THE CHIEF’S DAUGHTER.

By Brian Nzomo.

“Mutuku. Mutuku. It’s time. Get up,” a low voice muttered at my hut’s window. My eyes were heavy with sleep, but I had to struggle exhaustively from the sleeping mat made of reeds. I opened the door and let him in. He was holding a dimly lit lamb. “It is time. You aren’t safe here anymore,” he said. That triggered me. I quickly picked my bag at the corner. “I will escort you to safety across the river across the valley. ” I just mumbled a thank you.

We were hurrying along the path leading to the forest. Our feet brushing past the dewy grass at dawn. My body numbed by the crisp air. But I hurried on. There was no time. The chief’s guards were pursuing me. For two weeks, I had been running. Hiding among friends. This was after it emerged that the chief’s daughter, Kaliti, was pregnant. And on rigour inquiry, she confessed that indeed belonged to me. The chief was furious. He even swore to have my head by sunset. But I luckily hid among my friends for two weeks, deliberating where I had to escape to. But now they had a glimpse of my hideout. I had to get away from the village. And save myself. My steps hastened behind my friend Mutinda.

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Back at the chief’s compound, Chief Maluti wa Ndonga was strolling restlessly to and fro his compound. His mind stirred with confusion and anger. He couldn’t believe that the beer brewer’s son had trampled upon his heightened ambitions for his eldest daughter. And yet his guards for two weeks, had failed to find him. Later that afternoon, he had convened a sitting with the elders. He hoped they would advise him on a way forward concerning the alleviation of his daughter’s disgraceful act with an ordinary village man. “Ohhh Kaliti!” he silently wept, staring at the birds chirping atop the old mvule at his compound. “Why did you have to disgrace my honour this way. Especially when my ambitions for you would have peaked me further, augmented my greatness across the land.” He then exhaled heavily, and retreated to his hut, locking himself in.

***** **** ****

The events of the fifth moon were firmly registered in my mind. How could I forget how the illicit relationship with Kaliti began? The first time I saw her was when there was a big party at the chief’s compound. The chief had ordered my father to provide more beer since the guests were numerous. But my father was ill. He was weakened by a fever the white man called malaria. Every now and then, he was drinking a boiled concoction of ground bitter leaves. According to the village medicine man Mue wa Kalasa, the fever would dissipate within a few days. So I was asked to deliver the beer at the chief’s party. As I awaited at the gate, Kaliti was the one asked to pick the brew. And that was when I saw her. And my heart skipped a beat. Never had I ever seen such pubescent beauty grace the land. Her fluid skin tanned with a tawny tone. Her ornamented bare belly, pierced navel and alluringly distended hips. The way those bone-carved earrings dangled on her ears, or her demured eyes gazed at the ground after I greeted her, my insides rumbled with excitement. We talked for several minutes before her step-mother came and ordered me to go away. I was reluctant. I didn’t want to leave. But I had to.

For three days, my adolescent mind couldn’t get rid of Kaliti’s image. I lay for hours inside my grandfather’s hut, gazing at the web-clusterred wall smiling sheepishly. Just thinking of Kaliti. Wishing I could meet her again. Even better, in a secluded place where I would instantly express my heightened feelings for her. Kiss her daubed lips and feel her velvet skin under my palm. But with the passing days, I grew livid with disappointment. She was the chief’s daughter. There was no way I was ever going to meet her. Talk less of in seclusion. My thoughts became troubled. I fought hard to rid my head of Kaliti. But with every struggle, came a stubborn feeling. A feeling that persistently instructed me to hope. Hope that my expectations will one day materialize. My grandfather noticed I was drenched in deep thought. On asking me what the matter was, I denied completely that there was a problem. “You know you can always talk to me. Especially now that your father is away in Kangundo,” said grandpa. “Nothing is the matter,” I insisted. “Is it a girl?” he asked again. I kept quiet. “Mutuku. You’re seventeen seasons old. Definately, feeling attracted to a girl at this age isn’t novice. But since you don’t want to talk, I will leave you to it. But let me remind you. Be careful. Maintain your boundaries for now. We don’t want shame in this family.” The word ‘shame’ came out in a pitiful manner. As if it conveyed a more proximal feeling. I was beginning to adjust to normalcy, until the night Mutua, a cousin to Kaliti came to my hut to deliver a message. Kaliti wanted to meet me again secretly. The meeting place. Under the Nandi flame across the herders’ plains. Her father Chief Maluti had gone for a long visit to Mwingi to meet Chief Kasina wa Ndua. The prosperous Kamba chief in the Northern Kambaland. The famous collaborator with the British. Therefore her surveillance was less rigourous.

