Nyumbani Tales

the time he returned with the hide-covered wooden cylinder, nearly all the people of the clan had gathered to meet the warriors.  Katisa stood at the forefront of the crowd.  Patiently awaiting the moment when his task would begin, Makaro squatted behind his instrument.  Before long, grief and sorrow would be his fellow musicians.
Solemnly, the procession of fighting-men filed toward the assembled Kitoko.  Including the ol-arem and the oibonok, there were nineteen of them: tall, rangy men with sinews of steel.  Short swords called simis were belted to their sides.  Hide garments clung to their lean, hard torsos and red pigment daubed their skin.  Their hair lay in braided, ocher-covered plaits that would have seemed feminine had the faces beneath them not been so fierce.
Yet for all their warlike demeanor and panoply, the warriors’ huge, oval-shaped shields and long spears weighed heavily in their hands, and sadness underscored the grimness of their expressions.  Twenty of them had marched through the yellow grass in the morning. But Karamu was not among them now.
Katisa could no longer avoid the truth. Mustering all the stoicism Ilyassai tradition demanded, she approached her father, the ol-arem.  Though Mubaku’s presence was not required on all olmaiyos, he had joined this one because Karamu was to be wed to Katisa.  The other warriors were relatives of Karamu’s who had already slain their lions.
A formidable-looking man who had risen to his current rank at an early age, Mubaku waited for his daughter to speak.
“How did Karamu die, Father?” she asked.
“He died as an Ilyassai should ... bravely,” Mubaku replied.  “His spear missed its mark – and against Ngatun the lion, a man has but one chance.”
“But Karamu once killed a bush-pig with a single cast,” Katisa exclaimed, momentarily giving way to emotion.  “How could he have missed his lion?”
“Silence!” Mubaku thundered.  “I speak as your ol-arem, not as your father.  Do you doubt the truth of my words?”
“I do not doubt you,” said Katisa.
“Then I will continue.  After Karamu’s spear missed its mark, he went down as Ngatun leaped onto his shield.  Karamu drew his simi, but he could not penetrate Ngatun’s heart before he tore through the shield and killed him.  We then slew the lion, and buried it in the Tamburure with Karamu.”
That was all ... a few stark sentences describing the end of a man’s life.  That was the Ilyassai way.
Katisa was neither surprised nor outraged that the other warriors had not speared the lion before it killed Karamu.  An olmaiyo was a contest between one man and one beast.  The others were there to be witnesses if Karamu won; avengers if he lost.  That was the Ilyassai way.
“Unfortunate,” a new voice said, breaking the moment of silence.  “So very unfortunate.”
The voice belonged to Chitendu, who had unobtrusively placed himself between Mubaku and Katisa.  The oibonok was accoutered like the rest of the warriors, save for the long, spiraled horn that hung at his side.  With this horn, many generations of oibonoks had summoned forth lions to test the mettle of Ilyassai men.
“Indeed, Karamu would have been a fine warrior and a wonderful mate,” Chitendu continued.  “But he is dead.  And according to our agreement, Mubaku, your daughter is now a Bride of Ajunge.”
With that admonition, the oibonok reached out to seize Katisa’s arm.  She slipped away from his grasp.  Before Chitendu could take another step toward her, Katisa’s foot lashed out and caught the oibonok in the pit of his stomach.  Doubling over in pain, he sat down hard.
Baring her teeth in rage, Katisa sprang like a panther at Chitendu, who had risen to his knees and was gasping for breath.  Well-versed in the many fighting-skills all Ilyassai women were taught, she might have slain the oibonok bare-handed, had she reached him.  But three warriors intervened, catching her in mid-leap and pinioning her limbs.
“He did it!” she shouted, struggling fiercely in the grasp of the warriors.  “He used sorcery to cause Karamu’s death!  I’ll die before I let him take me to his filthy sleeping-mat!”
A murmur of disquiet rustled through the crowd.  Katisa’s accusation could not be taken lightly, for an oibonok was forbidden to cast harmful spells against a fellow clan-member. The punishment for doing so was death.  Yet Chitendu remained calm as he rose to his feet and looked at Katisa.
“Every man who went on this olmaiyo will tell you that I did nothing beyond the calling of the lion,” he said.
He turned to the other warriors.
“Is it not so?” he demanded.
One-by-one, seventeen plaited heads nodded curtly.  Only Mubaku’s head remained rigid.
“Is it not so, ol-arem?” Chitendu repeated, a hard edge pushing aside the deference in his tone.
Reluctantly, Mubaku nodded.  Rage kindled in his heart as Chitendu grinned.  Because of Katisa’s unseemly outburst, the ol-arem was being none-too-subtly ridiculed by the oibonok, whose influence was growing well beyond the traditional limits of his place in the clan’s hierarchy.
“Your daughter is not behaving in a matter befitting an Ilyassai,” Chitendu continued, elaborating his insult.
Mubaku could only grind his teeth and say nothing, for nearly half the clan had heard Katisa’s indiscreet accusation.
“I go now to prepare the Place of Ajunge for the arrival of his Bride,” Chitendu said.  “In three days, I will come for her.  Perhaps by then, Mubaku, you will have convinced her to accept the reality of what has happened on this day.  If you do not ... I will.”
Abruptly, the oibonok turned on his heel and strode away, showing little effect from the blow Katisa had landed.  The people of the clan made way for him as they never would have in the face of armed foes or menacing beasts.  Then he was gone, vanishing into shadows darkened by deepening sunset.
Mubaku glared angrily at Katisa.  On this day, his daughter had disgraced him almost as thoroughly as if she had been a warrior who turned ilmonek on his olmaiyo.  And that devil Chitendu had taken full advantage of her indiscretion and diminished Mubaku’s standing as head of the clan.
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