Tuaekua Ehi shakes her head. “I can’t race anymore,” she says.
“Why not?” Ramata asks.
“That’s for children. I’m no longer a child.”
That night, all the family gathers at the holy fire. Tate tells the ancestors Tuaekua Ehi has become a woman.
A few days later, Tuaekua Ehi comes to visit Mama and me to tell us she’s getting married. She’s been promised for many years. Now she’s a woman, so the day of her marriage has been set. The whole village is excited. I’m happy, but I’m also sad. When Tuaekua Ehi gets married, she will move to the village of Vijanda, her husband.
“You will still get to see her,” Mama tells me.
“Not every day,” I say. Vijanda lives in Tjikuu’s village. He is a cousin from Mama’s clan.
At last, the day is here. Vijanda’s family comes to our village. They build small huts of branches behind Tuaekua Ehi’s house. That’s where they’ll stay until the marriage is done. Uncle Kozondanda gives Vijanda’s family a cow to kill for food.
Just before the sun sleeps, both families meet at the kraal for okuhitisa ongombe, the ceremony of take cow in kraal. Strange cows are in the kraal; they belong to Vijanda’s family.
Tuaekua Ehi is led to the kraal. Her head is covered with a goat skin so she can’t see. One at a time, young men lift her covering and say mean things about her. Everyone laughs.
“That’s the biggest nose I’ve seen until now,” one of the men says as he lifts the veil.
“That’s not funny,” I whisper to Mama. “And it’s not true. Tuaekua Ehi doesn’t have a big nose.”
Mama smiles. “Those men are Vijanda’s age mates. They must protect Tuaekua Ehi,” she says. “They insult her so she will know who to go to if she needs help.”
“Why would she want help from someone who says mean things about her?” I ask.
“They are only saying those things so she will remember who they are. A woman never forgets the face of a man who insults her,” Mama says.
After the last age mate has his say, the goat skin is lowered once again so Tuaekua Ehi can’t see. She is led into the kraal and told to gently hit one of the cows. We all laugh as she stumbles and feels her way toward the cows. They call out softly and back away from her. Finally, she touches a cow – the red one with a stripe on its face. That cow now belongs to her.
When the sun wakes the next morning, the families come together again. Oruramua, the meat from cow’s mouth, is taken to Vijanda. He kisses it. It is then given to Tuaekua Ehi for her to kiss. “Why do they do that?” I ask Mama.
“It shows that they are now tied together as husband and wife,” she says.
After oruramua, Mama makes Karemarama and me rest. “But I’m not sleepy,” I tell her.
“We will have lots of singing and dancing later,” she says. “You need to rest.”
I lie down, but I don’t sleep. I’m too excited. This is the first marriage I remember.
In the afternoon, we all meet at the house of Uncle Kozondanda. He gives orunde to Vijanda’s family. They give him the same piece of meat from one of their cows. Vijanda’s clan sits on the ground on one side; our clan sits on the other. Each clan chooses its best singers and dancers. They try to outdo each other. All afternoon and long after the sun sleeps, they sing traditional outjina and dance omuhiva. I think my clan is the best. Then I remember Vijanda is a cousin, too. Both sides are my family. I watch Uapiruka dance for Vijanda’s family. He is very good. He sees me watching and smiles. I clap and cheer. He is the best dancer, I think. Soon, we are all singing and dancing and laughing together. Until now, I have never had so much fun.
I am tired when the party is over. But I have trouble going to sleep. My feet hurt from dancing and I keep thinking about Uapiruka smiling at me.
Before the sun wakes the next morning, Tate calls the village to the holy fire.
“It is time to tell Tuaekua Ehi goodbye,” Mama says as she makes me get up.
I stumble sleepily into the morning twilight and take my place at the fire. Vijanda’s clan is told to take their wife. Elders from both families give Vijanda and Tuaekua Ehi advice on being a good husband and wife. Tate tells them to find balance in their lives. “But if you can’t find peace, come get me,” he says. Both families laugh.
