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Chapter 6

    There was an outcry in the countryside. The land was dry and empty. Trees barely had any leaf. Caprids were skinny and a good number of them died due to lack of vegetation. Wells dried up and rivers got low. The land became tougher and rugged day by day, puffing up dust in the air, while the scorching midday sun left many with terrible burns in their feet. But they still had to work in the plantations to pay taxes and take their children to school. As days went by, conservatives turned against converts and started blaming them for the severity in the land. The grim reaper was drawing nigh. No sign of rain stirred up in the sky; it was all blue and still. Doubt strove within. 

    Omolo was the leader of the converts. He had been easily won over by the underlying mysteries of the new faith, but even to that very day, he understood little about the hypostasis of Jesus Christ. He belonged to the large group of converts who believed that what the Blue-eyed said was the all of things of such a great faith. 

    A clink of doubt, however, wavered Omolo's faith. It issued from the numerous problems that had betid him as a father. First of all, his dear wife had divorced him immediately after he chose to convert. Then he got all the spanning teases from every Otieno, Omondi and Okoth. And then when he thought God would give all of it a break and restore his dignity, he lost a son to unclear circumstances! Oboo was his only son and he had put stock in him knowing well that he would wake up one day to see him bring home food and security. And was that not why he had taken him to school? Where was he now? Perhaps over the hills in the Blue-eyed's cottage or by his mother's side, he thought. But wherever he was, Omolo thought his son was not safe at all. 

    The prevailing weather conditions worried him so much. Maybe the ancestors were devastated; he was still inclined to such beliefs. Or, was God punishing the rebels - those who had abnegated his homecoming? Oh! He did not just comprehend it at all. 

    He longed for someone to share with, at least someone more human in the physical sense than the living immortal God or the the Holy Spirit sense. He would pour out his deepest feelings of uncertainty and desperation to that person, if that would be a consolation to his burning soul. 

    He grabbed the Bible that was lying on the low table next to him. He was seated on the bare floor of his square-shaped grass-thatched hut. At times, he felt that that immortal God was lying inside the Holy Book listening to his sentiments and worries, but he could hardly see him. He held the book tightly onto his chest and muttered a prayer. He then began pondering over the previous Sunday's sermon. The preacher had been so bold and courageous, full of vigour. "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son...," echoed the preacher's voice, then the remaining part of it faded away into an ideation that formed in his mind. Yes, he could see and hear the crying baby. Would this God full of such a great and perfect love for humanity forsake him in times of trouble and disquietude? If, indeed, he was the living God, then he ought not to be so indifferent towards his children and let them pass through such painful trials. But then, he remembered the life of Jesus Christ, the saviour of the world, of how much he suffered but was finally delivered by God from the jaws of his adversaries. It was such a wonderful story that comforted him.

    He opened the Bible and placed it upon his thighs. A verse on the second page - Jeremiah 11:19 - was highlighted in bold. He read it out aloud not daring the silence around him. 

          But I was like a lamb 

          or an ox that is brought

          to the slaughter; and I 

          knew not that they had 

          devised devices against 

          me, saying, let us 

          destroy the tree with

          the fruit thereof, and

          let us cut him off from 

          the land of the living, 

          that his name may be 

          no more remembered... 

    His heart tingled at such words. They pushed him to the pit of desolation. Why would they do such an evil to a harmless creature sent from above, the only begotten son of God? For a moment, his mind was filled with mixed feelings of hatred and pity for the unbelievers. Why were they too pertinacious to the traditions of their ancestors to accept such a great offer? Did they not know that an everlasting scourge awaited the obstinate and unfaithful? As he thought of these, however, his conscience constantly proved him a malcontent. It occurred to him that he too would not fully believe. How could he when he did not even completely understand the allegory he had just read in the Bible? Yes, he knew it had something to do with the death of Jesus Christ, but the whole thing was a riddle; he could not comprehend the images used to describe him. How could one person be metaphorically called a lamb, an ox and a tree at the same time? What did the three images have in common? At such, he felt the pain of letting his life hang askew. He saw himself hanging delicately on the fence of the inward and the outward, and his fingers catching fire at both ends. 

