CHAPTER 10
“Every culture honors brave deeds. Some do this with tediously long and boring banquets that often serve to teach the recipient to avoid future honors. The Kikuyu hold ngomas.”
—The Traveler
JOTTING NOTES ON THE PREVIOUS EVENING’S events in her leather notebook helped Jade pass most of the lazy afternoon. Finally everyone, including Hascombe’s neighbor, Roger, gathered for an early dinner of wildebeest steaks and garden vegetables. Mr. Hascombe had sent a runner to him with the invitation not only to dinner but to the ngoma as well.
Roger Forster looked as young as Jade remembered him from the generator flume. His limpid blue eyes and upturned brows carried a confused puppy look. He stood in the doorway with his hands in his jodphur pockets and waited for an invitation to enter. All in all, he struck Jade as one pitiful young man. In fact, she mused, he hardly seemed capable of making his earlier cold comment on native deaths. Jade wondered if perhaps she had misheard him.
“Roger. About time you got here,” said Harry. “Don’t just stand there, man. Get in here and greet my guests.”
Roger removed his broad-brimmed felt hat and stepped softly into the living room. His sandy-brown hair flopped over his forehead from a crooked side part. “Hello,” he said and nodded to everyone. He noticed Jade and, for an instant, stared at her before he recollected himself and dropped his gaze to his dusty boots.
“Roger, you know Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. This young lady is Miss Jade del Cameron. She’s an American doing a story on the protectorate for some magazine.”
Jade extended her right hand and, after a brief hesitation, he shook it gently. “Very nice to meet you, Miss del Cameron,” Roger said. “You’ll pardon my earlier rude stare, but I believe I recognized you from the generator flume.” Jade nodded.
“Miss del Cameron is a crack shot, Rog,” said Harry. “She killed a hyena yesterday with a Winchester .38. Same weapon Roosevelt used when he came through here.”
“No,” corrected Roger before Jade could reply. “Mr. Roosevelt’s Winchester took a .406 caliber cartridge.”
“Exactly,” said Jade, impressed by his knowledge. “And I have a model 94, not a 95. But how did you know about President Roosevelt’s rifle?”
“As an aspiring safari leader, I’ve made a point to learn what others have successfully used. I read his account in African Game Trails. Most interesting.”
The dinner conversation tended towards safari talk. Harry suggested that Roger also lead her safari to Tsavo. Jade agreed and asked Madeline and Neville to come along. They discussed options and supplies until the time came to ride to the Kikuyu village. Roger rode up front with Mr. Hascombe. The Thompsons flanked Jade until the trail narrowed and they rode single file.
Jelani stood watch for their arrival and ran back into the village to announce them. He looked ghostly, and Jade initially thought he’d taken ill with an infection from the hyena scrape. Then she discovered he had covered himself in a pale, reddish chalk, as had the rest of the villagers. The chief greeted them and paid particular attention to Jade. Harry explained Lord Colridge’s absence, and everyone in their party was invited to sit on logs around an open flat area. A pile of wood had been laid in the center and several small fires were lit nearby.
One young maiden dressed in a traditional leather apron and a large quantity of copper and bead ornaments brought a banana leaf with roasted meat first to Jade and then to the others. Harry explained that the Kikuyu rarely ate meat except on ceremonial or celebratory occasions. Then a ram would be killed. Judging by the toughness of the meat, Jade decided they had killed the old nanny goat destined originally for the hyena.
A grizzled old man with piercing black eyes pointed a bony finger at Jade, and Jelani ran forward to fetch her. Jade went willingly and followed the old man into a dimly lit hut with the usual dirt floor and thatched roof that rustled from the resident lizards. He squatted down on the floor and with a hand motion bade her do the same. Jelani stood beside her.
“This man is the mundu-mugo,” Jelani explained. “He is a good sorcerer, not like the laibon, who is evil.”
