In the capital of the empire, the widows were still sick with mourning. Last week, brave warriors were thrown into a mass grave like dead cats. All because the fat emperor had ordered a herd of hippopotamuses that were cooling themselves in the lake as the sun beat down to be silenced. He organized an expedition, and the men took up the challenge. Hippos and humans don’t fight with the same weapons. While the warriors swam around trying to hit them with their fragile metal spears, the hippos, with one bite, would snap a warrior’s spine and toss the body for the fish to feed on! One hundred warriors killed was the result. Another fifty seriously mutilated. They lost arms, they lost legs, they lost their heads. Now it’s a war against the birds. How many are going to be lost this time?
More swallows danced in the canopy of the mafurra tree. Nguyuza looked up and watched them carefully. Maybe he was trying to find the one that committed the greatest deed in history. He smiled.
Shitting in the emperor’s eye.
What a brave bunch these swallows are!
They dared to challenge the virility of the greatest man in the world, Ngungunhana, ruler of all the men and women on the planet. Ah!
He laughed to himself. As a consequence, there he was, preparing a plan that would bring glory to the career of his brave warriors, with a bird hunting expedition merely to placate the sovereign’s ire. What weapons would the poor swallows defend themselves with?
A sudden breeze wafted him to the other side of life, into a magical sleep, so that the gods might show themselves. In his dream, he saw springtimes and flowers. He saw a great expanse of blue and many clouds. He discovered he was in heaven. His manly eyes sought some celestial enchantment, a sign that he’d be able to remember. At that point he saw a female swallow with silky plumage, reflecting the colours of a diamond. Drawn to such beauty, he turned into a bird, and flew off in her direction. She, more swift than he, vanished among the clouds. He flew and flew, desperately seeking that wondrous image. Eventually he entered the fortress of the swallow kingdom. He stood askance. The fortress had no walls, no ceiling, no weapons. In the middle of it, there was a palace of pearl and crystal. Without guards or generals. Adorned all over with stars and protected from the flow of pure air. At the entrance to the palace, there was an old man, taking a nap.
“My good old man, did you see the most beautiful swallow in the world pass this way?”
“Ah!” The old man replied, “she awaits you on the horizon of your dream.”
“She’s so beautiful! I love her so much! Where is that place?”
“You’ll find it. But she’s very capricious and only corresponds to the love of free souls.”
“I’m a free man.”
“You’re a General.”
After the magical sleep, the gentle awakening. Nguyuza ran to the house of the priestess, to decipher the mystery. He took a deep breath and told her everything all in one go.
“I had a dream. I was floating like a bird, high up in the sky.”
“A beautiful dream,” the priestess confirmed, “you’re a lucky man.”
“Lucky?”
“Yes. Only souls that are blessed can overcome weight, soaring high and attaining the realm of the sacred!”
The sea of tenderness was reflected in the eyes of the priestess. Nguyuza was mirrored in this sea and allowed himself to sink, a shipwrecked mariner thirsty for waves of breeze. He wrapped himself in its immensity, because it filled his heart with pure feelings.
“Tell me what it means,” the general implored.
“In this dream can be found the key to your destiny.”
“Destiny? The emperor seems possessed by madness and has charged me with a strange mission.”
“Clairvoyance, lucidity and madness are sometimes joined.”
Nguyuza smiled.
“Tell me about my destiny.”
“The kingdom of the swallows awaits you in paradise, in Zulwine.”
“Me? Will I manage to see this marvellous place, with these eyes of mine that the earth will consume?” Nguyuza asked, inspired.
“You’ve already been there.”
“Me?”
“We all set off from there.”
“I’ve marched all over the place, but have never heard anyone speak of such a place.”
“No?”
“No!”
“It’s the uterus of life, without which no one would exist. Only a few are lucky enough to return to it.”
“How does one get there?”
“Zulwine is the beginning. And it’s the end. It’s here or it’s everywhere.”
“Will I get there?”
“Choose. The long route or the short route. Which of the two routes will you take?”
“Come with me and show me the way.”
“Oh! What a great honour!” The priestess got emotional. “I am your servant. How can I refuse a request from the most powerful of the generals?”
Their embrace had the taste of honey. The priestess was transformed into the swallow of his dream and Nguyuza into a free man. Arm in arm, they flew off into the blue towards the horizon. From the general’s silence were born the most beautiful words, and he sang in a low voice:
“I admire you, priestess. Your eyes of the ocean kindle my body. Your smile massages my breast with the heat of fire. Ah! Priestess!”
Each was as ardent as the other in their desire, but they didn’t kiss. Chosen by the gods, the priestess was a virgin, destined for celibacy, like all nuns. Nuns in the Bantu sense of the word, of course. If Nguyuza dared to possess her, even for love, he would suffer the supreme punishment: impotence.
“We shall leave before sunrise. Be prepared.”
Like a child, as dawn came up Nguyuza felt a lightness in his soul. To hunt swallows? Magical. What better diversion could an old general, tired of wars, have?
