Chapter Four
Bantu cleared his throat and began. “My name is Bantu Akwalk Alsheer, son of Minwa Sheeway Alsheer, and Kwame Bantu Alsheer. I was raised in the city of Fort Portal in Uganda, but I was born in Nairobi, Kenya. I am my parents’ youngest son, the fourth child of five. My grandparents on my father’s side were the High Priest and Priestess of the Kamju tribe of Nairobi, a gift they bestowed upon my father when he came of age.”
“My God, you’re a member of the tribe!” Mr. Haynes said, jumping up. “You’re our proof!”
“The Kamju of Nairobi?” Mrs. Haynes spoke up in alarm. “Why did the foundation send us to Uganda to look for a tribe that’s in Kenya?”
“You see!” I said, looking at Bantu for an explanation. He just stared down at the dirt and kept talking. I wrote down everything he said. He explained that his grandmother, Minwa’s mother, had led a revolt against the Kamju tribe and been exiled.
“The revolters questioned my father’s family’s judgments and his interpretation of the sacred religious doctrine. I was very young then. Most of this I know from my sisters. Those who tried to leave with my grandmother were hunted down, and treated like animals if they were caught. It was then…” Bantu’s hands shook as he drank from the water bottle. “…It was then that my brother was lost.”
“I’m sorry, Bantu,” Chris spoke up.
Bantu looked at him and gave a sad smile. In the spotlight I could see tears in Bantu's eyes, but they didn't fall. "The Kamju tribe no longer exists. When my father became the head priest, his power-hungry nature led him to conquer other tribes until the special gifts bestowed by the spirits on the tribesmen and women were diluted by their intermixing, or revoked by the higher powers. Still, their curses haunt this land."
“I don’t understand,” my mom said. “If the Kamju in Kenya has broken up, why are we here in Uganda?”
“How come this land is cursed?” Teddy said. “Isn’t Kenya way over there?” he said, pointing straight ahead, like it was inside the tent.
“The revolters traveled a tremendous distance to try to outrun the curses and attacks of the Kamju. But if the Zolani do exist, it is within this area. It was a long, terrible journey from Nairobi to Uganda, in which many were lost. And the Kamju cursed their trail.”
“Who are the Zolani?!” all four of the adults asked at once.
Bantu wiped his head, beaded with sweat. “The Zolani was the name the revolters gave themselves. If they are here, they are the only remaining true-blood Kamju.”
“Hang on,” my dad said. “You mean we’re not looking for the Kamju tribe after all?”
“No,” Bantu said. “The Kamju are gone. We are looking for the revolters, the Zolani, the only remaining true-bloods, if they still exist.”
“But you’re a true-blood,” Chris said. He looked at our parents. “Isn’t that enough proof to win the FISH award?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Haynes frowned. “The foundation must have known all this already. Didn’t they, Bantu?”
"Yes," he admitted. "It is true. I have told them my story. I am not sure they believe me, but they have sent me to help you anyway. I am their only hope of finding the Zolani."
“Goodness,” my mom said quietly. “This is quite a change of direction.”
“Why didn’t the foundation tell us any of this?” I demanded.
Bantu looked at me. “Perhaps they thought it would be too unusual for your parents to believe.”
“That’s enough for now,” Mrs. Haynes said, turning off the camera. “I know that couldn’t have been easy, Bantu. Let’s call it a night.”
Bantu walked over to a far corner of the campsite to be by himself while the adults started unhooking all the AV equipment.
“Bantu’s story is amazing,” Charlotte said. I finally put down my pen. “I guess,” I said, trying not to sound impressed. “If what he’s saying is true.”
“I knew we were gonna be cursed,” Teddy said, diving into the tent.
“I like Bantu, but I don’t believe in curses,” Chris said in his little-professor voice. “I think Bantu has simply lost the distinction between dreams and reality.”
“We heard you the first time. You’re repeating yourself, weirdo,” Charlotte said.
“You’re such a prima donna,” Chris said.
