“Are you well?”
“I am well. And you?”
“I am well too.”
There was silence between them. They did not look directly at one another.
“I waited for you.”
“I am sorry I could not come.” She hesitated a little. “I had much work at home and I—I could not get time.”
Waiyaki understood, or rather, he thought he did. He did not press the point further.
“It is all right. You can come another day.”
“Well—I don’t know—maybe. If I get a chance.”
He stole a glance at her and saw how she turned her head away. And immediately he knew that she had come to meet him. And he at once wanted to tell her that he loved her. He could not do it. But he yearned for her and, as he went away, he felt a desire to hold her close to him and whisper many things to her.
Nyambura scarcely saw anything as she sped home. She began cooking because she knew her father and mother would be home soon. She just cooked like a woman in a dream. Waiyaki had told her nothing. Yet she felt a glow inside.
When her mother came back from church she saw the girl was excited.
“What is it, Nyambura? Has your stomach stopped aching?”
Nyambura remembered that it was the ache in her stomach that had prevented her from going to church. She immediately answered “No.”
She knew this was not true.
When evening came and her father had come home, she went to bed, saying that she was not feeling well.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Waiyaki led a busy life. With teaching and organizing the schools, and now as a clerk of the new Kiama with its meetings and ceremonies, he seemed to live hour to hour in action. He was now known all over the ridges. Children knew him and hailed him as “Our Teacher.” Old men and women also called him the Teacher. He was a man who, impregnated with the magic of the white man, would infuse the tribe with wisdom and strength, giving it new life. Waiyaki himself was much more interested in teaching and handling the children than in the organization and management of the Kiama. Yet sometimes moments of patriotism and high ideals would come to him. And then he would feel elated and would be ready to do anything for the people.
The day for the gathering of parents from all over the ridges was approaching. Waiyaki wanted to press for more schools, although he did not know where he would get teachers. He thought he might be able to persuade some to come from Siriana, otherwise he himself would go to Nairobi and try to get some. Another thing was coming into his mind. Every day he was becoming convinced of the need for unity between Kameno and Makuyu. The ancient rivalry would cripple his efforts in education. He also wanted a reconciliation between Joshua’s followers and the others. The gulf between them was widening and Waiyaki wanted to be the instrument of their coming together. A word from him in the coming meeting might be a big start. Now was the time to show his stand. This was not a plan but a conviction. It had come like a temptation, at first a faint echo, then becoming a distant possibility and now a need. Would this not be a risk to his growing popularity? Yet he would try. And he was rather pleased to think that Nyambura might hear of it and think well of him.
The whole grass compound was full of women and men from every corner of the country. Some came to hear the report on the progress of their children. Others came to see the famous Marioshoni school. But others came to see the Teacher. They had heard of this young man, but had never seen him. This was a chance not to be missed. “The Teacher” they whispered from hill to hill and the name came to signify only one man—Waiyaki. So his fame grew from ridge up to ridge and spread like fire in dry bush. Everyone saw him as the reincarnation of that former dignity and purity—now lost.
The school was neat. And the people saw everything in it, the outcome of their own efforts, the symbol of their defiance of foreign ways.
They went round the school admiring the well-mudded building. Here and there on the compound were little flower gardens whose general immaculate look was the talk of all. The parents saw this as the fruits of their labor, their sweat and patience. Their children could speak a foreign language, could actually read and write. And this had been done in spite of Siriana’s stern action in refusing to admit the children of those who would not abandon the ancient rites.
Waiyaki, along with his colleagues, was most attentive. He mixed with the people and took them to various places, outlining his plans, obviously campaigning for his schemes before the real test came. People admired him. They liked the way he so freely mingled and the way he talked. He had a word for everyone and a smile for all. He pleased many. But not everybody. At such moments jealousy and ill-will are bound to work.
Kabonyi did not like it. He himself had labored for the tribe. He had led the breakaway movement and was responsible for the starting of the people’s own schools. And was he not a leader in every field? Kabonyi saw Waiyaki as an upstart, a good-for-nothing fellow, a boy with rather silly ideas. He was a mere boy in the face of someone like Kabonyi, whose age and experience entitled him to greater attention. As it was, the state of things was unnatural. Perhaps Kabonyi would not have been so hostile had the young man’s place been taken by Kamau, his own son. Kamau was as good a teacher as anyone else and he was certainly older than Waiyaki. He would therefore have been in a better position to lead. Nobody could guess the extent to which Kabonyi resented the rise of Waiyaki. Alone among the people Kabonyi knew of the prophecy. He feared Waiyaki might be the sent one. And he hated this.
The meeting was scheduled to begin early. But old men always took their time. So the meeting actually started in the afternoon. Waiyaki opened the proceedings amid great silence. Though his voice was calm, his heart beat inside him. He feared the number of eyes in front of him. After the first few words he announced that the children would sing some songs of welcome. Waiyaki had not made up the songs. He had first been taught them in Siriana by a boy from the country beyond. But to the parents and the teachers who gathered there that day they were something new, something that strangely stirred their hearts and said what they felt.
