THE LEGEND OF KIWAKAAZI

Anambre and Kiwakaazi appeared to witness how Anambre was born.

Anambre was the fourth son of Atinga the fisherman and Lela the dressmaker. Before he was born, his mother had already given birth to three sons and offered prayers to the god of birth every day to bless her with a daughter. You can just imagine how happy she was to be pregnant a fourth time. She was hopeful and faithful that this time, it was going to be a girl. She started making dresses and even chose a name for her daughter; Miraki. All she had to do was to convince her stubborn husband Atinga, to name their daughter Miraki.

A good wife knows what makes her husband happy. Atinga was happy when he was served pounded yam and groundnut soup. He was happy when while eating his favorite delicacy; his beautiful wife will feed him some more soup from a separate small bowl. He was happier when his wife will play with his hair and ask him about his day and everything that happened to him. But Atinga was no fool. He was a clever man whom knew the ways of his charming wife.

“What do you want this time?” asked wise Atinga while his wife did everything he loved for him. “Why do you ask?” responded his beautiful wife. “I know you love me dearly. I appreciate you taking care of me but we both know that you want something. So tell me what you want?” asked Atinga. She said, while looking away from her husband, “Fine, I want our daughter to be named Miraki meaning, “The reflection of beauty.” “Daughter…? What if he is a boy?” asked Atinga.

Atinga was smart but perhaps he needed a few lessons in how to treat a pregnant woman. Pregnant women are the worst. Not worst in a bad way but their emotions are all over the place. If a pregnant woman wants something, just give it to her — something Atinga undoubtedly did not know. Immediately after asking his wife what if their child is a boy, the woman broke into tears. She was inconsolable. Atinga did not know how to stop her.

Atinga was a strong man. His features carried this statement for him. He had bushy hair and thick hairy black eyebrows. He had a hairy face and the usual thick lips and huge flat nose of black men. His body was well built and he stood a tall figure — six feet and a couple of inches tall. He married beautiful Lela; beautiful, dark woman with fantastic hips and beautiful breasts. Her facial features boasted of relatively thick lips and nose. She had a beautiful smile and a dimple to go with it.

Atinga’s father, Patinga, married many women and treated them poorly. Many times Atinga found his mother crying after being verbally or physically abused by his father. He will console her and swore never to make his wife sad. He will treat her like a queen and give her everything to make her happy. So you can just imagine how bad he must have felt to see his wife crying. Especially because he felt he was the cause of her distress. He just did not know how to make her stop.

Lela had many brothers while growing and only one sister. She was never close to her only sister too. She therefore always wanted a daughter whom she will treat like a sister. After having her first son, she wanted her next child to be a girl. She asked her husband what name he will give to their child if it were a girl. He answered by asking, “What if it is a boy?” She immediately felt a kick and her second child was a boy. Then before her third, she asked her husband whether he was considering naming their daughter after his mother. A woman she considered repulsive and irritating. Can you believe it? He asked the same question. She felt a kick and their third child too was a boy.

This was her fourth pregnancy and after being asked the same question, “What if he is a boy?” she felt a kick. “It is going to be another boy. I will never have daughter now” she thought. This was the cause of her sorrow. This was why she cried. Her husband has jinxed it for her once again.

Atinga had to go out and buy her some sweets. Then he sang for her and promised her that if their next child were a girl, he will name her Miraki. Although he would have preferred Lela because their daughter will be just as beautiful and wonderful like her mother. These words were all she apparently needed to hear. It soothed her and stopped her sobbing.

So after nine months they had a son and they named him Anambre meaning “The gift of light.” After his birth, Lela had six consecutive daughters. Six out of her ten children were girls and extremely challenging. She regretted and hoped she had had only boys.

Anambre was odd right from his birth. He was born with white hair and blue eyes. His mother wanted a girl but the instant she held him in her arms, she loved him the most. But the boy’s blue eyes and white hair frightened his parents — his mother in particular. The herbalist was invited. After careful examination, he concluded that the boy was a picture perfect image of health. If there was a standard for health among babies, then, this boy must be that standard was his conclusion.

But during that time, no man had been born with white hair or blue eyes so his parents took him to see the chief priest. The priest consulted the oracle and told Atinga and Lela that the gods have spoken. “This boy is special. He will influence the course of men either very positively or lead them astray. To guide his destiny, the boy must be surrendered to the shrine of the gods when he turns eleven.”

A day after Anambre’s eleventh birthday, he was sent to the shrine. The high priest stood in front of his shrine. The shrine was simple. Four sticks had been knocked into the ground to create a square and a white cloth hung around the sticks to conceal the wooden and stone statues of the gods. The high priest was an elderly man with white hair and white long beard. He was short, barely five feet tall. A white piece of cloth hung around his waist but his hairy chest was exposed. White circles have been drawn around his eyes. He was bowlegged and had a huge stomach from eating all the chicken, goat and sheep that were supposed to be sacrificed to the gods. Please do not misconstrue. He did sacrifice these animals to the gods. But the gods are only interested in the blood of these animals. The meat will be a complete waste and gods do not like it if men waste their gifts. So, he ate the meat for the gods.