Tate turns to the holy fire to tell the ancestors that Tuaekua Ehi is married and is leaving her family. “Do not look for her here anymore,” he says. “She is going to the village of Vijanda.” He names Vijanda’s ancestors so our ancestors know where to find her.
Tuaekua Ehi hugs me before she leaves with Vijanda’s family. “Come see me soon, little cousin,” she tells me. “I will miss you.”
I’m quiet. I don’t want her to leave. I go into the house so I don’t see her walk away from the village.
Mama finds me there later. “What’s wrong, Jahohora?” she asks.
“I miss Tuaekua Ehi.”
Mama laughs. “She’s only been gone a little bit.”
“What do you think she’s doing?” I ask.
“It’s almost time for the ondjova.”
“What is that?”
“It’s when Tuaekua Ehi is introduced to Vijanda’s ancestors at his family’s holy fire. She will eat sheep meat with Vijanda. And when they’re done, they’ll bury what’s left in a secret place.”
I wrinkle my face. “Why do they do that?”
“If any animals eat what’s left, Tuaekua Ehi or Vijanda might die.”
I look at Mama to see if she’s teasing. There’s no smile on her face. “I hope they bury it deep in the ground. I don’t want bad to come to Tuaekua Ehi,” I say.
TJIKUU
Karemarama and I stay with Tjikuu while Tate and Mama arrange a marriage for Ramata. Tate has already gone to the girl’s family. But now Mama must join him to settle it.
“Will Ramata have one wife?” I ask as I help Tjikuu gather wild berries.
Tjikuu sighs. “One is enough for now. A man with many wives and children must have many cattle. After the sickness, Herero cattle are few. It is hard to have more than one wife today.”
“One wife is good,” I say. “Mama is Tate’s only wife.”
“Your tate is a healer. He likes peace.” Tjikuu chuckles as she moves to the next bush. “When I was a girl, most Herero men had several wives and lots of children. Then the Missionary came. He said it is evil to have more than one wife. So the Herero who followed Missionary had to choose one wife to stay with. They left their other wives with no husband and no father for their children.”
Tjikuu shakes her head as she continues picking berries. “I don’t understand white people. The German farmers and soldiers have one wife, but they take many women. Then they leave those women when their bellies get big with babies and go back to their wives. That is evil.”
We pick berries in silence. My thoughts run in many paths – from the strangeness of white people to my future marriage. “Tjikuu, when will Tate and Mama arrange my marriage?” I ask.
“It won’t be long,” she says. “But they have to wait for a boy’s family to come to them.”
“I hope he’s nice and that I’ll be his only wife.”
Tjikuu shrugs. “You will do all right. After all, you come from the big house of Omukuatjivi, your father is an important healer, and you are his only daughter.”
As we take berries back to Tjikuu’s house, she softly sings an old song: “When you get in trouble where you are, go to the eagle.” Tjikuu often sings this song when she’s working.
“Tjikuu, what does that mean?” I ask. “How can an eagle help me?”
She stops singing and laughs. “The eagle is your mother, your aunt, your girl cousins – the eagle is any woman. Maybe even a white woman. When you have trouble, go to another woman. She will understand. And she can help you.”
“Why shouldn’t I go to a man?” I ask. I think of Tate and his wisdom.
I can’t read Tjikuu’s face as she looks deep into my eyes
. She shrugs. “Men will always be men.”
When we get back to Tjikuu’s village, I go to see Tuaekua Ehi. Her belly is big. I smile at her shyly.
She pats her belly and smiles back. “I missed you, Jahohora,” she says. “How is your family?”
I tell her Tate and Mama are arranging Ramata’s marriage.
“Have they made a match for you yet?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“I’m surprised,” she says. “Your mama’s brothers have lots of sons.”
I swallow. Until today, I hadn’t thought about my marriage. “Do you like being a wife?” I ask Tuaekua Ehi.
She shrugs. “We are women. We get married so men have a place to live and we have a father for our children.” We both laugh. It’s an old joke.
“Vijanda is a good husband. And he will be a good father.” Tuaekua Ehi pauses. “I do miss my parents. And I miss playing with you.” She looks down at her belly. “But I will have my own child to play with soon.”