    Omolo closed the Bible and placed it back on the low table beside him. Although he was tired and needed some rest, he wanted so earnestly to speak with someone in physical - but not one of his fellow converts. He wanted to speak with somebody who understood the ways of the land. He wanted his wife and two children - Oboo and Awinja - back. His wife had parted ways with him several seasons ago when he became more engaged in supporting the Blue-eyed's religion. He now wanted her back, partly because he had known the importance of a woman in a man's life and then also because she had left with a bun in the oven and might have delivered him a bouncing baby. And really, he loved his woman so dearly that he would not sit back to see himself lose her forever. As far as he knew, the same Bible that governed the new faith recorded that 'whatever God has put together, let no man put asunder'. 

    He came out of his hut. He resolved to see Osayo by himself and hear from him. He had no whereabouts of Osayo's tragedy because he lived all alone deep inside Onjiko Forest on the side of the river opposite the shrine, and had been so much engaged with matters pertaining to the new faith. Nonetheless, he understood the hostility of Osayo towards rebels like him, but he counted it off. After all, he was not going to him with the objective of propagating the new faith. No, he only wanted some pieces of advice from a man much older than him, a man with a better understanding of family matters. 

   As he trudged along, he pondered over his dear wife. He could not rebut the fact that he missed her so much. Adoyo was a woman who understood the basics of her husband so well, and she had been doing her best to provide them to the fullest. And was she not also a beauty to lay the eyes upon? She showed it up in everything - her dressing code, her vocals, and above all, her body language. But in those days, beauty was measured in terms of personality traits, and she was a gold, except for her quick temper that drew her back in settling disputes. She could not contain herself for long talks. And so, she had gone away, leaving him desperate and worn down by house chores. She would neither tolerate nor conform to the new faith at all. Omolo could not even hear her sweet voice calling for him. She would not come back for customs forbade her from doing so, unless he went for her through negotiations, something that the new faith left unexplained. He could now see... that he had struck the goose that laid him the golden eggs. 

    Boy! A voice passed through the wind taking away his human strength. He glanced around him confusedly. He thought he heard someone call 'boy'! He stopped and paid close attention, but the voice was gone and he could hear it no more. He walked on, now giving his conscience an acumen lest he play a game on himself. Boy! There - the voice came up again, now louder than before. He was baffled. He turned around and checked every nook and cranny of the forest around him in vain. He was quite sure he heard it. Or could it just be a little show of clairaudience? He moved on. 

    Boy! He heard it now for the third time. It sounded like the voice of an elderly woman. He stopped and gazed up the swooshing tree branches. It was about evening and the whirl-winds had started. Woom! A womanly figure dressed in black unfolded in front of him. It was as though he had gone out of his mind. "Boy!" the apparition now spoke out the word clearly in front of him. His blood froze and his fingers began to shake. His eyeballs grew bigger, almost popping out, and remained fixed onto the shadow. 

    "Hello. Do not be afraid, Omolo. I am Ogola's great grandmother, in my thirtieth decade. But go ye your way to that little boy called Osayo. Inform him that I want my grandson's fettle restored within five days, failure to which an evil spell will befall his family." It then vanished. 

   In deed, it happened to him as though he was unconscious for he regained his normalcy with great effort and surprise. He could not believe that a spirit had just spoken to him. His whole body shuddered with fright. How would he even explain it to anyone that he had encountered a ghost? He was a church deacon and his story of a ghost would be considered an illusion or an alliance with the traditions of the land. He fancied church things, especially the front seats preserved for deacons in the Catholic dominion. He therefore vowed to lock it up in his heart and only disclose it to the intended person - Osayo, whom he believed, though, would believe it with a crossed mind. He was surprised to find out that Osayo was the source of Ogola's madness. 

    As he crossed River Awach, a few meters away from the point opposite the shrine, he caught the talks of traditional relicts gathered for prayers and got the smell of misango (sacrifice). Maybe Osayo had discovered the swith anger of the spirits and ancestors and was trying to pacify them, he thought. He wondered whether it would be prudent to hold on patiently until they had completed the ritual or to just proceed with his journey. He knew well that Osayo was with the people. After giving it a careful thought, he made up his mind to move on. 