Charlotte stood up, a whole head taller than him. “I could kick you from here to Nairobi and not even pull a muscle!”
“Hey now,” I said. That was my little brother, after all.
Mrs. Haynes yanked Charlotte away by her yellow hood.
“Cursed! Cursed!” I heard Teddy say from inside the tent.
I sighed, and put away my journal.
Later that night, while we were in the tent trying to fall asleep, I heard Teddy talking to Chris.
“Do you really think this place is cursed?” Teddy said for the hundredth time.
“I think Bantu has simply lost the distinction between dreams and reality,” Chris yawned.
“Huh?” Teddy said.
“No, I don’t think anything is cursed,” Chris said. “There’s always another explanation.”
“I guess,” Teddy said doubtfully.
As I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag, I couldn't decide who made more sense—Chris, by saying this could all be explained, or Teddy, who thought the curse was real. As everybody else fell asleep, I stayed awake, thinking about all of the things Bantu had said, and wondering what to believe. I lay there watching shadows from outside move across the side of the tent.
At first, I didn't really pay any attention to the shadows, until I noticed one that looked like it was actually walking, but I didn't hear any footsteps. I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I was just tired from all the traveling, but the noiseless walking shadow didn't disappear. I looked around to see if one of the adults had slipped out of the tent, but every sleeping bag was full. That's when the loud laughter began. It didn't sound happy. It sounded sick, and it wasn't coming from inside the tent.
Chapter Five
Slowly, I inched my way towards the front of the tent and moved the flap slightly. Peeking outside, I saw the most horrific sight: a gigantic, gray figure covered in skin as rough as wet leather was circling the tent on feet as light as air. He had the body of a human except twice as tall, with huge muscles rippling from his neck to his feet. He wore a warrior's shield and chest plate with just a loin cloth on his bottom half. In his enormous hands was a large sword with rubies embedded in the handle. Worst of all was his face. It looked like a warthog: big, widely-spaced eyes on either side of a scruffy pig snout. Turned up horns poked up from his bottom lip, which was curled into a menacing sneer, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. When I saw it, I almost screamed.
The few sprigs of hair on his head had been woven into a braid that stopped at the nape of his neck. He turned his head left and right, as if he were searching for something.
Panicked, I reached to my right and tried to wake up Charlotte, but she wouldn't budge. I went for Chris. "Chris," I whispered. "Chris! Wake up!" As I kept trying to get his attention, an eerie green light floated from one tent wall to the other, as if the thing, whatever it was, was walking around, trying to find the entrance. Terrified, I looked around. There were two flaps for coming in or going out. Kicking my way out of my sleeping bag, I crab-walked towards the flap farthest from the light. In my hurry, I accidentally stepped on my dad's arm.
“Ow! Nadia, are you okay? What’s going on?” he said, sitting up.
“Dad, there’s something out there,” I said, trying to hide behind him.
"Of course there's something out there," he said casually. "We're camping. There's no telling what's out there." He yawned.
"No, I mean someone, I heard laughing and saw someone outside the tent. We have to get out of here; we have to leave now!" I screamed, crawling over my mom to get to the flap.
By that time, my screams had woken everyone up, and they were just as terrified as I was. Everyone excep
t Bantu, who was sitting quietly with his hands folded, murmuring something softly under his breath. Everybody clambered out the tent to see what I was so worked up about, but there was nothing there. The thing was gone, just like that.
After I explained what I'd seen, everyone took turns reassuring me that it was the wind, or that I was dreaming, or that it was my imagination. All except Teddy, who was hiding in his sleeping bag and wouldn't come out. None of it made me feel better. Since no one else had seen or heard what I had, no one took me seriously.
"I can't believe you all!" I said, wiping tears from my eyes. Feeling betrayed by my friends and family, I crawled out of the tent.
"Oh come on, Nadia, you have to admit that it does sound like a dream," my dad called after me.
"Aren't you afraid that whatever was out there will get you?" Charlotte said.
“I’ll take my chances. It’s better than being made fun of,” I said closing the flap behind me.