That night, I sit outside Tjikuu’s house and look up at the sky. The stars shine like many cow eyes in firelight. As I gaze deep into the sky, I see the colors of the stars – white, yellow, red, and blue – all blazing against the blackness. I jump up and stretch my arms out, trying to reach the stars. I laugh at myself and sit down again.
Tjikuu joins me. She looks up at the stars and frowns. “The rains will be late.”
“How can you tell?” I ask.
She points up at a bright red star. “See where that firespot is? That means the rains will come late. If it were over there,” she points again, “it would mean the rains won’t come at all.”
We sit silently, looking at the stars. I move closer to her. “Tjikuu, where does the sky begin?” I ask.
“The sky is like life,” she says. “There is no beginning or end. It is.” She hums quietly.
“It makes me feel small,” I say after awhile.
She chuckles. “When you look at the sky and the veld, we are small. But we are all part of the circle of life. Yesterday, these stars,” she points to the brightest lights in the sky, “all shone down on the ancestors. Now they’re shining on us. Tomorrow, they will shine on your children.”
* * * * *
Karemarama wakes me early the next morning. He wants to play. I go outside with him. “Race you,” he says, running toward the veld.
“That’s not fair,” I call after him. “You cheat – just like Ramata!” I run after him and quickly pass him. He may have long legs, but they’re not as long as mine.
“Jahohora!” I turn to see who’s calling my name.
It’s Uapiruka. I slow down so he can catch up. “I heard you were visiting Tjikuu,” he says.
“Yes. Mama and Tate are arranging Ramata’s marriage.” I laugh shyly. I’ve never been shy around Uapiruka before.
“I know. Mama’s been talking about my marriage.”
“Has it already been arranged?” I don’t like the thought of Uapiruka getting married.
“No. But I heard Mama telling Tate that it’s time to settle it,” he says.
We walk back toward the village. Karemarama throws a rock ahead of us and then runs to pick it up. He tosses it again.
“And you?” Uapiruka asks me. “Have you been promised?”
“Not yet.”
Uapiruka smiles at me. “What if they arrange for us to marry?”
I feel warm inside. I want to say I’d like that. Instead, I run toward Tjikuu’s house. “I’ll beat you,” I call over my shoulder.
Uapiruka laughs as he runs after me.
The next day, Mama comes to Tjikuu’s house. “It’s settled,” she says. “Ramata will marry Ngambui when she’s old enough.”
Tjikuu smiles and nods her head. “It’s a good match.”
“Ngambui? She’s younger than me,” I say. Ngambui is the daughter of Tate’s oldest sister.
“Yes,” Mama says, “but she will be a good wife for Ramata.”
“Where’s Tate?” Karemarama asks.
“He had to go see the chief after we arranged the marriage,” Mama says. She sighs. Tate has become an important adviser to the chief so he’s gone a lot. Mama’s proud of Tate. But she misses him when he’s not home. Life is out of balance when he’s gone, she says.
Everyone respects Tate now. Even the white people. They know Tate is a man of peace. And his words carry wisdom and healing.
As we leave Tjikuu’s village, I see Uapiruka walking with his father. I smile at him.
“Goodbye, Jahohora,” he calls to me. “See you soon. And you too, Karemarama.”
Uncle Horere looks at me. Then he turns to Mama. He asks about Tate.
“He’s with the chief,” she says.
“When will he be back?” Uncle asks.
“In a few weeks.”
Uncle nods.
THE GAME
I walk to the kraal with Mama. It’s time to milk the cows. Mama pushes me in the back. “Is your mama dead?” she asks. It’s her usual saying when I don’t stand tall.
I put my shoulders back and hold my head high. I notice I’m nearly as tall as Mama.
She sees, too. “You’ll be a woman soon,” she says. “Then someday you’ll have your own daughter.”
“And you’ll be a tjikuu,” I tease.
Mama smiles.
I stop teasing. “When Ramata gets married, where will he and Ngambui live?”
