‘While eating, Sebwgugu’s wife shared that, the night before, a big and mean animal arrived to the house and asked for help unloading what it was carrying. Scared, she told the big animal to go away, locked all the doors to the house and went back to bed. She then asked Sebwgugu to please not help the mean animal if it returned.
‘Sure enough, later that night under the moonlit sky, the big animal knocked on the door.’
I am glad that Dad says that the night was lit by the moon, because I am having trouble painting such a dark scene – the sun is quickly climbing in real life, beating us to the top of the hill and shining straight into my eyes. So the moon in our story is very, very bright, OK?
‘Sebwgugu answered the door and the animal asked for help. Ignoring his wife’s warning, Sebwgugu obliged. When he stepped outside to help, the big animal ate Sebwgugu in one bite – RAHH!’
My heart jumps and I hold tighter to Dad at the beast’s roar. Jeanette turns her gasp into a little giggle. She must have slowed down to let us close the gap so she could enjoy the story also. When I look down at her I see that Mum is now closer too. And because the sun rises in front of us, I can see Mum’s thin shadow stretching out towards me, and her other shadow next to her – Jeanette.
‘Proud of his tricking Sebwgugu, the animal yelled into the forest, “I have eaten a man and will now look for a woman to do the same.” Startled by this, Sebwgugu’s wife jumped out of bed and grabbed a machete to protect herself. When the mean animal tried to enter the house, Sebwgugu’s wife smote it in the head, killing it at once.
‘She then found a drum and beat it joyously as the sun rose, all throughout the day and all through the night. The entire forest echoed with her brilliant drumming. The next morning a handsome man appeared. He was the king of the forest and the owner of the splendid house, yet was frightened away by the big and mean animal. Hearing the familiar drum, he returned to investigate. Sebwgugu’s wife told the king all that had happened to her. IMPRESSED BY HER BEAUTY AND BRAVERY…’
Dad’s voice became much louder right then – my hands could no longer touch each other as his neck grew thicker to make the sound – and he raised his head as if he was shooting the words straight towards Mum. At this she slowed down even more and cocked her head to one side, as if my dad’s great words weighed heavy on one of her ears.
‘…IMPRESSED BY HER BEAUTY AND BRAVERY, the king asked for her hand in marriage. She agreed with a smile; they were married and lived happily ever after.’
Jeanette and I both cheer at the happy ending, but Jeanette’s cheer is a little breathless – I think she has had enough of carrying the can up the hill.
‘Why do we tell the story of Sebwgugu and his wife, Clementine?’ Dad says seriously, like a teacher at school.
I think I know the answer, but I am scared to say it, just in case it is not right after all and I disappoint Dad and look silly in front of Jeanette.
‘Clem?’
The pathway stops rising as we enter our village and Dad puts his one free hand behind his head so that I can hold on as he lowers me to the ground. As my feet feel warm hard earth again, Dad, crouching down, is looking straight into my eyes. He is looking for the answer to his question. And now I do not mind trying to tell him, because I can start my answer slowly and I can see from his face – the way his nose moves and the way his eyes change shape – whether or not I am getting things right.
‘It tells us…to not waste…the chances,’ I can see that I am right and I just want to kiss his cheeks as they rise with his eyebrows, ‘the chances given to you in life.’
‘And…?’
The words come rushing fast, now I am sure, ‘And be satisfied with what you have.’
‘Very good!’
I take my kiss and he returns one on my forehead, holding my shoulders as he does so, otherwise I am sure I would fall over with the force of it.
‘And…?’ Mum has stopped outside our house. She sounds stern like a teacher now. ‘What else does the story of Sebwgugu and his wife tell us?’
I look to Jeanette – she is too busy shaking her aching arm about. I look to Dad – his lips are squeezed tight. Either he wants another kiss or he is trying to stop a smile.
‘Respect what your wife has to say!’ I did not hear Pio come to the door. Mum does not seem surprised, though. She does not even look at him. She keeps her big eyes on me – and Dad – and says,
‘Well done, Pio. Respect what your wife has to say. Remember it well.’ And she turns and steps past Pio’s smug face, with both her shadows following closely.
‘Remember it well,’ whispers Dad like an echo as he rises – I cannot tell if he means me to hear it or if he is only telling himself.
‘It is no great thing that you know the answer,’ I say to Pio’s face which is frozen in its know-it-all grin at the door. ‘You are older than me. Four years older than me – you have probably been told it hundreds more times than me.’
‘Or perhaps I am just smarter than you, my little sister,’ and he says these last words in English as if to prove how smart he is.
But I understand it. I am doing very well at English in school, so I say – in English – as I step inside,
‘Excuse me, brother, I will take my breakfast now,’ and I prod him in the stomach and run before he can return it.
We stop running almost as soon as we start because of the look Mum gives to us through the doorway to the back yard where she prepares the porridge.
‘What shall I do, Mummy?’ If I help then it will feel like that look was more for Pio than me.
‘Bring the sorghum.’
I prefer the porridge when it is only made from corn, but we grow the sorghum ourselves so we have it nearly all the time. Dad is good at growing things. Everyone says so. People come to him for advice about their fields sometimes. They say he is a natural. They say it is his ‘Hutu blood’, whatever that means.
The porridge is OK today – I put extra milk on to make it sweeter. The milk comes from our cows. Granddad gave them to Mummy when she married Daddy.
‘Miam miam! The porridge is lovely!’ Jeanette says to Mum. I am not sure whether she really means it. She says it every time. Her family does not have any cows though. I know I am luckier than her.
And that makes me think of this morning down by the river and the birds with the red eyes – and the one that seemed to blame me for the things that Jeanette did. And the eyes make me think of Uncle Leonard so I say,
‘Where is Uncle Leonard today?’ because he has been sleeping at our house so often for the last few weeks.
Mum gives Dad the look that she gave him when she asked me the meaning of Sebwgugu’s story.
Dad adds more sugar to his tea and as he stirs it says, ‘Uncle Leonard has gone away. He has gone far away, so we may not see him for a very long time.’
‘Where has he gone to, Dad?’