    His life flowed back into his mind as he climbed up the slope on the other side of the river. It was, however, a different story; it was about his source of income. He used to take his jamni (cattle) to Kisumu Mission Centre in exchange for money. He would then use part of the money on his son's school fee and the compulsory taxes and the rest on domestic utilities. But the prolonged drought had killed most of them and the remaining were so emaciated that ticks could suck blood from one end of their skins to the other. A passerby - just a passerby - would derisively touch their pockets just in case you used your living carcass as a magical tool to rob them their coin. The drought did not take to shame, it was so persistent. The land was empty - full of thorns and dry woods. Omolo had to take a long walk outside Luo-land into the neighbouring rich Luhya-land, at least twice a moon, to fetch grass for his cattle. He dared the scorching midday sun out of his deep grief for the herbivores. He was a good pedestrian - not that there were no bicycles for hire those days, he had blown his wad in church and personal expenses. 

    When Omolo arrived at Osayo's home, he was given a rousing welcome by the children and Agola who had remained at home. All the children wanted to shake hands with him even though only a few, especially those ten seasons old and above, knew him. Some of them even wanted to be carried, but a signal from their mother drove them away. Omolo noticed it and inquired, "Why do you send the children away from me? Am I a witch?" 

   "Why me! Er... I'm sorry, but that's how we do it here, Wuon Oboo," she replied calmly but with a little surprise indicating on her face. "Welcome into the hut and... peace be with you." Omolo got into Agola's hut and sat down, feeling a bit uneasy. What had just happened meant a lot to him. Was there no freedom in that home? Were the children lacking fatherly affection or were they just drawn to him by his casual nature? He wondered more and more until he made a halt to his thinking. Agola served him a calabash of nyuka (porridge) with some rabuon (sweet potatoes). It was already evening, about dusk, and such a meal was accustomed for an evening tea. 

   "I'm sorry, woman, for asking you such a silly question," he begged in case he might have offended her. 

   "No problem. It's okay, not unusual to have asked." 

   Omolo noticed that Agola looked so weary and overtly distraught. He was keen not to offend her but was, nonetheless, eager to know what took place behind the walls. She was trying to assume a warm and casual face which waned more often. 

   "Woman, I see that you are distracted. Could there be any problem?" 

   "Oh! Not one. I'm okay. Really, I'm just fine." 

   "Cursed be any woman who lies to a man." He followed it with slight laughter. But she did not laugh, leaving guilt in his conscience. "Well, where's Wuon Okayo?" 

    "He has gone to the river for prayers." 

    "Okay. Please pull down your hair, Min Okayo (Okayo's mother). Just share with me this kind of... . After all, all folks need their fellow folks. And a problem shared is a problem halved." 

   There was a long silence in the room as Omolo took a deep bite from a piece of sweet potato and followed it with a sip of the honeyed millet porridge. 

   "Is your son at home? We are suspecting he escaped with... ." 

   "With your property?" he frained quickly putting down the calabash, and chunks of food dripping from the corners of his mouth. "He isn't a thief, woman. I know him. I know him." 

   "No. Not that. Our boy is lost and the two have been friends for a long time." At the mention of the word 'lost', two large balls of tears that seemed to have been hanging close fell from her eyes. Omolo was bemused to see a woman good in age having tears close to her cheeks.

   "Take it easy. Please." 

   "Oh you! Take it easy when he is the fruit of my womb?" Agola burst out into a heartbreaking sob without daring Omolo's presence, and tears freely flowed down her cheeks. She slowly quieted down and wiped away the tears with the hem of her shuka. 

   "I am sorry," she found her voice. "It's just that I am a mother."

   "It's alright. I suppose I'm the one who should be saying sorry. Well, you see, I think I was just like a cat on hot bricks, very curious... . My son too went missing, it's two seasons now. No sign of him. No news at all." 

   "Now you see. It's probable that they worked out the deal together. At first, I thought he had disappeared with one of my in-law's sons, but I was mistaken when the boy came back home later that evening. My husband has been planning to come to you since we overheard that your son... ." She stopped when Osayo walked into the hut without knocking. It was not a surprise; it was a common thing men did. They claimed the huts belonged to them and needed not to knock. 

    When Osayo caught a proper glimpse of his visitor, he greeted him coldly as if he was the unwanted source of evil-fares. 