Father, mother
Provide me with pen and slate
I want to learn.
Land is gone
Cattle and sheep are not there
Not there any more
What’s left?
Learning, learning.
Father, if you had many cattle and sheep
I would ask for a spear and shield,
But now—
I do not want a spear
I do not want a shield
I want the shield and spear of learning.
These simple words made some shed tears. Fathers resolved to work. They would strain themselves. The white man was slowly encroaching on people’s land. He had corrupted the ways of the tribe. Things would now change. It may take years, but far, far into the unknown future things would become different. A savior had come. He had opened the eyes of the people. He had awakened the sleeping lions. They would now roar, roar to victory. The children were getting learning. And still their voices rose higher and higher.
Father,
The war of shields and spears
Is now ended
What is left?
The battle of wits,
The battle of the mind.
I, we, all want to learn.
Old men and women strained their ears to catch the sweet words, their hands pressed hard on their hearts or their chins. Kabonyi was writhing within. His heart and soul burned with anger. The “boy” was making a favorable impression while he meant to denounce him. The “boy” had been seen in the church of Joshua and had been seen standing with Joshua’s daughter. Kabonyi had meant to shame the boy before the crowd.
But the children sang on, voicing the cry of many, speaking aloud the silent cry of generations everywhere, generations that
feel their end is near unless there are changes. Were they mourning for a dead glory? Were they sorrowing over a tribe’s destruction or were they hailing the changes that had yet to come? Sorrow or yearning was in their eyes. And they could see this reflected in the glittering eyes of the savior.
The children finished singing and sat. Everywhere strange silence reigned. Then from every corner the cry was taken up and all sang with one accord—
Gikuyu naa Mumbi
Gikuyu naa Mumbi
Left a land virgin and fertile
O, come all—
When Waiyaki began to speak again he felt happy. This was the moment to push his plans through. He spoke quietly, clearly, the elation of speaking to a large crowd making him feel light. He briefly outlined his plans for Marioshoni. The rotting roof needed more tin; the children needed desks, pencils, paper. And then many more schools had to be built. More teachers had to be employed. He sat down, fearing that he had not made his point clear. But the applause that greeted him left him with no doubt about the reception of the short speech.
A moment too soon Kabonyi was on his feet. He did not smile but looked defiantly around him. The battle was on. He was old but his voice was good and steady. Besides, he knew his audience well and knew what to appeal to. He could speak in proverbs and riddles, and nothing could appeal more to the elders, who still appreciated a subtle proverb and witty riddles. Kabonyi again knew his limits. He did not want to bring too many issues together. So he decided to leave the Joshua affair and come to it later as a final blow.
He reminded them of the poverty of the land. The dry months had left the people with nothing to eat. And the expected harvest would not yield much. He touched on the land taken by the white man. He talked of the new taxes being imposed on the people by the Government Post now in their midst. And instead of Waiyaki leading people against these more immediate ills, he was talking of more buildings. Were people going to be burdened with more buildings? With more teachers? And was the white man’s education really necessary? Surely there was another way out. It was better to drive away the white man from the hills altogether. Were the people afraid? Were there no warriors left in the tribe? He, Kabonyi, would lead them. That was why he had formed the new Kiama. He would rid the country of the influence of the white man. He would restore the purity of the tribe and its wisdom.
“Or do you think the education of our tribe, the education and wisdom which you all received, is in any way below that of the white man?”
He challenged the people present, appealing to their pride, to the manhood in them and to their loyalty to the soil.
“Do not be led by a youth. Did the tail ever lead the head, the child the father or the cubs the lion?”
A few people applauded. And then there was silence. (Kabonyi too had stirred something in their hearts.) Soon they began to talk. Some saw a lot of truth in what Kabonyi had said. They knew they were not cowards. And surely it was easier to drive away the white man and return to the old ways! But others, especially the young people, were on Waiyaki’s side. Waiyaki himself was hurt. Kabonyi had touched on a sore spot, the question of youth. When Waiyaki stood up again the old defiance came back. The courage that had made him famous among the boys of his riika was now with him. At first he just looked at the people and held them with his eyes. Then he opened his mouth and began to speak. And his voice was like the voice of his father—no—it was like the voice of the great Gikuyus of old. Here again was the savior, the one whose words touched the souls of the people. People listened and their hearts moved with the vibration of his voice. And he, like a shepherd speaking to his flock, avoided any words that might be insulting. In any case, how could he repudiate Kabonyi’s argument? Waiyaki told them that he was their son. They all were his parents. He did not want to lead. The elders were there to guide and lead the youth. And youth had to listen. It had to be led in the paths of wisdom. He, Waiyaki, would listen. All he wanted was to serve the ridges, to serve the hills. They could not stand aloof. They could never now remain isolated. Unless the people heeded his words and plans, the ridges would lose their former dignity and would be left a distance behind by the country beyond. . . .