Jade greeted him respectfully in Swahili, and the man grunted his acknowledgment. He set several long gourds in front of him, each plugged with a stopper made of an animal tail. Two small gourds hung from a leather cord around his scrawny neck. He removed them and set them beside him. Next he scooped out a small depression in the dirt and placed a banana leaf in it. Into the leaf went several finely ground powders out of the large gourds, a few drops of liquid from the small ones, and the coarse hair of some unnamed animal.
Jade longed to ask Jelani what the man was doing but didn’t dare break the reverent mood. Instead, she squatted patiently and watched as the sorcerer built a small boma of twigs around the banana leaf and muttered several incantations. Then he stirred the mixture into a thick paste and smeared a small amount on Jade’s hat, belt, and boots.
The paste smelled rancid with an acrid tinge, but Jade didn’t protest or flinch. Finally, the old man bundled the remainder of the paste in the banana leaf, secured it with a creeper vine, and handed it to her. He spoke at length in the Kikuyu language, nodding to her and to the bundle, as if explaining its power. Then he sat back and waited. Jade looked to Jelani for a translation.
“The mundu-mugo has protected you from the witch who will seek revenge for killing his animal. You must keep the paste with you at all times. He smeared it on your clothes instead of on you because he knows that white women would wash it off and forget to put it on again.”
“Jelani, please thank the mundu-mugo for me. Tell him that I will do as he says. I would like to ask him some questions, if I may.” She bowed respectfully to the old man, who nodded after Jelani finished. “Please ask the mundu-mugo how the witch can hurt me if his hyena is dead.”
Jelani winced. “Memsabu, the witch can do anything.”
“Then ask him who this witch is so I can stop him.”
Jelani posed the question to the old man, who shook his head and answered at length. Finally the ancient healer stopped and waved his bony hand for the boy to translate.
“Memsabu, he says an evil witch has many animals. The witch can become an animal if his heart is black enough. He does not know this witch, but he has seen something when his soul walks in his sleep.”
Jade looked inquiringly at the old man’s withered face and read pity in his eyes. He spoke again briefly, and Jelani gasped.
“Memsabu, he says he saw two witches. One was an old black lion who taught a man. He says he fears for you because the new witch is younger and very powerful.”
“Jelani, tell the mundu-mugo that I want to find out what happened to a white man at the start of the big war. He died in the hotel you work at. A hyena killed him there. I have heard that a young Kikuyu had been his friend there. He would be a young warrior now.”
The old healer spoke a few words to Jelani, who left the hut and returned shortly with a youth of about fifteen years of age. The mundu-mugo spoke to the youth briefly and nodded to Jade. The young man related his tale to her in a mix of English and Swahili, while Jelani knelt near the old man and whispered a translation in his ear.
“I am called Wachiru. I knew this Bwana Gil that you ask of. He gave me a paper box to take to the Englishman’s post. He said to send it away across the ocean so it would be safe. Bwana Gil was worried about it.”
“Do you know why he was worried?” asked Jade.
The youth shrugged and then thought a moment. “Evil things?” he suggested. “I sent this box away and I came back to his room to give the rest of his money to Bwana Gil, but I heard strange noises in his room. It sounded like a man struggling to breathe. Then I heard a growl. The door was shut, so I peeked through the keyhole and saw a demon on top of Bwana Gil.”
“A demon? Can you describe what this demon looked like?”
The youth glanced at the old man, who nodded again. “It looked like a hyena, memsabu. But I
saw something around its neck. Something Englishmen wear. I was afraid, so I hid in an empty room.” The young man hung his head with shame to admit his fear.
“Did you have a knife or a spear with you?” asked Jade. The youth shook his head. “Then you were wise to hide. What happened next?”
Reassured, Wachiru went on with his story. “Later, I went back to Bwana Gil’s room. He was dead, but in his hand was the chain that the demon wore around its neck. I took it and bwana’s important paper from his desk so no one would steal it.”
“Do you still have them?”
The mundu-mugo interrupted and gave some orders for the young man. Wachiru left the hut and returned with an animal-skin pouch, which he handed to Jade. Inside she found a gold chain with a small carved bone strung on it. The carvings were geometric zigzags like the ones found on this latest hyena’s fur. Could it have been the same beast? Next to the chain lay a folded paper that opened into a map showing Kilimanjaro, the Tsavo River, and the Chyulu Hills. At the bottom were the words: Kruger, Dolie, and Abel, my second son.