“They’ll make a house here – close to Tate and me,” she says.
“Will I get to live here, too?”
“You will go to your husband’s village. Like Tuaekua Ehi did when she married Vijanda. Like I did when I married your tate. And like Tjikuu did when she married Tjikuume.”
“But what if I want to stay here? Close to you and Tate?”
Mama pats my hand. “It’s the way of women,” she says. “They live with their husband’s clan.”
“That’s not fair,” I say. “I don’t want to get married if I have to leave you and Tate.”
“It will be different when you’re older,” she says. “Then you’ll be ready to have your own house.”
Tate comes home a few days later. He and Mama talk in low tones so I can’t hear their words. They both have worry on their faces all day. In the evening, Tate sits by the holy fire as the sun sinks toward its sleep. I see his mouth moving, but no words come out. I know he’s talking to the ancestors. He looks very tired.
Mama sees me watching him. “Jahohora,” she calls. “Come help me finish grinding the maize before it gets too dark to see.”
As we mash the maize between two big stones, Mama is quiet. Usually, she sings a praise song while we grind.
Tate is talking with his brothers by the fire when I go into the hut to sleep. Their shadows dance against the flames as they lean toward each other and gesture. I can hear their voices, but I can’t hear their words. They sound upset – as if they’re arguing. Their voices weave in and out of my thoughts as I doze off, mixing with my dreams.
I wake up when Tate comes in. He and Mama talk quietly. Again, I can’t hear most of the words. But I do hear enough to know the white people have done something. Since the white people live far from us, what they do doesn’t matter to me. I yawn and roll over on the herb-scented skin, finding sleep once more. This time, it’s a sleep without grownup whispers.
Mama is quiet the next day when we milk the cows. She has no songs, no stories, no smile. I ask her a question, but her ears are closed. Her bangles clang loudly in the silence.
“Uri naua?” I ask her.
Mama looks at me, but her eyes don’t see me.
“Mama, uri naua?” I ask again, a little louder.
Mama sighs. This time she sees me. She tries to smile. “I’m all right,” she says.
I can tell she’s not. I watch her move through the day as if she’s not there. I have never seen Mama like this. I don’t like it.
As the sun begins its goodbye to the day, Mama and I cook in silen
ce. Tate sits just as silently by the holy fire. I think he’s talking to the ancestors again. Suddenly, he laughs. It’s a strange sound. Tate hasn’t laughed for many days.
Mama looks over at him. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Look,” he says, pointing to the veld behind our house.
I look where he’s pointing, but I don’t see anything. Then something – or someone – moves toward our hut.
“I think we’re about to have visitors,” Tate says. He sounds more like himself.
I look again. Now I can make out a few people. “It’s a strange time to visit,” I mumble.
“That depends on why they’re coming,” Tate says. He gives Mama a funny smile. Because of Tate’s talk with the uncles and Mama, I think the visitors might be white men. But when the people stop close to the house, I see they are Herero. I recognize them. One is Uncle Horere. The others are older cousins and a few of the other uncles from Mama’s clan.
“Why did they stop behind our house? What are they waiting for?” I ask Mama.
“The sun,” she says.
I look toward the far-off mountains where the sun is sending out the last light of the day. Just as it is about to slip behind the mountains, Uncle and the men with him drop to the ground. Moving on their knees, they approach Tate.
“Let’s go inside,” Mama tells me. She smiles at Tate. She looks happy again.
I want to stay outside, but I follow Mama into the house. I’m surprised when she stands just inside. She motions for me to stand on the other side of the opening.
“What’s going on?” Karemarama asks. He’s been playing in the hut.
“Shhhh,” Mama tells him.
I peek outside. I listen hard to hear Tate’s words.
He greets the visitors. “What brings you here?” he asks.
“We came to ask for one of your female sheep so we can put it together with one of ours and they can live together,” Uncle Horere says, still kneeling.
“I hear you,” Tate says very seriously.
Mama covers her laughter.
“What are they talking about?” I whisper. “We don’t have sheep – only goats and cows.”
Mama Namibia: Based on True Events Page 4
