Ngũgĩ Thiong - Wizard of the Crow

“Don’t you understand? We don’t want to announce what we are doing to the whole world; the government had nothing to do with it. It’s all off the record. So get your youth squad ready. I believe some of them are armed. But remember one thing: I want the Wizard of the Crow alive.”

Sikiokuu wanted many things from this final encounter with the Wizard of the Crow: the location of Nyawlra’s whereabouts, a full report on the Ruler’s illness, and a possible alliance. But there were lingering questions: When and how did the Wizard of the Crow escape from America? And why? Or had he been killed in New York and was now the object of a cover-up?

Not a day went by that Nyawlra did not miss Kamltl, but that morning she woke up aching for him so terribly that to assuage her sense of loss she put on the traditional clothes that she had worn on the night they returned to Eldares after their sojourn in the mountains. She dwelled obsessively on their return, her way of trying to find some peace. She took her guitar and played a little. A combination of the traditional wear and guitar as a modern instrument piqued her imagination, and she put it back on the wall, feeling better.

Later that morning, Nyawlra saw a woman, also dressed traditionally, coming through the gate. What a coincidence, she thought. Why did so many people feel that they had to dress in traditional wear on their visits to the shrine?

Nyawlra recognized Vinjinia! What brings her here? she wondered. Has her husband not given up beating her? And why is she dressed that way? On previous occasions she had worn a simple dress with a kanga head and shoulder wrap.

“What do you want to tell the Wizard of the Crow today?” Nyawlra asked.

“Listen to me,” Vinjinia said. “Let’s go out and talk in the open, where we can see ourselves and what surrounds us.”

“Don’t be afraid! The Wizard of the Crow has many eyes.”

“Do you remember me from the other day?”

“Many come here and go. But I shall look at the mirror,” Nyawlra said.

She did not know what Vinjinia wanted. She had never seen her like this: speaking at once anxiously and assertively. Was her husband in pursuit of her? Vinjinia’s eyes were fixed on Nyawlra’s face, as if she were debating whether to trust it and say what had brought her to the shrine.

“Don’t trouble yourself. I am the same person who was here the other day to put an end to my husband’s violence.”

“Has he not stopped?”

“He has, at least for now.”

“So he heeded the elders I sent his way?”

“That’s why I have come to see you.”

“Don’t be afraid. Say whatever ails your heart.”

“The matter is a little urgent. I don’t want to talk behind closed doors in case they are already on their way here.”

“Who?”

Vinjinia glanced over her shoulder, then leaned forward.

“Kaniürü and his gang,” Vinjinia said in a tone that seemed to say: There, I have said it, come what may.

Fear struck Nyawlra, but she did not panic in case this was a trap.

“Kaniürü? Who is he?” Nyawlra asked, as if she were indifferent to the name. “But let us go outside if that will free your tongue.”

Nyawlra went inside to alert her fellow workers to be on the lookout. She then joined Vinjinia in the yard, both women dressed identically. They walked in silence toward the gate, as if one were seeing the other off. Suddenly Vinjinia stopped and looked at Nyawlra straight in the eye. Nyawlra was completely taken aback.

“Nyawlra,” Vinjinia called her by her name. “Let’s not play games. I did not want to say your real name inside the shrine.”

“When did you find out?” Nyawlra asked in her normal voice.

“Every time I have come here I would go home with a feeling that I knew you. But when this very morning my husband told me that he left the Wizard of the Crow in jail and that he is still in Sikiokuu’s hands, it dawned on me that it was you playing the role of the Wizard of the Crow. I felt I had to come and tell you about the danger you face. I wanted you to come out into the open for, as they say, even walls have ears. But I also wanted to confirm my suspicions by watching your gait, how you carried yourself.”

And as they resumed their walk, Vinjinia told Nyawlra the whole story of her second abduction by Kaniürü and his thugs. Without hesitation, she told her how she had saved herself.

Nyawlra felt both elated and depressed. What, she asked herself bitterly, had once attracted her to Kaniürür

“I just came to tell you of the danger I have put you in, because even if your companion is still in jail, Kaniürü and his men may still want to come here to find out exactly who the other wizard is with whom I’ve been consulting. I can’t presume to tell you what you ought to do; you must decide for yourself. I must go now. But before I do, I want you to know that I am very grateful for all that you have done for me, going so far as to risk your life. All the same, I don’t believe in your kind of politics. But if there is anything I can do for you…”

Nyawlra stood silently, holding back tears with difficulty. She was struck by Vinjinia’s generosity of spirit: she had fought the fatigue of a sleepless night of torture in order to come and warn her of danger. She had walked from the dark into the light: Nyawlra had just witnessed the coming into life of the new, more assertive Vinjinia.

Vinjinia said farewell and started to walk away. As in previous visits, she had left her car on the side of the road quite a distance from the shrine. Nyawlra caught up with her and said: “Please, don’t think that I was silent because I am angry with you. I am grateful for what you have done: endangering yourself to warn me. I am moved to know that you have never disclosed your suspicions about me to anyone. Don’t worry too much about what took place at Bed Biver last night. I know how to take care of myself, but I will keep in mind your offer to help. Let’s agree on a code.”

They discussed various names they might use should communication between them become necessary, with Vinjinia, no longer a passive recipient of other people’s ideas, fully participating.

“Let’s use the name Dove,” suggested Vinjinia finally.

“That’s good,” Nyawlra agreed. “Dove is the messenger of peace and salvation.”

“I must ask you a question,” Vinjinia felt emboldened to say. “I won’t mind if you don’t want to answer.”

“Go on.”

“The other Wizard of the Crow. Is he still in jail?”

“No. He was when Tajirika was in prison. He is now in America.”

Vinjinia gaped with wonder and disbelief.

“In America?”

“The Ruler is ill. He sent for the Wizard of the Crow.”

It was the unbelieving look that Vinjinia gave her that brought back a suspicion she always harbored: was the illness a ruse to get the Wizard of the Crow? As Nyawlra stood at the gate irresolutely, watching her friend disappear in the distance, a song she once heard sung by the girls of the village popped into her mind, a silent lullaby to herself. She went inside the shrine and took out her guitar again. She sat on the veranda and, now, almost miraculously, the strings responded to the touch of her fingers. She played and hummed the melody softly, her eyes now set on a distance far away.

You vowed never to go away

Now you have gone

Leaving me here alone

Pleading with you to stay

Stay one more night

She thought of him, the Wizard of the Crow, in America, in the care of the dictator, no longer sure that she would ever see him again.