Ngũgĩ Thiong - Wizard of the Crow

“I still don’t know why he is so angry with me or what he wants from me.”

“Woman,” Nyawlra called out gently, “you have a husband who assumes that he has a natural right to beat and discipline his wife. Unfortunately, he is not alone. Violence against women bedevils many a home-rich, poor, white, black, religious. In the world today, a husband measures his maleness by mauling his wife. A wife swallows insults in surly silence instead of resisting the violation of her sacred self. A sacred self soon becomes a scared slave, leading a scarred life. You have told me your story and I have listened. Now what brings you to the shrine? To tell me the story or to gather herbs for your wounds?”

“The wounding of my heart will never heal as long as the man I call my husband is alive.”

“What do you want?”

“I want him dead. Dead and buried. Give me poison for his food. Give me poison to send him to Hell. Or, better still, capture his shadow in your mirror and scratch it out.”

Her vehemence startled Nyawlra. She would never have thought that Vinjinia’s heart could harbor so much venom.

“I only poison evil in pursuit of the good.”

“What can be more evil than what he has done to me with his fists?”

“Do you want to end his life or his violence?”

“His violence can end only in death: his or mine.”

“What about making him first see the evil in his ways?”

“Tajirika is incapable of seeing the error of his ways. He can spot the mote in a woman’s eye but not the dust in his own.”

“Even if a delegation of the wise were to reason with him?”

“That would only inflame him and make him more violent after they left.”

“What about taking him to court?”

“Aburlrian courts? How many women judges and magistrates have you seen on the benches of justice? In any case, in Aburlria justice ends up in the pockets of the highest bidder. Do you think I can outbid my husband? No, I am not able to massage justice with bribes.”

“Massage justice with bribes?” Nyawlra repeated the phrase loudly, but inwardly she wondered what to do about Vinjinia’s plight without giving her any poisonous herbs, which she would never do, and without killing hope, the basis of all healing arts. Unable to settle on a course of action or words, Nyawlra’s mind drifted and she started thinking more about the woman in front of her. In some ways this woman continually amazed Nyawlra, and if the situation had not been one of pain and pity, Nyawlra might have been tempted to laugh, at least inwardly, at Vinjinia’s metamorphosis.

Is this not the same woman who used to be so prudish in reference to the body and matters of sex? Is this not the same one who used to play dumb about Aburlrian politics? Nyawlra asked herself, recalling all the arguments and disagreements they had during the days they spent together in the offices of Eldares Modern Construction and Real Estate. To Vinjinia, nothing was wrong with Aburlria. And yet, had she not just made one of the most insightful comments about justice in the Ruler’s Aburlria? Or about violence and gender inequality in the home? She had even rolled out a critical insight into religion and its tendency to gloss over domestic violence against women. Awareness of being wronged was the first step in political self-education, Nyawlra concluded.

It was while idly turning over these thoughts in her mind that she had an idea. It was not a new idea-she had thought about it before and had even considered taking it to the leadership of their movement for discussion and possible adoption as policy, but she had not yet done so. But why not try it out with Vinjinia?

“Go home now,” she told Vinjinia gently. “Leave the matter in the hands of the Wizard of the Crow. He will have to deal with a delegation of elders, wise elders of reasoned justice, wearing magic robes. As for you, take these words home with you. Know that the most potent magic emanates from the heart. Women must dig deep within themselves to decide that they will no longer allow themselves to be beaten by their husbands and boyfriends. When that happens, wife bashing will be no more. Homes shall be run on the maxim that conversation is the gateway to love and understanding. Thoughts locked up inside never solve anything. The silence of women in the face of male violence is the nursemaid of more violence. If he continues to rain fists on your body after the delegation has called on him, come back to me. But let me ask you a question I should have asked you at the start. Have you made up your mind never to be beaten again?” “Yes.”

“Then go home. The elders of justice are on their way” “I hope they will not let my husband know that I was here.” “That should not worry you. There is no healer worth his weight in herbs who would hurl to the wind what is gathered in the peace and silence of the shrine.”

The silence engulfing Tajirika’s home was deeper than that in the thickest bush in the darkest night. Gaclgua and Gacirü, their young ones, were in boarding school. Domestic workers were there during the day; husband and wife were left to their own devices at night. Tajirika often did not feel like going home early after work and would stop at a bar.

One evening he felt fed up with hard liquor, which did not always numb his loneliness, and decided to go to the Mars Cafe for a cup of coffee instead.

Since beating his wife, Tajirika felt better, but whenever the images of the dancing women came to his mind and he imagined the lifestyle in which Vinjinia had indulged during his incarceration, he would still feel a sudden resurgence of anger. Ironically, this resurgence and the intense focus on Vinjinia’s misdeeds served to deflect his mind from dwelling on what had happened to him during police custody. How could he dwell on the picture of himself with a bucket of shit dangling between his legs? It was not a pretty sight, even to himself, and dwelling on Vinjinia’s dirt made him feel purer.

The only memory that gave him enormous satisfaction was that of the Wizard of the Crow in police hands, for he took it that he was now safe from the sorcerer.

Tajirika knew nothing about the latest twist in the saga of the Wizard of the Crow, and he would not have believed it anyway were he told that the wizard was now in America at the behest of the Ruler. All he cared to know was that Sikiokuu had ordered the sorcerer to remove the magic spell he had cast on Tajirika and nullify all short-and long-term side effects.

He looked forward to the Ruler’s imminent return. Sikiokuu had assured him of getting back the chairmanship of Marching to Heaven with all powers, including those that Kaniürü had taken illegally. He truly had a new friend in Sikiokuu, and whenever memories of his old friendship with Machokali forced themselves on his mind, he would dismiss them very quickly. But sometimes they would not go away and he would actually pause to reflect on the situation and ask, What shall I do when Machokali returns?

Not that this was a question that would have made him lie sleepless at night. Tajirika prided himself on being flexible in everything to ensure his own survival. He moved with the world and not against the world. His relationship to his former friend and benefactor would depend on the relative strength of Machokali and Sikiokuu in the game of power. If Machokali should prove the stronger, then Tajirika would tell him everything he knew about what Sikiokuu had been cooking in Machokali’s absence. But if Sikiokuu proved himself the stronger, then Tajirika would continue on his side and forget the past. As he now crossed the street toward the Mars Cafe, the thoughts of how he would maneuver between the two giant rivals for the power behind the throne preoccupied his mind and he forgot the prospects of another lonely night at home.