In Tune With My People

A short story

I happened by in search of booze. There was a fire burning in the middle. A small crowd gathered around it. Periodically someone threw in a piece of wood to keep the fire going. They danced and  drunk as they chatted.  In the background, drums beat. A marimba accompanied the beat. Whispering kayamba rattles joined a chorus of voices. The soloist rose high above the instruments. His words were clear and strong. A cacophony of voices joined where he paused. There were the deep voices rammed in by intoxicated men. The women sang with mostly clear voice. You could not miss out the tipsy among them though. They dragged the words somewhat or cut in with a cheeky laugh. The soloist and the percussionists went on undeterred.

The musicians were all traditional healers and seers. The man of the night sat quietly among them. He was draped in red and white. He wore kademu ka ngundu, the red cloth wrapped around the waist in ceremonial occasions. The white cloth was rolled into a scarf. He tucked it neatly across his chest and belly like a sash. There were amulets ringed around his biceps. A single beaded chained graced his neck. He looked distant or even slightly dazed. He gazed nonchalantly at the happenings around. This was not my crowd.

“Yesse, Yesse,” someone called.

I recognised the voice instantly. It was Bahati from my local shebeen.

“Wala hujapotea. You are not lost- The Hague is here today” she spoke animatedly.

She led me to a spot a little away from the music. There was a small circle of revellers around her hurriedly set up Mangwe. She had gathered three coconut logs in a rectangular shape. There was a small stool upon which a dimming oil lamp stood. Her collection of palm wine containers was arranged in a neat row just behind the stool. I could pick out more than a handful of familiar faces. There was Jengo the plumber, Amani the wine-tapper, Safari the port clerk and Mr Masha the schoolteacher. These were regulars at The Hague- our favourite drinking den or mangwe. When I stopped by after work there was no one to explain the closure. I only followed the drum beat guessing there was a wake in honour of someone deceased. There would be palm wine to go with the wake.

Usually the first few goblets of palm wine just flow down my tongue.  This night Bahati had sold out her best wine. What she had was mostly unblended kilalo. That is bitter wine more than two days old. It was perfect for the slow, thoughtful drinker. Usually, the older man with a less sensitive tongue will enjoy his bottle of kilalo. For me, it was a case of getting the tongue to adjust. I pulled gently on the straw letting the wine sit long in mouth before swallowing. It was the smallest of sips that I drew in at a time. To dull off the bitterness on my tongue, I listened to the music.

The rhythm came if you listened to the merriment in the voices. Otherwise, the percussion and the singing were not always in harmony. Sometimes the singers were too fast or too slow. Sometimes the kayamba was not in tune with the drumming. Many times the rattle players played their own rhythm. It was the marimba player and the drummers who were always in tune. The soloist followed their every beat.

The go-go-di-go of the light drums followed the boom-boom-vrooom-boom of the heavy drum. The vrooom came when the wetted hands of the drummer rubbed the hot drum. It reverberated across the night only to join with the rhythm of the marimba. The marimba player chose his beat to lilt in between the heavy drum and the light ones. I was swaying silently as I sat on the rough log.

I lost interest in the happenings around the mangwe. Even Bahati’s small talk could not draw me in. The singing just melted into the night and straight into my heart. The bitter kilalo was flowing easily on my palate. I had only to line my bottle at Bahati’s feet for a refill to come my way. I was sitting right next to her because she was my girlfriend. When I swayed our bodies rubbed. Yet I did not feel her beside me.

 I felt the rhythm of the music ring right inside me. I could hear the voice of my people reach out to the gods. They implored the spirits to take possession of the good man before them. They begged the spirit of healing to take control of the man. They asked that he be filled with knowledge and wisdom. They said he was the healer the people needed.

Occasionally someone from the mangwe ran up to the musicians to check if the man was dancing.  If he rose up to dance then the spirits would flow into him and he would become a seer. Every time the revellers came back disappointed that Charo, the man from Ganda had not yet danced. His journey to the seers and healers of Rabai was yet to bear fruit. To draw the spirits closer and keep the night alive, the villagers sang and drank. I was to leave once I had my fill of wine. It did not happen.

When I stood to go something drew me to the centre of the dancing circle. I leapt high and turned in the air like a warrior. I was flailing my hands about. I did not sing- I roared. I threw off my shirt and rocked my body. Someone wrapped a khanga around my waist. I gyrated wildly to the drum beat. I was sweating profusely. They poured water on my back.

‘Hai! Hai! The crowd roared.

They were saying yes to the spirit. I heard and danced some more. I could not stop. I could feel my head get lighter and lighter but did not care what happened. I slumped and slid into unconsciousness. When I came to I was safely in bed at home. There were a few concerned faces around me. My mother was wiping my face with a wet towel.

“Yesse, have you become a seer?” She asked abruptly.

It took me a while to understand.

“No. Why?”

“They say the spirit flowed into you”

“Well, I don’t think so.”

“Did you know that your great grandfather was a seer?”

“No.”

“These things follow in the family, you know”

“I cannot be a seer, Mother. I am a teacher.”

“After what happened last night you might have to become a teacher and a seer.”

It was Saturday morning. I did not have to go anywhere. The makings of a slight headache could already be felt. I asked for some water. I gulped it down quickly. Not wanting to answer too many questions, I turned and drifted back into sleep.