheless, when everybody’s heart was complacent, Mwelu’s heart was heavy. Millions of thoughts and opinions were busy playing hide and seek with her whole being. This girl would grow into a monument of beauty, yet she is not the product of my husband’s efforts in bed. And her other six children would always be viewed from the perspective of Itumbi’s subjects. Mwelu vowed inwardly to act upon the girl before she opens her eyes and get acquainted with the world around her, just in the near future.

As though Vaati could readily read his wife’s atrocious schemes, one day, he sternly instructed her to take of Itumbi with her life. He went as far as to command Mwelu not to never ever assign any sort of household chore, may be simple or strenuous. Time acted on seasons, lubricated and breathed sufficient inspiration to see them through to a present earth punctuated by new surroundings and events. Itumbi was now an adolescent but unlike most young people in this age group bracket, her body was still fairly intact. Her face was free of pimples, her chest contained breasts taking after tiny tree stumps and yet to experience her Members of Parliament debate on proceedings and sessions. All the same, as untransformed she was, her beautifulness, tenderness, meekness and of course submissiveness stuck well to their roles in ensuring that all eyes remained on her.

As a result many young men from within the village, the neighborhood and even from distant lands would come to win Itumbi’s heart. Each would come with a staggering variety of the most beautiful ornaments available in Kamba land inclusive of bracelets, bangles, necklaces and many others. Even the most influential would afford to buy valuables such as gold, myrrh, frankincense alongside others which suggest a great influence. Still they would offer to place six hundred cows and goats on her as the bride price. But despite all those generous offers Itumbi turned all of them down. She rejected each and every of those suitors’ hand in marriage with a soft dis-alarming smile. All and sundry, even her parents included were really caught off guard by her adamant stand. Why would such a wonderful girl close her eyes before all those riches? This and more related questions could obstinately tickle the armpits of the people’s hearts.

 Girls of her age were well-married and permanently staying with their respective husbands. Yet here in her father’s hut was Itumbi; without the word ‘marriage’ not in her hearts dictionary! Even her younger siblings had married long ago, with a safe number of off springs to their respective names. This was really a hard-hitting blow to Vaati, Itumbi’s human father because boasts were always on the tip of his tongue on how he would be born again in a world of riches after the successful matrimony of her daughter. On such occasions, he would pour some kimee on the ground as a form of gratitude to his ancestors, before he could get drunk and started singing songs evident in beer parties. But it seemed as though the ancestors were deaf to Vaati’s request or were simply acting against his wishes.
The day was Wakana when Vaati pursued his mind into roaming the wilderness to try his luck. He left the confines of the village when the sun was struggling with blankets to arouse itself from slumber land. Before leaving, he had stressed his wife to treat Itumbi like a real egg; with all her mother care available in her heart Mwelu head nodded assent with her husband’s directives but it warmed with joy at the same time. The cat had had gone to hunt other snakes and the mouse would show her play jigs. This Itumbi will surely respond to any order ensuing from my mouth, even though it entails dusting my buttocks with her mere hands, she told her conscience. Mwelu could not visualize how this ostrich girl would be exempted from doing household chores. And yet she would be very satisfied enjoying the fruits of other people’s labour.

If she is really an egg, let her break, Mwelu added some wood into the fire she had ignited. She lifted her voice and bawled loud enough for the whole village to hear; “Itumbi, come here running with the speed of a poisoned arrow!” Itumbi was sitting under a muvatya tree sheltering from the sun’s rays. Her mother’s voice registered in her ears and so she replied, “ye mama, am that one coming.” She was partially afraid and partially surprised due to the vehemence her mother’s voice had carried at the point of its delivery. She rushed into the kitchen only to find her mother standing with her legs apart as though she were a police officer taking part in an exercise. On top of that she held a fresh green stick and a murderous sensation was dancing on her face. Itumbi was immediately griped with intensive fear coupled with surprise. Without uttering a single word, she pointed Itumbi into the hut.