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The meetings in the dark were exuberant with affection and laughter. We would play. Chase each other around the rocks. Play with water at the nearby stream. Under the luminous full moon. And as affection grew, boundaries crumbled bit by bit. As our touches became more defined, I would occasionally pretend to accidentally grop her heaving breasts. And relish in the tenderness I had felt under them. No one had suspected our illicit meetings. After a while, I would notice how much she snuggled to me. Firing up my loins. Until the damned night. The moon like a miner’s lamp flashing down on us upon the titian carpet of shed flowers. We were exhausted from playing and sitting adjacent to each other, both of us unsure of how to begin the conversation. Then out of the blues, she said, “Mutuku. I love you.” I was shocked. It was rare if not impossible for a girl to stake out her interest first in a man. After a few shy rumblings, I also professed my love for her. “But Kaliti. We shouldn’t even be saying this. Absolutely nothing is going to materialise from this. We live worlds apart. Your father is the honoured chief of this village. Mine is a struggling beer brewer…” ” Shhh!!! Don’t say a word…” she began, and laid on her back, pulled her leather skirt further up her thighs revealing much of her skin. “Kaliti! What are you doing?” I asked, petrified. But she didn’t utter a word. She held my hand and brushed it across her warm thigh. “Let me prove to you that I love you. And grant you my esteemed gift. My maidenhood.” She looked at me with desire-laden eyes, my heart racing. My gonads rumbling. And before I could reason, I painted my lips on hers, and could feel her lithe body beneath my lusts…

**** ***** ****

I didn’t get an opportunity to meet her again. For two nights I had gone at our usual meeting place, she stood me up. I was left with nostalgic memories of that night. And longed for her invigorating presence. But Mutua came and informed him that the chief was back, and surprisingly was more protective of Kaliti than before. He ensured she was at her best. More decorated. Well fed and treated more preservedly than any other female at Chief Maluti’s household. I was daunted. She probably had gotten a more deserving suitor. Someone who chief Maluti had accepted. A man of honour…

**** **** ****

But as weeks matured into months, there was apprehension at the chief’s compound. Kaliti’s mother became sure that her daughter was pregnant. She was mad with rage and fear. Her husband would definately blame her. How was she going to hide her face from the shame abounding? She cried. Her daughter whom the chief had high hopes on, was now carrying a child for another unknown man. Why did it have to happen now? Why now?When she was betrothed to the son of the paramount chief Kasina wa Ndua. On inquiring who was responsible, she kept mum. She didn’t utter a word. Gazing blankly at the kitchen fire. No form of coercion or persuasion was going to make her talk, it seemed. It would be futile to hide her pregnancy. But both she and her mother needed time to solve the problem. And time wasn’t going to be merciful. Because rumours had began to spread like wildfire. Unknown sources at the chief’s compound had revealed that Kaliti had missed two of her periods. And speculations abounded. When these rumours landed on my ear, I grew apprehensive. If indeed she was pregnant as the rumours hinted, then it had to be mine. For the next two weeks, I became sullen with fear. I couldn’t even join the rest of my relatives in the farm, considering it was a planting season. When my elder brother and grandpa tried to find out what the reason was, I pretended to be sick.

**** ***** ****

At the next moon, Kaliti and her mother plotted an escape from the village to her maternal grandmother’s village in Mutha. But at the tip off by one goat herder who had seen both of them hide some clothes behind a bush beneath a rock, the chief summoned his first wife, Kaliti’s mother, Kasele. “Kasele. What is this I am hearing? That you are planning to escape from my household?,” the chief asked in a gentle manner. Kasele was in a panic mode. Her eyes gleamed with terror. And her fingers trembled with fear. She mumbled,” I don’t know what you’re talking about my husband.” “Are you ready to tell me the truth, or would I have to squeeze it out of you?” he barked. “Why do you want my daughter to escape, knowing very well her union with Chief Kasina’s son is close? Is there anything you aren’t telling me?”