   "How are you, omera?" greeted Osayo stretching out his left hand for a handshake. 

   "I'm fine bwana." He declined the handshake. Why would somebody greet you using there left palm? It was worse than just eschewing the whole thing about greeting. Besides, it was a display of a disgraceful and malevolent attitude. 

    Osayo pulled out a stool and sat down. His breath was hot and rapid. Agola left to get more porridge and potatoes. 

    "Ehe! Go ahead." 

    "I am sorry for paying you a visit so..." 

    "Why this early?" 

    "It's just that I had a bone to pick with you, a serious matter... ." He sniggered to break the ice. But Osayo remained quiet making the atmosphere more tensed for him. Agola returned with the food, served them and left. 

   "I have heard that your brat disappeared with my son to the region beyond the forest, to the home of the magicians. How did you just allow this to happen?" 

   "Wait, please. My son disappeared from my home without my consent, and this has nagged me for the past two seasons. It's only today that your wife brought it to my attention that he disappeared with your son and that they might have gone to the mission center in Kisumu. I plead with you, I am utterly remorseful about this. I am sorry. Please."

   "Are you? Will your sorry bring back my son? And anyway, sorry for what? For converting to the Blue-eyed's faith or stealing my son from me? I sent messengers to that hock last season, and they were only turned down and sent away like roaming dogs. Pooh! And here you are today, holier than Nyasaye, after sending them my son as a hostage for a push to spoil the brain of my young ones with their magic! In my house? To laugh at me? Out! I have spoken to the powerful Nyasaye of the Long-lasting Tree, and their magic spells will work no more."

    "Please calm down. It's not that I don't care. I am equally hurt." 

    Osayo's eyes had turned red, and at any undisputable moment, he would have risen up for a real war. 

    "And the same spirits are..." 

    "Cut it out, troublemaker! Get the crap out of my hut, you bandit. Warlock!" He was now shouting.

    Omolo stood up. He had to leave or else Osayo would pounce on him. He was not up for a tussle. Just as he stepped onto the doorsill to make his flit, he remembered what the ghost had told him and turned to Osayo. "Listen to this, all the same, Ogola's great grandmother appeared to me in a vision today. She said she was angry with you and wanted her son's sanity restored. And believe me you, if you don't do it in five days, your household will be standing on the precipice of a calamity." He left. 

    Osayo's fears lay in such incitements. He feared the spirits. When the reality of what he had been told visited him, his blood froze and his anger died down. 

    Omolo walked in the moonlit night courageously like a valiant warrior. He felt somewhat relieved despite being unable to share out all his problems. Something huge had just come out of his chest, but he could not describe what it looked like. Maybe it was the last message he gave out to Osayo and could guess left him mystified that gave him that feeling of relief. Or may be it was the realization that he was not suffering alone, that at least someone shared in his problems. He strode away more hastily than before. His herd of cattle were lying out in the field. Customs had it that the sun was not supposed to set and sink deep at the west before the cattle were taken back to their kraal. Repeated occurrance of such was considered inauspicious for the future. 

    "Omoloooo! Omoloooo!" Osayo's voice reverberated downstream. Omolo heard it as he crossed the river but assumed. How could he get back into the jaws of a lion? He increased his speed just in case the old man was coming after him. A snap of hilarious laughter in the brushwood also set him on the darts. He would not allow the spirits to turn him into a faithful messenger. 

                                  ***

     It was a night like no other. Flames could be spotted everywhere in the clan. The conservatives had just descended upon the converts and burnt down most of their huts. And the smoke rose up and filled the whole countryside, topped off by shrills and moans.

     Osayo was at the center of it all. He had organised a youth gang to raid on the converts from Ngere in Dipirr Sub-clan to as far as Koker in Gumba Sub-clan. The gang pulled the converts out of their huts and set the huts razing on fire. It was such a horrible scene. Osayo had decided to stage up his hatred for the Blue-eyed's religion.

     When the gang arrived at Omolo's home, however, they found the hut's door widely opened and no one inside. "Let's come back for him before dawn, boys. Could be he's just hiding somewhere around and will be back. The priest needs him alive," Miguena, the ringleader, whispered to the group. They left without setting the hut on fire. 