The latter was beside her self with terror. She had long ago sensed the blackness of her mother’s heart. Yes, from the very moment Itumbi got to know how to maintain her balance on the earth’s surface. Mwelu pointed with her stick to a cluster of dirty calabashes placed on the far corner of the hut. She barked at the innocent girl; “before I happen to blink thrice, I want to see those utensils shining with the cleanliness of a young python’s skin!” Itumbi had no guts to contravene her mother’s order but decided to execute it against her will. By sunset, she was so tired that she could smell a bloody sensation in her nose. She had done the housework all by herself. Her siblings had just been sitting, cheering and jeering at her. They could perpetually flung taunting and jibes at her, saying; “It is an indisputable piece of truth that the chameleon fails to walk fast because there is nobody to force it. Today the ostrich girl has done what for many days past has been beyond our imagination.” Vaati did not return home on that day. On that night, his pet daughter slept like a log of wood. She wished that her father would come to her rescue and shield her from her mother’s assaulting commands based on nothing else but sheer malice.

That very night, on a dream she was told something which she had suspected to be the naked truth about herself. A large number of enthusiastic ostriches disclosed the secret to her. An ostrich girl she was, and the clan of ostriches was displeased with and angered by the way Mwelu had been treating Itumbi. So it was the suitable time she joined her true kin and kith. Their daughter was in a pickle and they saw it as their duty to set her free from the chains of slavery and ridicule. Mwelu did not smell a rat of Itumbi’s unexpected departure when the latter took a gourd and headed in the direction of Athi River. However the mother was in a jovial mood. This young one of an ostrich is adapting to work with a faster pace, she thought.

Vaati arrived back home on that very Wakatano in the evening. Sheer joy and ecstasy could be seen scribbled all over his face. And at the same time he was panting like the hyena in the story who tried to climb a huge mountain. Mwelu unburdened him of the ithatwa dangling from his shoulders. She unlatched the goat-skin bag and the mystery of her husband’s joy was out. Large chunks of juicy, salted, and mouthwatering flesh were stacked in the bag. “Mwelu, the wife of my own goats, now call Itumbi for me. I want to see and talk to that queen of beauty, a daughter of an industrious hunter”, he commanded his wife, soft smiles touching the sides of his mouth. Mwelu hesitated for a while when she realized that Itumbi had not made a comeback to the homestead from the river. “She is not here. That is the path she took, the one that----”. She never got to exhaust the words in her heart. Vaati cut her short with an abrupt display of strong emotions. “Where is she? Where---, I say where is the propeller of my heart!” he was almost shouting like a madman, happiness wrenched out of his face with an immediate effect. He rose form the kamuumbo he had been sitting on as if bitten by black ants on his buttocks.

Biting his lower lip, he made as though to dispense a slap on his wife’s cheeks. But he stopped the threatening slap midway and racing with all his might towards the path Mwelu had been trying to describe, the one leading to Athi River. Running, running and running; He ran along the path until the extensive nature of the wilderness laid ahead of him, appearing as though it were within gripping distance. But no, it was still ahead. Rocks of Kanzalu hills could be seen a fair distance away, circling the whole land of green wilderness form east to west.

Extremely hard it was for him to visualize any future worth looking to without Itumbi’s presence. Darkness was about to cover the whole land. Despite all odds he did not think about terminating his frantic search for Itumbi, but ran the night away. The cold of Wathanthatu morning found him still hitting the road. Yes, running as though his feet were being fixed with some inexhaustible wheels. On and on he ran until he saw Itumbi from a great distance away. Vaati gathered some sufficient air in his lungs and sung loudly with a tone filled with outright lament;

                      Itumbi please take another head,

                       And come back home,

                       Your loving father is calling upon you to come back home,

                       Come back home, Itumbi and your tata

                        Would declare you the apparent heir of his property

                        Itumbi come back home, yes our lovely home.

However and because of the doing of a misfortune, the song’s lyrics did not thunder into Itumbi’s ears. But she continued running with the swiftness of a young ostrich. Vaati re-sung his song, this time around with a high pitched voice resembling the voice made by a ngoso bird. And because of the outcome of a fortunate piece of luck, this time the song’s words; all of them penetrated into her ears. And so she sung in reply;  

                         I, Itumbi will not come back,

                         Yes, the daughter of an ostrich will not dare make a comeback,

                            It is that wife of nau.