Sitting with my back facing the tent, I heard someone come out. "Are you sure you should be sitting out here alone?" Bantu asked, with a blanket draped over his arm.
He was the last person I wanted to talk to.
"I'll be fine," I said trying not to sound pitiful.
Sitting beside me, he said, “You don’t have to feel embarrassed that you were afraid. I know what it’s like to have fear take over you.”
“What do you know about fear?” I asked, shivering. I wasn’t sure if I was being sarcastic, or if I really wanted to know.
Bantu draped a blanket over my shoulders. “Fear is a part of life, and everyone must feel it at some point.”
We sat under the night sky in silence. I looked up at the stars, twinkling peacefully.
“Nadia, I know you are telling the truth about what you saw,” he said.
“You believe me?” I said in surprise.
Bantu looked at the ground and spoke quietly. “Yes. What you saw was certainly real.”
I was relieved I wasn’t crazy, but terrified, too. Part of me wanted it to be a dream. I didn’t want to think something so horrible could exist, and right at our campsite! “What was it?” I whispered.
“It is called a Guardian Soul. The Kamju would often release them during times of war to help fight off attacks from their enemies. In this instance, my grandfather sent them many years ago to watch for the revolters, who passed through this land during their escape.”
I looked around, expecting one to suddenly jump out from behind the tent. “Can they kill you?” I said, remembering the sword.
“You will be safe,” he said. “It is only the revolters they hunt. It is very sad. They were once beautiful, like angels,” he said. “They would circle our territory, barefoot in ivory robes that shone like opals. They protected the tribe from harm. But the tribe’s warriors persuaded the High Priest to use his powers to change their nature. He made them into ugly, terrible creatures meant to kill instead of protect.” Bantu shivered, either from cold or fear. “I will not ever forget the first time I saw the distorted Guardian Souls. I had nightmares for many weeks.”
Hearing his fancy British accent and looking at his strange cap, I found it pretty hard to believe he was born into a magical long-lost tribe in the mountains of Kenya.
“How old were you when all of this happened?” I said suspiciously.
"I was six years old when the revolt happened in Nairobi. Some of it I remember, but much of it has been told to me by my sisters. The warriors of the tribe became so spiritually corrupt through their vicious attacks on other tribes, that they began mistreating their own tribesmen, the very people they were supposed to protect. They were breaking into their homes and stealing their possessions as payment for their so-called protection," he said bitterly.
“Is that when everyone revolted?” I said.
Bantu shook his head. “Not everyone. Many of them were afraid to speak up. They thought that if they protested, things would only get worse. They tolerated many injustices out of fear. But my grandmother—my mother’s mother—felt that something had to be done, and rallied together a group of dissenters. Everything the warriors were doing went against our sacred spiritual doctrine. Stealing or looting of any kind was punishable. The Priest and the Priestess turned a blind eye.”
“And those were your grandparents?” I said.
“Yes,” Bantu answered. “They said that it wasn’t their concern, since the warriors weren’t stealing from them.”
“That’s not fair. Why didn’t someone stand up to them?” I asked.
“Someone did.” A sad look came over his face. “My grandmother stood her ground and decided that if the High Courts wouldn’t do something about it, then she and the rest of the dissenters would just abandon the tribe. My grandmother held a secret meeting for the tribe members who were brave enough to come. They made plans to leave, using a trail headed northwest towards Uganda. But things went horribly wrong."
Bantu paused and took a deep breath. I could feel my own heart beating fast in my ears.
"There was a spy in the group," he said. "That spy told the High Priest and the warriors what my grandmother was planning, and when."
“What happened then?”
“The night the revolters planned to leave, the warriors were waiting along the trail, ready to ambush them. Once the revolters made it to the trail, many of them were caught and tried as traitors. The priest sent out Guardian Souls to attack any traitor who hadn’t been caught. When the revolters saw the Guardian Souls coming, they panicked. It must have been very hard to see what was happening in the dark. There were so many people running in every direction. I have very few memories of that night, but I do remember watching from my window as people were taken down mercilessly by the Guardian Souls.”