Jade felt a shiver race down her arms as she read the names, but before she could ask anything else, the old man dismissed the youth. Then the mundu-mugo took a small thorn and dipped it into a pot of dark liquid. He gripped Jade’s left arm in his bony hand and traced what looked like a sickle blade on her inner wrist. The mundu-mugo spoke once more, this time in halting Swahili. He pointed to Jade and said, “Msabu Simba Jike.” Jade recognized msabu as yet another variation on the original Hindu phrase memsahib, which had been incorporated into Swahili as a term meaning mistress. Simba meant lion, but jike? Again she looked to Jelani, who grinned widely.
“Memsabu has a new name. You are the lioness. You fight the hyena to protect us.” He pointed to her wrist. “That is a lion’s tooth.”
The aging sorcerer took Jade by the arm and led her outside, where he loudly announced her name to the village. Jade returned to her seat feeling very conspicuous. Madeline’s and Neville’s mouths hung wide open in astonishment, Roger watched her with something akin to silent respect, but Harry’s well-chiseled face bore a trace of a mocking sneer at the proceedings. Both Roger and Harry wrinkled their noses at the new smell, though, and Roger went so far as to sit on the other side of Madeline.
“Well,” said Madeline. “Lioness. Very appropriate with those green eyes of yours, although I suppose most lions have golden-colored ones. I’m very jealous,” she teased. “I’m only known as Mrs. Ostrich, and I’ve lived here for eight years.”
“Ugh,” said Harry after Jade sat down. “You smell like old piss.” He shifted farther away.
“Harry!” scolded Neville. “There are ladies present.”
“I daresay they’re all familiar with the subject, Thompson,” said Harry. “But no offense meant.”
“It’s this paste on my hat and belt,” explained Jade. “It’s to protect me from the witch.” She decided not to show them the mark on her wrist. She had no idea what their reaction to it would be, and it would probably wear off in a day or two, anyway.
“Well, if you keep that on, I doubt anyone will approach you,” he said with a laugh.
The ngoma officially began as the Kikuyu warriors and maidens formed one large ring around the small fires. Several venerable old ladies sat inside the ring. Chaperones perhaps, thought Jade. They occasionally took wood from the large pile and fed their smaller fires. One man in the ring began chanting. The dancers stamped one foot forward, then stepped back forcefully on the other. Their bodies rocked fore and aft gracefully to the rhythm of the song. After a while, they began to move slowly sideways, still facing the ring’s interior. An older man beat a goatskin drum in time. Once in a while, an exuberant young man leaped and twirled about.
Jade listened closely to the chant and tried to make out the words. She was naturally gifted with languages, and her understanding of Swahili had improved rapidly since her arrival in Kenya. Unfortunately, they sang in their own Kikuyu language. Madeline explained that the song probably recounted killing the hyena as well as the evil done by the hyena.
Gradually, the dancers broke into smaller rings around each fire and chose a preferred group or style of dancing. Other men took up the chant and recounted other tales. Little children ran from one group to the other with glee and imitated the steps of the young men and women. Harry explained that this was, in fact, a small ngoma and that the harvest ones were very large and involved many neighboring villages. He added that the dance would continue until dawn and suggested they ride back before it became too late.
Jade made her farewells and thanks to the chief and the other elders in her broken Swahili and reluctantly left the village. There was something very dignified in the sedate dance style around small fires, and she keenly felt the honor given to her. She raised her head a little higher, and the night sky, set pavé-style with the gems of Africa, drew her attention.
The Southern Cross sparkled overhead in splendor and ruled the southern hemisphere with the Milky Way draped as its train. Scorpio sprawled out closer to the horizon, its whiplike tail ready to sting, but Sagittarius held his bow in front, ready to destroy the scorpion. Jade wondered what names and stories the Kikuyu or the Maasai gave to these constellations. Would Scorpio be a cobra or mamba snake? Would Sagittarius be a famous chief?