                             Every time calling me names; the girl of the forest.

                            Yes, taunting and commanding me every time; the descendant of the forest        

                            Do this, do that or else I force you to eat your own excrement!

                             Even in the midst of a misty or even raining night,

                             Milk the cows, pound mwee, spin the ugali and many more.

                            I cannot stand this humiliation, so I say again:

                            My come back is not possible!

                             I will go reside with my own people

                          Look! There are my mother and her people

                         Waiting to incorporate me into their ways

                         Mwaitu tyaaaaaaya!

And after singing out the last verse of the song, she pointed with her finger to distance away. Both earlier-on adopted daughter and her former foster father both ran with full employment of their possible might and expertise. But if it were an Olympic games-medal competition, Itumbi would have won the gold with ease. Her lanky feature and flexible thick-alike legs would spur her to glory. Vaati inwardly vowed never to let the spice of his heart vanish into the thin air and therefore out of his grasp. Within the limits of several minutes, the people who Itumbi had mentioned in her song flashed into immediate existence, just a few yards from the fairly panting girl. These relatives of hers were peopled with ostriches of all spheres of life: some being tall, others having short necks while others had long ones.
A bizarre sort of victorious light smiles would regularly touch their beaks, obtrusively displaying their anxiety over something. Even their faces lightened up and they simultaneously outstretched wings their wings as if on the blink of taking wing to distant lands. Unluckily, Vaati stumbled upon a piece of small tree stump and fell full length on the ground. Brownish plumes of dust flew along the air, turning his face to appear as though he were a twin brother of a mole, but of the human kind. He was so exhausted that he could not manage to go on. But fortunately he was just a stone-throw away from the jubilant Ostrichinite tribe. He collected himself with great difficulty. Itumbi entered into the middle of the semi-circle which had been formed by the ostriches.

Flapping, flapping and flapping vigorously at Itumbi the ostriches did. Yes, a continued, joyful flapping until one senior-looking ostrich stepped forward. Vaati recognized her immediately as the very ostrich which he had chased away from the bush to collect the egg which had later hatched into Itumbi, the pretty girl. She hugged and kissed Itumbi with a motherly gesture; so hard that and emotion-laden was it that they remained stuck to each other. By the time the pair disentangled from the passionate grip, each one’s back was laden with tears.
Then the other ostriches began their tumultuous applause, cheering merrily on mother and daughter who had got waxed to each other, just as before. As the emotional gesture took root, something blinding took place. Lightening struck, the sky turned pale and the earth shook from the roots. Mountains and hills trembled so violently that thousands of stones broke loose from their holding. They rolled down the valley until they converged into the present day Mbooni hills. In a half a blink of an eye, Itumbi was transfigured into a full ostrich! It was now hard to tell her from the other ostriches. Vaati was completely dis-heartened with a water of roaring questions and thoughts flowing freely along the rivers of his mind. Were these now the fruits for nurturing Itumbi into an envy of every person in the village and its environs?                  
For sure you can bring up a donkey from an infant and later pays you with hurting double kicks once it is mature. So this Itumbi was really a girl borne of an ostrich? The answers to these questions were not too hard to divine. But Vaati’s mind was in rubble; a big mess which would not pave way for excellent reasoning ability. When the ostriches flew away, Vaati lost consciousness. His favourite ostrich girl had gone away and left him to distress. Nothing is there worth living for; he had counseled himself before passing out.
Now a hunter from his mission happened to be passing through where Vaati lay; half alive, half dead. He was touched by pity and therefore hoisted Vaati high on his shoulders and headed his way home. By early next day, that is Wakyumwa; the hunter arrived at the village in one piece and handed husband to wife. Vaati later on the next week got to know and shake himself from that hangover of a misfortune. A finger which has already got used to licking a calabash will never change. Despite his ordeal, Vaati vowed to never sideline his hunting expeditions. Who knows what the hand of fate has in store for him?

© 2013 Peter Ngila