Moses Isegawa - Abyssinian Chronicles

“Look at this mountain of bills! You broke your word too, and never participated in the jihad.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t ours either. Do you want to go on a solo tour now?”

“I have to go back to work.”

“Don’t forget your skullcap, you have to wear it everywhere you go. Be proud of your new religion, Saif.”

The story ended with Ssali collecting his prize: an overtly feminine Italian-made Vespa scooter. I awaited more twists to the tale, but Uncle Kawayida never mentioned it again. I tried to tempt Grandpa into telling me more about it, but he just sent me off to play. When Tiida came to visit, she created a wall around herself and would not divulge any more details. I gave up.

I was high up in the tree hoping to catch sight of the blue-bellied eagle when I saw a car headed for Grandma’s compound. My heart sank. Visitors who came in cars tended to overstay their welcome, crowding us, knocking us out of our rhythm, filling me with impatience. Visitors with children were the worst: they expected you to babysit for them, as if you had nothing better to do, while they went visiting or having a good time. The children shat, wet themselves, crawled all over the place, and you were supposed to be responsible for their safety. And when departing, these parents would not even thank you or throw you a coin for pocket money.

As I slowly kneed my way down the tree, I wondered how many children this visitor had brought with her. Oh, the thought of those dreadful nappies soaking in the basin or flying in the sun!

By the time I arrived at Grandma’s the car had left. In the courtyard were two large suitcases and things in cardboard boxes. My heart sank deeper. This woman had indeed come to stay, to disorganize our program, to boss us. Again! It was Aunt Nakatu, Serenity’s second sister. She was a short, dark woman with deep curves on a compact body which bespoke great energy. She had a soft, melodious voice more suited for singing than giving orders, which was possibly the reason why she had to repeat things twice or more before her orders were obeyed. She was the only daughter of the house who had married in church. She looked more impressive in the wedding picture, the masses of bridal tulle and the three-meter bridal train giving her the air of compressed royalty. Her husband was a very tall man, whom I imagined bending over to tell her something if he was not to shout. As I stood in front of this short, fattish person, mouthing the obligatory words of welcome, I tried to work out how things were going to be for the duration of her stay. Joy of joys, she had not brought any children with her for me to mind and to keep from eating caterpillars, millipedes and earthworms.

Grandpa was away on a visit. The news he got on his return made him sad: Nakatu had run away and had no intention of returning to her husband’s house. He was fond of Nakatu’s husband, a bond of loyalty linked to the new Raleigh bicycle this son-in-law had given him before wedding his daughter. It was the same bicycle Grandpa rode around on now. The news made Grandpa look away in the trees, as if worried that his son-in-law was going to appear and demand the bicycle back.

Grandpa sent me away, but I doubled back as usual. Nakatu had left her husband after almost ten years of marriage. Grandpa was annoyed by her refusal to go back. As a compromise, he offered to invite the man over in order to hear both sides of the story, but Nakatu replied that even if he were to invite the pope, she would not change her mind. She insisted that her husband’s concubine had tried to kill her. “It began with nightmares. As soon as I closed my eyes, I would dream of lions closing in on me and tearing me apart. I started sleeping with the light on because then the nightmares relented a bit. I consulted a seer, and I was told that it was a concubine who wanted to drive me out of the house. When she realized that I was not leaving, she got someone to try to run me over.”

“There are too many drunks and freaks with cars.”

“I got stomach infections and migraines which disappeared as soon as I left the house and slept elsewhere but returned as soon as I was back. The woman wants me out of the house, and now she can have it.”

“Does she have a child with him?” Grandpa asked.

“Not that I know of, but I guess he would not bring children home with all those illnesses plaguing me.”

This vague answer did not sit too well with Grandpa. In his experience, it was usually concubines with children who mounted campaigns of terror in order to get recognition for their children and equal treatment for themselves. Kawayida’s mother had tried the same tricks. Her plan had been to become the official wife after the death of Serenity’s mother. Grandpa had never had any intention of installing her as such, but her son was recognized and welcomed into the family. My guess was that, despite having a son with her, Grandpa was ashamed of her two buckteeth.

“Isn’t it strange that a childless woman is driving you out of your house and your marriage?”

“Such behavior is not exclusive to women with children. Maybe she wants to have the children when she enters the house,” Grandma said. Saddled with amenorrhea and barrenness, Grandma’s marriage had been wrecked by a young girl who took over and produced six children with her husband. It was this piece of real-life experience that shut Grandpa up. He grumbled unintelligibly and later said, “All my daughters are marital failures.”

It was another way of saying that Padlock had been right. It was she who had said that Serenity’s family was full of marital failures. Normally, Grandpa would not have cared a hoot about such an observation, but his daughter-in-law was not a woman to be ignored. He had tried to block her entry into his son’s house and failed. Her observation hurt now because she was still his son’s wife and she showed no signs of leaving. Grandpa did not like her much: she was too strong-willed. What he admired about her, on the other hand, was her sense of commitment, a quality he felt Nakatu could do with.

Grandpa’s worries were far from over. Nakatu left only two days after her arrival. She went off to visit her sister, Tiida. I was ecstatic. Grandma and Grandpa were mystified.

A month later, she was back, a brand-new marriage proposal in her bag. She had met and fallen in love with Hajj Ali, a former schoolmate ten years older than she. It was unclear whether she had always had him on her mind or whether he was a new phenomenon, but seeing her glowing face left no doubt that Nakatu wanted to marry this former football player who had transferred his competitive skills to the field of trade. Grandpa had so far sent two letters to Nakatu’s husband without getting any reply. He was worried that there might be a clash between the two men in his house, which would do nothing to enhance his reputation. He wanted to avoid any unfairness. But then why was Nakatu’s husband not coming to state his case? Grandpa did not dwell too much on that. He had a more pressing problem: he felt that he had to quell the fires of the latest Muslim invasion.

“This has gone too far. It has got to stop,” he bellowed. “Look what happened to Tiida’s husband: the ulcers and those filthy things left in his garden! Why do you women never learn? You looked around and thought your sister was getting something special, and so you decided to get a share too?”

“Sir, it was you who began the invasion, if I may use the word. Kawayida’s mother is our mother too, and she is a Muslim. I can assure you that Tiida and her husband are happy. Shared suffering has brought them closer to each other. The madwoman who deposited dog heads in their garden confessed and withdrew claims to their land. Ssali is a better human being now. He is not the arrogant imp he was before.”