The general’s prophetic eyes abandoned their smile and sketched out what lay ahead. In the future’s mirror, all could be seen. In the general’s voice, there was a lament for time lost. My poor emperor: the generation that will follow will seek our greatness in monuments of stone, without realizing that we, their ancestors, write our history in monuments of blood. Our descendants will laugh at our beliefs, our prayers, they will eat fish and all manner of marine insects, without caring about our royal blood. Ah! Everything changes, my fat emperor!
Everything was ready for the great expedition. The sun rose, golden, from the belly of its mother in the east. All had been organized. Zealously. Meticulously. The plans had been carefully refined. The boys would use their slings. The girls would gather the swallows that had been trapped or killed. The women would weave nets and traps if these became necessary. The warriors would provide protection against wild animals. Whole families had been mobilized: fathers, mothers, children and even grandparents. There was no one left behind.
The emperor ordered the war drums to be beaten, to celebrate the departure of the warriors. He filled the ears of the menfolk with commands, even though he knew only too well that it was not a military mission. It was mere theatre. A diversion. Enjoying the powers he possessed, putting people into action for no reason at all.
The warriors, though resentful, recognized undeniable talents in their crazy leader. He was a good strategist. His astute brain had led him from victory to victory, and to the construction of the Empire of Gaza. This charade was to deprive the warriors of their fatness, their sloth, they knew. It was to keep them occupied and not lose their warlike habits, for there hadn’t been any battles for quite some time.
The emperor noticed that Nguyuza had mobilized the best warriors. As it was a question of a bird hunt, they would be back by the end of the afternoon and the empire would not be deprived of its security.
“Noble warriors of the empire, I wish you luck in carrying out your mission,” the emperor cried.
“Yes, Highness.”
The warriors, still sleepy, were unenthusiastic. He had so much power, the emperor no longer knew what it was fo
r. They answered their sovereign without even the slightest emotion. They uttered what he wanted to hear. They knew they weren’t going to kill. Or die. They would carry out his recommendations without any emotion. Why should they worry if stupidity was the new order of the day in the empire?
“I want to see all the swallows punished and reduced to silence,” the emperor shouted.
“Yes, Highness.”
“While on your mission, take the opportunity to beat those miserable wretches, the Chopes.”
“Why the Chopes now, Highness?” Nguyuza asked. “They’ve been nice and quiet and haven’t caused the usual trouble.”
“The Chopes? Only they can have sent me the swallows by way of provocation. Only them. They are interested in disturbing my peace. Those wretches rely on their bows and arrows because they don’t want to acknowledge that power belongs to me.”
“Do you think, then, that you are being troubled by magic swallows, Majesty?”
“I don’t think so, I am certain. Those Chope rebels have the gift of witchcraft, and only they can insult me in such a way!”
“Using swallow shit to bring down an empire?”
“Ah! It’s obvious you don’t know how noxious the power of those miserable wretches is! Stop asking questions and carry out my orders!”
“Yes, Majesty!”
His mask of hatred concealed a secret feeling of fear and respect for the Chopes, those manly rebels with their bows and arrows. Who continually challenged him. He had waged various battles with them. Sometimes winning, sometimes losing. The only people he had tortured but had never managed to corrupt. But he swore to get his revenge. By humiliating them whenever he could. By fighting them. By brutalizing them.
“Now, unleash your war cry so that the Chopes can hear it,” the emperor commanded.
“Surrender, you cursed Chopes.” The warriors shouted. “Surrender to the noble emperor and you will be saved. He has defeated the infidels. He has invaded the nation of the Khambane and killed the powerful Mbinguana. He has invaded the land of the N’wanti and has built the capital of his great empire. Whoever doesn’t believe in him will die!”
“Tell me, brave warriors,” the emperor incited them, “what treatment should we mete out to these Chopes, these bastards?”
“Turn them into females. Mutilate their ears and stuff them with women’s earrings.”
“Why?” The emperor asked them. “Why?”
“So that the greatness of the empire may be acknowledged from afar. So that the bastards may exhibit on their bodies their lack of virility.”
“And if you encounter the nobles working in the fields?”
“We shall greet them on our knees. And we shall place the m’boti upon their heads, the black crown, destined for the enlightened of the empire.
The purpose of this life is an old one. What’s new is its motive and meaning, the cult of the ego has diluted its good judgement. The warriors marched and sought peace in the remoteness of their route. The swallows’ road invited the warriors to hasten their march, for the ground is the domain of men. Up there, the birds watched the human prison with amusement: clothes, loads carried on their heads, weapons, chasing a place to find tranquillity.
Inspired by the spirit of the swallows, the crowd advanced like birds in flight. Their quick march was, strictly speaking, more like an exodus, an escape, than a search.
The landscape changed shape with every step they took. There was a glint in the women’s eyes: well, it’s good to journey outside the confines of the kitchen. To bathe your eyes with the contours of the earth. To fill your mind with beautiful images. To discover paths, scenery, places. To feel one’s breast fill with pleasure before the majesty of the hills.
In the minds of the warriors, the same question.
Does Nguyuza have the ability to grab live swallows?
How does one punish a swallow?
Are there special whips for swallows?
