THE LEGEND OF KIWAKAAZI

“I challenge you, Yedi, to fight me!” barked eight year old Kiwakaazi.

It was a bright late morning in Tumushie. As usual, no one will play with Kiwakaazi on the playground. He sat on a wooden bench wondering what exactly he had done to his peers to be unwanted. He watched whilst some boys played a game of tag. It was a simple game that can be played by any number of boys. In this case, six boys played the game. One boy out of the six was trying to touch one of the other five. They do not hide but simply try to avoid being touched. He touched one. The one who was touched assumed the role of the first boy. Kiwakaazi wished they would invite him to play too. He turned right and saw girls playing ampe; jumping, clapping and swinging their legs. Ampe was not his kind of game but he was bored and would not mind playing if they were kind enough to ask him. He was watching the girls when something struck his head. He fell off the bench and landed on his back.

It hurt and he wanted to cry but when he saw many kids surrounding him for the first time, he held back the tears. Then, one kid pushed through. It was Yedi. He said “stop looking at my sister with your evil eyes.” The other kids laughed and that made Kiwakaazi angry. He got up and challenged Yedi to a duel. The fight did not last long. He made a fist and swung it and that was all he could remember. Next thing he knew, he was laying on his back again while the other kids laughed at him. He looked at them all one after the other. He captured their faces, their laughs and their bodies and with his eyes and stored it in his mind. He got up and ran and while running he shouted “you will all pay for this one day! You wait and see! I will make you all pay!”

He got into more and more fights after that first one and lost each one of them just as easily as his first. After a while, he stopped fighting. He eventually decided to take his mother’s advice. “A man who can control his anger is truly brave,” she used to say. He was tempted many times but for the sake of being brave; for the sake of being the better man but more importantly to please his mother, he always walked away. But perhaps all that early fighting had prepared him for this day in Nomposuro.

Kaki shinko lay on her back on a pile of rocks – rocks which fell as a product of her very loud roar. One of her sharp claws was placed on her abdomen and the other was lying by her side. Her face was human again. She was struggling to get up and was in some discomfort. In her beautiful feminine voice she asked Kiwakaazi “how on earth did you do that?”

Who could have foretold that the young alien, Kiwakaazi, possessed such latent powers? After telling his new “best friend” his name, she lost control and attacked him. She swung her right hand. Kiwakaazi ducked and struck her abdomen with his left palm; not with a fist but just his palm. One hit, just one hit and Kaki was sent flying until she crushed into one side of the cave. Her face changed slowly from beast to human. Kiwakaazi was so surprised and scared his body shook. He made his way slowly towards her. All he wanted to do was to snap her out of it. He had no intentions of harming her. “Did he always possess such powers or is the forest slowly turning him into a monster?” he wondered.

Power is something all men seek. Some seek power to become better men and women – power to overcome their lower desires so that they could stand tall as evolved men. Some men on the other hand seek power so that they could lord over fellow human beings. However, some men must have power. This is a cosmic rule. The gods themselves designed this rule to maintain order among their creation.

Maybe the gods sometimes make wrong choices; maybe their choices themselves change with time, but, when they make a right choice, they really do make a great choice. And a great choice, no an excellent choice was the choice to raise Ashanti from the status of the cursed and rejected to the status of an Empress.

So I guess it’s time to go back into the past – the distant past; a time before Nomposuro was created to explore the bitter-sweet life of the Regal Empress, Tinle Ashanti.  

A loud voice was heard “all rise and bow in reverence to the great Empress Ashanti!” Many men and women were gathered at the large forecourt of the palace. They obeyed this voice and did exactly as instructed. Moments later, a squeaking sound was heard and a door was opened high above the forecourt. At the entrance of the door on either side stood two very large, bare-chested men wearing the meanest look anyone had ever seen. Their completely shaved heads, large ears and nose rings did not help matters. It was around mid-day and the sunlight reflected on their heads.

Then as if gliding, not walking, emerged a beautiful figure out of the opened door. It was Empress Ashanti flanked on both sides by two beautiful younger girls; her ladies-in-waiting. One guard led the way and the second followed. The Empress wore very long white apparel that covered the majority of her body from just around her collar bone to ankles. Her cute toes and feet rested gently within her black slipper with golden decorations. A golden thread was woven through her white garb in a pattern identical to the double helix structure of DNA. She was about forty five years old, yet she possessed the beauty of a woman in her early thirties. Perfectly designed, circular nuggets of gold held the ends of her long braided hair. Resting majestically on her head was her circular simple golden crown. She wore thick and large multicolored beads around her neck, wrist and ankles.

 Her ladies-in-waiting also wore a piece of white cloth that concealed their breasts – something like the bikini tops young ladies wear nowadays, and, a short, white skirt with black squares distributed evenly in the cloth. They had flawless dark skin and really flat stomachs. Around their necks, wrist and ankles hung some beautiful multicolored beads. The lady on her right held a circular tray. Turned upside down on the tray was a silver cup. A piece of white spotless cloth covered both cup and tray. The second lady on the right also held an umbrella above the Empress to shade her from the sun. The guard behind was enjoying the view – you know the movement of the Empress’ ladies-in-waiting.