So he spoke on, pointing out the importance of learning, of acquiring all the wisdom that one could get. People wanted him to go on, on, on telling them the sweet words of wisdom. When he sat down the people stood and, as if of one voice, shouted, “The Teacher! The Teacher! We want the Teacher!” And some shouted: “Our children must learn. Show us the way. We will follow.”
What more could Waiyaki want? He felt elated with gratitude and happiness.
Thereafter every elder and teacher who spoke added nothing but praise for the Teacher. An inter-ridge committee was elected to look after the education of all and see to the building of new schools in the country. Kabonyi was not on it.
• • •
“Kamau, my son!”
“Yes, Father.”
“My legs, they shake.”
“Why? Are you ill, Father?”
“Yes—no—yet my legs. They grow weak. Take my staff and lead me home.”
And those who were around saw Kabonyi being led home by his son, one of Waiyaki’s teachers. And soon, with a smile, everybody knew that Kabonyi was ill. Actually he was not ill, but he was full of fury. To suffer a public defeat! A public humiliation! No. It could not be. It must not be!
“I could kill him.”
“Kill who, Father?”
They were now standing on the hill. Kabonyi looked at his son.
“You are a worthless man,” he burst out. “Are you my son? Couldn’t you have supplanted him a long time ago? What has he that you have not?”
Kamau did not answer. He too had bitter thoughts. Would he and his father always suffer under the hands of Waiyaki?
• • •
Within a few months the face of the school changed. More schools were put up on a number of other ridges. Waiyaki’s fame spread. The elders trusted him. They talked about him in their homes and in the fields. Even Kabonyi seemed resigned to this young man’s leadership. It was faith, unknown, unquestioning, almost smothering if one was aware of it. But he was their leader and they knew that he would never let them down. He was a match for the white men, these men who had wanted to annihilate Gikuyu and Mumbi. The tribe would now conquer, triumphing over the missionaries, the traders, the Government and all those who had come to imitate the strangers.
If Waiyaki had been fully aware of this faith in him, he might have feared. But he was not. The idea of education had now come to him like a demon, urging him to go on, do more. Even when later he was forced by the Kiama in their extravagant enthusiasm to take an oath of allegiance to the Purity and Togetherness of the tribe, he did not stop to analyze if any danger lurked in such a commitment. Kabonyi did not exist. He saw only schools, schools everywhere and the thirst that burned the throats of so many children who looked up to him for the quenching water.
And he wanted to feel all would get this water. He even wanted Joshua and his followers to come and join hands with him. Education was life. Let it come. And with a fleeting feeling of guilt he remembered that he had forgotten to preach reconciliation.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
All his life Joshua had tried to win more and more people to Christ. He was a man who, even at his age, had tremendous energy. And he had thought that he was succeeding. Indeed, at first he had succeeded. Many had come to him. Many had been baptized. And had he not been responsible for persuading elders to take their sons to Siriana to hear Christ’s word and get the white man’s learning?
But now fate seemed to be working against him. Many of those who had enthusiastically gone to him had slipped back to their old customs and rituals. Many had gone back to take a second bride. Not that Joshua saw anything intrinsically wrong in having a second bride. In fact he had always been puzzled by the fact that men of the Ol
d Testament who used to walk with God and angels had more than one wife. But the man at the Mission had said this was a sin. And so a sin it had to be. Joshua was not prepared to question what he knew to be God-inspired assertions of the white man. After all, the white man had brought Christ into the country.
What worried Joshua was not just that many people had returned to the cursed things of the tribe like circumcision. He had even been able to come out triumphant over Muthoni’s rebellion. The rise of Waiyaki as a young, intelligent leader of the tribe was the menace. Now that many schools had been built through the efforts of Waiyaki, more of his sheep might go to join Waiyaki’s flock out of sheer necessity. Fearing this, Joshua got the men at the Mission to let him and the other faithful ones build a school or two where children could learn before they went to Siriana. The two schools, one in Makuyu and the other one near Ngenia, were making good progress. In time they would form a stronger challenge to Waiyaki.
The large gathering at Kameno had surprised many. It had made Joshua realize more than he had ever done before that the forces of Satan were strong. Since that meeting, entry into Kameno, the stronghold of the devil, seemed vital. A soldier of Christ had nothing to fear. So a meeting of Joshua’s followers and anybody else who wanted was arranged in Kameno.
The rally was held on a Sunday. Many Christians from the neighboring hills attended. Some came from very far, for news of the meeting had been well spread. They sang, praised and prayed. Joshua preached with so much vigor and energy that many later said that he had been speaking with the tongues of angels. Others said that the Angel of the Lord had appeared unto him, while still others thought it was Mary who had spoken to him.
A few people were converted. That was a good beginning. For the first time in Kameno, there was a group of Joshua’s men. No doubt more would follow. This was a challenge to the elders and those who upheld tribal institutions.