She looked around for any other familiar constellations and found them behind her. The Great Bear still pointed the way north, and Draco still wrapped itself around the Little Bear. She pivoted in her saddle to ease her neck, looked northeast, and picked out Leo racing above the eastern horizon. Jade touched the mark on her wrist. It seemed Leo was her personal constellation now, but she found she missed Orion, the first constellation her father taught her after the two bears. She missed David, too, and wondered if he watched from the back of Cygnus, the swan, as it flew across the heavens. What other constellation could a pilot choose?
So the woman had protection, did she? Well, it was only Kikuyu magic, weak like their warriors, he thought scornfully. Had it protected any of them so far? No. Even his teacher’s magic was weak compared to his own. He was stronger because his hate was greater. Suddenly, a new thought entered the man’s brain. Perhaps this woman had strength, too, strength born of courage. That would make the Kikuyu shaman’s ointment more potent.
The man found it difficult to believe that any woman had strength. They all tended to be weakened by their emotions. Why would this one be any exception? Still, he had underestimated this one’s bravery. Through his beast’s eyes, he had witnessed her coolness and heard her sharp, commanding voice through his animal’s ears. Perhaps, he mused, she should be tested . . . tonight.
CHAPTER 11
“East Africa is overwhelmingly vibrant. Nothing is done by halves. The daytime heat, the nighttime cold, the smells, and the sounds all do their utmost to make themselves keenly felt, but most especially the nocturnal sounds. Anyone who has huddled in a tent and heard the robust and husky roar of Simba announcing his lordship in the night will know that they have just heard the voice of indomitable Africa itself.”
—The Traveler
THE EXCITEMENT OF THE NGOMA SUBSIDED much like the spent energy of a flash flood, and like a flood, it scoured out hidden nooks and recesses in Jade’s mind. It swept away the thin cavalier veneer, uncovered memories and raw emotions, and left her feeling exposed, drained, and utterly fatigued. She retired to her hut and pulled the bamboo door shut behind her. Since she had brought no change of clothes along, she limited her night preparations to slipping off her boots and standing them on the chair with her hat on top. Then she lay down on the cot in her trousers, shirt, and stocking feet with her Winchester beside her and listened to the night sounds.
Somewhere in the distance, a male lion announced himself with a deep, throaty roar. Percy took up the challenge from his pen and roared back lustily. The bellowing challenges continued for several minutes and finally ended in a series of deep, husky harrumphs that chugged like ste
am engines. Jade smiled. Percy still held his territory even if he had no harem of lionesses to defend. A night bird called in high, piercing trills, and Jade succumbed to sleep.
In her dreams, two sorcerers battled, transforming objects into an array of animals amid puffs of chalky powders. One grizzled and evil-looking witch with a raw red scar across his pale chest raised his hands high above his head and called up a hyena from the dust. The ugly brute shook itself and cackled its hideous laugh before it devoured three entire goats.
The second sorcerer, a shriveled old man, smeared Jade with a sticky paste, and she watched her body cover itself in a tawny fur. The new lioness slew the hyena as it lay on the ground, bloated and heavy with its victims. She roared her triumph, feeling the power well up from her chest and out her throat.
The scarred witch shook with fury and locked his hatereddened eyes on Jade. Without breaking his hypnotic stare, he conjured up a massive, black-maned lion to attack. It grew out of the constellation Leo as first one star and then another took on muscle and sinew. The beast roared down at the earth, shattering the night sky with its thunderous bellow. A rain of falling stars cascaded to the ground and caught fire in the dry grass.
The lion leaped to the burning ground and padded around. Intense roars from his cavernous mouth announced his prowess. The footfalls of his huge paws sent tremors along the earth, and Jade felt the shock ride up her spine. She couldn’t move. His deep, huffing grunts rasped out of his massive chest as he dared anyone to attack him. Then he, too, locked his amber eyes on Jade and tensed his hind limbs.
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