     Omolo had been awoken by screams in his sleep. When he went out and caught sight of huts blazing with unquenchable fire, he knew things were not okay and it was time to leave. He packed his necessary belongings and left. He had to run for his dear life.

     All alone in the middle a vast forest, he trudged through fallen twigs and leaves. The moon above shone brightly and he could at least see his way through. But it was not a walk in a park as he had to avoid the common paths used by people for fear of meeting his foes. At one time, he had to stop and hide in a cave when he thought he heard voices murmuring a few meters away. Another time, he nearly broke his leg when he tumbled on a small rock. Thorns pierced through his hands and legs, but he had no choice, he had to move on.

     After what seemed to be a two-hour walk, he finally found himself at the edge of the forest. In front of him lay a vast empty field where the Blue-eyed planned to construct a chief camp. On the other side of it stood the catholic church building wherein he was counted a deacon. The course to the deaconry had not been smooth. He had to learn the traditions of the church for three years before he took the oath of office. During that time, he mostly spent time in the church, away from his family, something that eventually led to the breakup with his wife. A tutor at the church taught him, alongside three other men, religion, reading, writing and arithmetic. He excelled in all of them, but until then, he had not been placed on a payroll as was the case with most clergies. Father Jonathan said the Church in Kisumu had to be informed. 

     He took the route upwards, across the field, to the church. The compound was fenced with a tall wall all round and had a metallic gate facing towards the field. It was now approaching midnight. He walked on and knocked at the gate. Once... twice... thrice... no reply. Then finally a voice came from within the watchman's cabin.

     "Hello. Who's there?"

     "It me. Augustine Omolo."

     "Really?"

     "Yes. Yes it's me."

     "What do you want at this time of the night, deacon?"

     "They have burnt down my hut, sir."

     "They have burnt down your hut? Who are they?" asked the watchman, pulling himself out and opening the gate. He was a plump light-skinned man, with a paunch, bald head and long beards. He held a rifle on his right shoulder.

     "The rebels. They are setting Christians' huts on fire."

     "What? That's unci... that's unfortunate! OK. Come in. And... I'm sorry for your loss, anyway."

     "Thank you. Can I..."

     "What's that you're carrying on your back?"

     "My belongings... a few things I managed to pack before I departed."

     "Umm... really? Can I have a closer look, deacon?"

     "Of course." He gave him the bag. He searched through quickly and, seeing nothing unusual except a pile of clothes and shoes, returned the bag to him.

     "You managed to pack these before leaving?"

     "Yes, when I saw the fire and knew they were headed right for me."

     "Did you see them?"

     "No."

     "Then how do you know they burnt down your hut when you didn't see them?"

     "They did it. I knew they would. And if they had found me, they would have burnt me in it or butchered me like a chicken."

     "I'm sorry."

    "Can I speak with Father Jonathan, please?"

    "No. He's asleep by now. And I think he is tired. He took too long in the confession room today and... come on, deacon, I'm gonna show you a place where you can spend the night. You can speak with him tomorrow. I know your joints are aching, and that smell of raw blood... ." He led him away.

     The following day, Chief Odhiambo, accompanied by two armed men arrived at Osayo's place. Agola saw them and bowed. "Long live the chief," she accorded him respect.

     "Where is he?" asked Odhiambo, fury written all over his face.

     "Who, my chief?"

     "Your husband. Where is he?"

     "Here I am," said Osayo humorously as he walked out of his hut. "Oh! The chief! No, it's the thief. Long live the thief." He bowed, cachinnating like a hyena beholding a dead lion. "May I know, who are these blocks of rice accompanying his highness?" He stared intently at the light-skinned men.

     "Arrest him!" ordered Odhiambo. The two men seized Osayo amid fight-backs and handcuffed him. Then they led him away.

      "Where are you taking him? Where are you taking my husband?" cried Agola. "Please don't hurt him, I beg you. Don't hurt him. He is a good man." Her heart was always on her sleeves. The men disappeared into the thick forest.

Comments (2)
goodnovel comment avatar
Denis Nduta
Osayo is harsh and intolerant.
goodnovel comment avatar
vierelnayline
Yeees!!! It's time the priest served his comeuppance. Everyone has a faith to uphold and the right to do so without being intimidated
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