They discovered the beauty and the challenge of their mission. They walked without stopping. One sun following on another. They plunged their feet in the sacred waters. A slow-moving river, a stunning, tortuous river. Fertile. They crossed it and continued their march.
They encountered the mythical River Mussapa, with its limpid waters. They bathed their feet in its sacred waters. They exorcized their bad spirits in its holy waters. They purified their bodies with the blessing of the dead. And they continued their march.
One night, a lion roared. The men’s strong arms readied their weapons. They killed the lion and its lioness. And they continued their march.
They encountered the River Pungue. A male river, a wild river. They fought against its waves and crossed it. And they found that on the far side, the land was female. Black. Gentle. Fresh. Inviting the men to rest on its soil. It was in heat, ready to be fertilized. The women, madly in love with the land, dreaming of occupying it, filled their mouths with murmurings.
How many suns had passed since they left? How many moons? When they left, the moon was in the shape of a banana. It became pregnant, gave birth to much moonlight and grew thin. Once again, it became a little piece of banana skin and they still didn’t get a day of rest.
And there were the undisciplined questions of the women.
“Why are you dragging us away so far, if in every wood we cross we can hunt? Look at the number of swallows up there in that tree. We could stop here and have a good hunt, fill bags and bags and then go back. Or stay.”
“We would waste our time hunting these ones,” was Nguyuza’s reply.
“Why?”
“These ones are like us, of inferior rank. Female swallows, subalterns, obeying the commands of a male, a king or an emperor. I can’t risk the life of this people, returning home without having fulfilled the mission.”
The women saw dead trees around them.
“Nguyuza, mighty General”, the women murmured. “We could stop here for a bit, and cut some branches from those dead trees for our comfort at night. The children are shivering with cold.”
“If you see a dead tree in daytime, beware,” the general answered wisely. “We are in the land of the Ndaus. Here nature is bursting with secrets. Dead trees that blossom during nights of magic, queens of life and of death that give powers of resurrection. Whoever is lucky enough to eat their fruit, defeats death and the darkness of the grave.”
“All we want is the fuel of its branches, for the children are suffering from the cold at night, General.”
“No one touches the tree of eternity, for it punishes all that harm it with death.”
“Where are we to find firewood then?”
“In the heavens or in the sacred soil of the swallows.”
“Only madmen follow in the wake of the swallows, dear General,” said one of the women.
Mad?
Nguyuza shuddered: a woman had called him mad. It won’t be long before children and the elderly call him mad. Anarchy will soon take root among those on the march. Assailed by the rigour in accomplishing the mission, he threw all his dice into the air. His warrior’s mind had been trained from an early age to recognize the dangers that germinate like seeds. If a rat appears in the middle of the bush, there must be a grain store nearby. If a domestic fowl appears, there’s a village close by. It was then that he realised the crisis that such lamenting could produce as they accomplished their mission.
They called me mad.
Could it be that this band of women think they’re being deceived or diverted by a madman? He felt insulted. Hurt. And precisely now when he only needed a few days to fulfil the dream that dwelt in his mind.
The world of the swallows is now much clearer, more visible, much nearer. Now that we are on their track, these women start murmuring dead words. Who is cultivating the garden of these murmurings? Who is fertilizing it?
Women’s laments? The men are whining poison in their ears. Who could it have been? Some warrior? Women incubate their laments like semen and spread it to the four
winds. What will follow? Disorder. Anarchy. Failure. And so he decided to discipline the group. The general ordered them to halt their march and implemented the thoughts that had been running through his mind.
“Whoever wants to call me mad, let him step forward!”
The question reduced the warriors to silence. They knew what it would mean to challenge a general in the midst of a campaign. They could be reduced to eternal silence in a few moments.
“Who dares challenge my authority?”
Silence once again.
“I’ve been through many harsh ordeals in order to become a man,” the general recalled. “I have won many battles in order to merit this position. Do you now expect me to retreat before a bunch of birds? I swore fidelity to the emperor. I shall carry out this mission with all dignity. I shall be decorated for it, believe me. The story of my victory will be told and retold. I shall be consecrated as a hero after this mission.”
The time had now come for swords to be drawn so that all might remember that the law exists. And order as well. So that all might accept him as their guide and feel that they were in the hands of strong men who watched over their security.
“Marivate, tie Lumbulule to the trunk of that tree,” he commanded.
His order was carried out immediately. There were inquisitive looks on the soldiers’ faces. Where has this harshness come from? And why has Lumbulule been chosen as a victim? And why Marivate as his executioner? The mysteries of chance sometimes pick out their victims by pointing at them. Both of them were thoroughly disciplined. But they were also the laziest, who savoured their rest with the greatest pleasure.
“Whip him, Marivate, but don’t kill him.”
Lumbulule writhed around on the trunk, partnering both the whipping and the shrieking in their dance and counter-dance. A punishment unseen in history. The expression on the warriors’ faces was blank as they witnessed the punishment. There were neither sighs nor laments in the expressions of the women. They were all so tired, so dead on their feet, and this was just another punishment. Only Lumbulule wept, from pain and from rage, for being punished without knowing why.