Kaliti’s mother calcified with fear, could not hold her peace anymore. She fell to the ground beside Maluti’s feet and wept dearly. “My chief. Please forgive me. I did it to hide the shame our daughter has brought upon us.” “What do you mean woman? Answer me now,” the chief demanded. Confused than before. When Kasele informed him that his daughter was pregnant, he thought he didn’t hear her well. No! It couldn’t be. Her ravishing sixteen seasons old daughter pregnant? For who? But Kasele couldn’t answer her. That day, the chief’s compound was filled with tears and dread. The chief was frothing with fury, barking orders like a mad dog. Kaliti was beaten black and blue. Not even her mother’s tears could save her doom. The chief’s guards silently watched. Each was thinking,” Who among us could be responsible?” Kaliti couldn’t take it any longer. She had to tell her father it was me who was responsible. The son of the beer brewer. What disgrace! The chief then swore to have my head before sunset. The guards were ordered to find my miserable bones and bring them before him. He alone would behead me using his generational sword. But before the ardous guards got to me, I had already gotten wind of the plan. And escaped to a friend’s house at the edge of the village. He was kind enough to harbour me to safety. That night, I could only think of how my family was drenched in sorrowful shame because of my actions. How my mother was weeping, crying to Mwatuangi to protect me from the anger of the chief. And how my father spit to the ground, beseeching his ancestors to save him from the looming shame…

***** **** ****

The Chief’s meeting stressed him even more. The elders had told him there was no other option but to cancel the betrothal request by Chief Kasina’s son. It was a shame. He had high hopes. If the union materialised, he would persuade Kasina to link him with the British Administrators. Maybe he would be able to spike up his wealth and influence across the land. But now it was all over. A great chief’s son wasn’t going to marry a girl pregnant with a pauper’s foetus. How he wished I would be before his very eyes. Squeezing. Squelching me from existence. But he would have me that day, he hoped. The guards were after me. In hot pursuit. If I tried to resist, they had orders to kill me on the spot.

   After the meeting, Kaliti came before him. He didn’t want to face her. He had embarrassed her beyond peak. But Kaliti had a simple message for her. “If Mutuku dies, then forget about ever having a daughter. I would end my life.” And she left his presence. Maluti couldn’t understand. Who was this man who had made his daughter blindly fall in love? To the point that she would stand before his presence and utter suicidal threats. No! I had to be found. And wiped out from existence.

**** **** ****

Across the rocky plain, the sun was scorching its rays deep at its heart. Mutinda and I in a deluge of exhaustion. But we had no chance to stop. From atop a rock, we could see stalwart men clutching spears and skillfully trodding the thicket beneath. Determined. Shouting and letting out war cries. I persuaded Mutinda to find his way away and leave me to my peril. But he insisted on helping me escape. But with every passing minute, escape seemed thinner and thinner. My throat was dessicate. Demanding to be quenched. But there was no water. Not even a stream close by. Flight became impossible. And my legs failed. Mutinda helped me up. We were near the District officer’s post. Mutinda insisted the white man will help me. As we descended down the rocks, they saw us. And they became more determined to have us. They skipped the rocks like agile panthers. And we hastened. Thorns had pierced the soles of my feet. But there was no time to stop. It was a matter of life and death. When we got a murramed road recently laid by the white men, we waited. Trying to think of where to escape to. Then a weird metal house came by. It had four round structures at the base. And in it. A white man. The colour of the peeled bark of a tree. He halted. Looked at us and spoke in a strange tongue. Beside him, a black man in a strange garment like the white man’s. The black man conversant in Kikamba ordered us to get at the back of the weird structure. We had to. Otherwise, they would find us here and kill us. It was a weird feeling atop an object that moved by itself. Roaring and tremoring as it moved. When we were a distance away, the white man turned and surveyed us. He then nodded in approval and said, ” Well bodied for recruits in the KAR. I’m sure they would be suitable for battle at Tanganyika.

I looked at the paper beside me. A dusty piece with large bold words written, “Kings African Rifles Recruitment service for the 1914 World war. Recruits from the British East Africa Protectorate.”