Anambre stared at him for a long time and asked, “Are you the one with knowledge about the way back home?” The priest looked at him suspiciously. He wondered, ‘What is this boy talking about? Is he mentally sound?’ But he had to answer so he did. “Listen young Gyaati (messenger), the whole of Wetinga is your home and everyone is your family,” responded the chief priest.

Anambre listened patiently and after hearing the priest’s answer, he turned to his mother and said, “Naa linge…naa linge,” meaning “He is not the one… he is not the one,” while shaking his head. Anambre demanded his parents to take him home at once. His father was angry that his son had the nerve to disrespect the chief priest. His mother was apologetic to the priest for her son’s behavior. He was just a boy; an innocent boy. Their words are not to be taken seriously but the chief priest took Anambre’s words very seriously. His face became red with anger. He immediately demanded the boy be removed from his sight and cursed him. “No one will love you in this world and you will die a gruesome death,” was the curse. His parents begged but the priest would not reverse the curse.

After that incident, Anambre was hated in all of Wetinga. Perhaps it was the curse; perhaps it was his rudeness towards their august chief priest or maybe it was the boy’s eccentric behavior and his annoying questions. Anambre asked everyone he met, “Where do you come from? Why are you here and to where will you return?” People did not understand his questions and with time, people avoided him completely. He really did not find happiness and only his mother loved him. His own father called him a curse and also avoided him. The chief priest’s curse might have been very powerful indeed. At age fifteen, he left home and returned twelve years later.

Twenty-seven year old Anambre was worse. He went on and on about a Supreme Being he called Akaani (Indescribable or Nameless One) and His home, Alaami. No one had heard such madness. Only the ruhas (gods) and ruhushis (goddesses) are the true ones; only they deserve to be served and praised. This is blasphemy. The Chief of Wetinga was approached by the people and begged to banish the odd one. But Nayiri (Supreme Ruler) Walanka could not be persuaded. “He does not speak against the gods and goddesses. He only speaks of another god. Maybe if we humble our minds and hearts, we may learn from this weird boy,” advised Nayiri Walanka. The people returned to their homes unsatisfied but they knew in their hearts that it won’t be long when this unbeliever will take a wrong step, slip and fall. And, when that time comes, they will be there to ensure he remains down and out forever.

“Burn her! Burn her” shouted the mob. A young beautiful girl had been arrested and found guilty of prostitution in Wetinga. Such a crime was punishable by death. She was dragged to the village square, tied to a pole and her feet were surrounded with dry straw. She was being prepared to be burned alive.

Anambre had been struggling to get the people of Wetinga interested in his message. He just happened to be at the market square that day. He saw her. She was crying and begging but men are generally unforgiving. The gods have sanctioned. Any woman caught prostituting must be burnt. This was a law and no one challenges it. It was the only way of cleansing their land after she had soiled it with her unholy acts.

“Ancient one, you say you come from Ruhuti (true god). Please help me,” was her cry to Anambre while staring into his eyes. Anambre felt pity on her. He climbed the platform and started begging on her behalf. But sinful man will not allow some of his sins to be cancelled by practicing forgiveness — they were obdurate to his plea. If Anambre will not climb down, then, he would be burned alive together with this sinner. Honestly, some were happy. This was a great opportunity to kill two birds with one stone; the wrong step they anticipated he will take. They hated this crazy man and hated his message even more. They wished he was banished but if he had a death wish on his head, so be it.

The man holding the fire released it. It came down ever so slowly and bounced a few times before resting on the dry straw. People shouted for joy for what they expected to happen – a bon fire reducing the sinner and the mad man to mere ashes. What happened? Nothing! The straw will not light up and burn. “That can’t be! Bring more fire,” they shouted. More and more fire was brought but each time it touched the straw, it was quenched. It was as if the straw was wet. Now they thought he must be some kind of a warlock or possessed some unusual powers. “Call the chief priest,” was the next call.

The priest came. He touched the straw and repeated some mumble jumbo. He instructed the people to collect and throw away the straw around them, tie Anambre to the pole alongside the prostitute and replace the old straw with some that are fresh, dry, and tested. They obeyed his instructions to the letter. Then the antics begun; the priest danced, he repeated strange words while he danced. He jumped to his left and then to his right. He shook his grulba and repeated the whole dance routine again. He stopped, went around the platform three times, and pointed his grulba (a collection of horse tail tied together) at the straw. It was supposed to ignite and still nothing happened. He repeated this over and over again and still, the straw will not catch fire.

The people were now exchanging glances of suspicion. Even the chief priest can’t harm him. Who is this man? It was a really long day for the people of Wetinga. One by one the people left the village square until no one but the priest and a few elders remained. They soon realized it was impossible to burn this man. They all departed leaving Anambre and the prostitute tied to the pole.

Her name was Wematu and she became the wife of the fabled sage, son of Akaani, Anambre.

Kiwakaazi could not believe it either. People were being burned for prostituting themselves in the past. Wow! Thank the gods it was no longer being practiced. Probably half of the women in Nibooman would have been burned if it was not abolished.