They say “the journey of a thousand steps begin with the very first step”. I hope that is right. The Empress took gentle steps from her room in the higher chambers of the palace to the forecourt where several men and women had gathered. Every step she took reminded the majestic Empress of the many steps she had to take to get to where she is now. Not that she planned it from the very start. This is not the life she wanted. “It is all so nostalgic,” thought her royal highness.

Empress Ashanti was the only female ruler at the time – ruler of the kingdoms of Jumapafie (Lands united through hard work or Southern Empire). It is rumored that she does not even come from any of the hundred and fifteen villages that make up the kingdoms of Jumapafie. Some say she came from Odopafie (Home of love or Eastern Empire) and others insist she is native of Nibooman (Land of inventions or Western Empire). She herself was not exactly sure; especially after all she went through.

She remembers having a mother and a father; an older brother and a younger sister; aunties, uncles, cousins and an entire village of relatives. The mothers cooked together gossiping, laughing and talking about their husbands and the gods knows what. The fathers brought the food, fish and meat they enjoyed so much and everyone was happy.

Every time she looked up to the beautiful blue sky she would remember that spell of happiness in her life like it was yesterday. She would remember how her beloved mother used to tell her that whenever she was afraid she should just look up to the sky and know that some great god is protecting her from behind the beautiful fluffy bluish sky. She always felt safe remembering these words. But just as fortune smiled on her and her family, misfortune was cooking up something diabolic for them next door.

The spell of happiness in her life lasted for eleven years from the time she was born up until her eleventh birthday. Three days after she had celebrated her birthday, her younger sister, Akofa, fell seriously ill and died.

Her mother, Eziema loved all her children but loved her nine year old sister the most. So when she died, it broke her heart completely. She stopped eating; smiling and doing the little things that made her the best mother ever. A few months later, Eziema joined Akofa in Gbeleshie (Afterlife) after a brief illness.

This caused even greater pain for her father. He too loved his wife very much and her loss changed him completely; from once a loving father, he became an angry drunkard. He will often drink, get angry and physically abuse his daughter blaming her for the death of her mother. If only Ashanti had died in Akofa’s stead, perhaps none of this would have happened, were his cries. How was it her fault?

All this went on under the noses of all her family for more than a year and no one ever came to save her – no one lifted a finger to help poor Ashanti. She endured abuse because her older brother promised her that they will run away together. All he needed was to amass some more wealth. Then one day, he also decided to do something stupid – he decided to save his sister from her drunk of a father.

Amare just wanted to take the stick away from the man. The drunkard pushed his brother into a wall. Amare crushed his skull. It was horrifying. There was blood everywhere. When her father realized what he had done, he looked at Ashanti angrily and shouted “loss will follow you everywhere you go!” He drove a small knife he kept on himself all the time through his own heart and died. That was the day, Ashanti became hemophobic. The blood of her brother and father was everywhere. She was so terrified that she screamed and passed out.

Ashanti was now all alone; an orphan in this dark world. She thought she could count on her family; her uncles, aunties and others for support. But she was so wrong.  Everyone in her family and her village tagged her bei-ba (the cursed child). No child was allowed to play with her or even talk to her. People run away from her and others perform rituals to nullify the negative energy she was perceived to be carrying around. Her family completely abandoned her, her friends shunned her and her village scorned her. She was not allowed to go to the river. Her food was leftovers and kitchen waste and she drunk water for pets. She had not bathed for days. In her moments of despair, she cried out to the gods for help.

The gods are mysterious in their ways. Sometimes they provide a simple answer to our prayers while some of their answers can lead one through a path of even greater pain.

It was one rainy night. Like they say “it was raining cats and dogs.” She found a table and hid under it. The rain still beat her. She closed her eyes and asked “where is my protector, why has he forsaken me?” When she opened her eyes, there he was; the answer to his prayers. A stranger holding an umbrella over his head had lowered his body and was offering Ashanti his right arm. She looked into his eyes. He was smiling and she felt safe so she took it and followed him.

He took her to his home. He gave her food to eat and water to drink. He made her wash down and provided for her new clothes. They were men’s clothing, large and sagged around her body. But she was content and happy in them. That night she sat on a mat on a raised platform made of wood. She sat close to the window of the room that was to be her new bedroom looking at the sky. She thought “my prayers have been answered.” What a naïve little girl!

Six days passed and she was happy again. Her savior, kind Nsofo instructed her not to come out of his relatively small house and she obeyed this command. She was lonely and sometimes sad but it could not be worse than what she had to endure if she were to go out.

So she spent her days cleaning the man’s house and perfecting her singing. Whenever Nsofo will come back from whatever work he did, she would sing for him. The expression on his face said it all – he too was happy he had found her. The gods have united them in love as father and daughter. At her young age she learned how to cook and cooked for her new friend and did everything he asked without complaint. She would have died for him if he had asked her to.

One night, poor Ashanti struggled with sleep. Her soul was troubled and her dreams were haunted. She woke up and heard fighting. She thought “Nsofo! He might be in trouble. I have to help him.”