“Did everyone get caught the night of the revolt?” I asked.
“No, some made it out. My grandmother was one of them.”
“How?” I asked, surprised.
“The warriors were carrying torches to see better in the darkness. One of the revolters overpowered one of the younger warriors and took his torch. He ran back through the village, setting fire to many of the houses. He knew that the warriors would have to leave the trail to put the fire out and protect their own homes.”
“But didn’t innocent people get hurt when he did that?” I said.
“Many people lost their lives,” Bantu said. “Once the fire had been started, the rogues were able to continue their escape.”
“Did everyone make it to Uganda?”
Bantu looked at the ground. “That’s not likely.”
“It’s just awful,” I said, pulling my knees in and wrapping my arms around them. All the doubts I’d had about Bantu were gradually disappearing as he told me the real version of what happened when then Kamju and Zolani tribes split apart.
“That wasn’t the only awful part for me,” Bantu said. “In the midst of all the chaos, my brother was lost.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. “Was he lost in the fire?”
"No. My brother was among the people on the trail. He left the house after our mother had told him to stay, and followed my grandmother. I ran after him, calling and calling his name. He turned around and put his finger up to his lips as if to say, Be quiet, and that was the last time I saw him. That’s all I remember before my mother pulled me back into the house.”
“He just left?” I said, shocked.
Bantu nodded. “For weeks my mother looked and looked for my brother, but she couldn’t find him. My father assumed that my brother saw the revolt as his chance to leave. He and my father didn’t get along. Despite all of that, my mother stayed in the tribe because of my father’s position as heir to the High Priest. He was her husband, and it was written in the law that she obey him.”
"Written in the law?" I said, mouth open. I knew in the past that society told women they weren't as good as men and that sometimes those things still happened, but I'd never heard of it being actually written into
law. I thought Mrs. Haynes would've been in pretty big trouble if she’d grown up in the Kamju tribe.
Bantu said, "My mother never spoke out against him. That would have been treason, punishable by banishment or death. But secretly she searched for my brother whenever my father was gone. She would come home dirty with her clothes torn, and all of her chores undone. Everyone knew where she really went for all those hours. When her search for my brother ended without success, she fell into a deep depression. She stopped eating and taking care of my sisters and me. We were left to take care of ourselves. Basically, we were alone. My father was not interested in us since he'd lost his heir, and spent more and more time with his father in preparation to take his position as High Priest. Right before the initiation ceremony, my grandfather told my father that my mother was unfit to become High Priestess and that my father needed to find a suitable replacement."
“You mean that he had to find another wife?” I asked.
“That’s right,” Bantu said.
I could hardly believe any of it. Find another wife, just because she went searching for her son? I thought about my parents and my life in Virginia, and suddenly I really did feel worlds away.
“My grandfather chose another woman from the tribe, his best friend’s daughter, and she and my father got married. Everyone in the tribe was required to be at the ceremony. My mother’s honor was completely disgraced after being left by her husband.”
“So how did she end up at the restaurant?” I kept trying to make the connection between the woman I’d seen in Fort Portal hours earlier, and the mother that Bantu was describing.
“After my father remarried, my grandmother came back for us. While my grandmother was away, making the dangerous journey to Uganda with the surviving revolters, she sensed that we were in danger. She could not rest. My grandmother had what we call the gift of dreams. She could sense the distress of others, particularly loved ones, in her sleep. Because her dreams were telling her that we were in trouble, she started backward on the trail she on which she'd traveled so far. Finally, one day she snuck back into our village and rescued my mother, my sisters, and me. My grandmother wanted us to come with her on the trail and catch up with the rest of the breakaway tribe, who by then had begun calling themselves the Zolani. But all the others were far ahead, and my mother did not want any part of it. She wished to forget all about her life with the Kamju and everyone associated with it, including my brother. Despite being rescued from the village, she still could not pull herself out of her depression. She decided to use the little money she had and bring us to Fort Portal. To the city. To modern life."
Nadia Knox and the Eye of Zinnia Page 4
