Kintu Read online

  Kintu shook his head. Nnabulya reminded him of his wife Babirye. If only royals looked beyond beauty in their choice of women, perhaps the throne would be more secure. But then, royals were not renowned for their mental prowess. He saw no end to the bloodshed. In spite of all that, Kintu could not wait to get to Lubya and see the royal madness that would be Kyabaggu.

  2.

  The party formed a snaking retinue. They walked downhill from Kintu’s courtyard, through cultivated plots on his land, past silent shadowy houses until they came to the bottom near the well where village residents collected water. The moon, as if shy, still hid behind a cloud. But midnight darkness was beginning to loosen. Kintu looked in the distance but the night yielded no horizon. Yet to him, the landscape was clear. He knew every rise and fall in the earth, every bush and thicket, and every old tree intimately.

  By the time the party came to Nswera, a large stream that cut Kiyirika Village off from the rest of Buddu Province, the fireflies had gone to sleep. The moon now tailed them at a distance like a nosy little brother. It was good timing, the walkers needed light to cross the swamp. Nswera was in a huge basin: its edges were steep while the bottom was flat.

  Ten men descended into the swamp before Kintu allowed his sons to follow. Inside the swamp, the snores of nature filled the air. Leaves rustled and insects whistled. Closer to the stream, frogs croaked as if hired to perform. The party crossed the stream without a problem and took on the incline to climb out. By the time everyone got out, the moon had drawn closer. Suddenly, Babirye, like an owl, swooped and perched into Kintu’s mind. She loomed large and dark. Kintu contemplated her for a moment then dismissed her.

  Four hours later, they were inside Nabweteme, a dense rain forest. The moon, now huge and low, sailed close to the canopy. Its light streaked through the trees. The forest was silent. When Kintu looked up again, the moon was racing ahead as if it had lingered too long in their company. He saw it sink behind the trees and thought, this is how we grow old: by letting the moon and the sun overtake us.

  The first part of the forest came to an abrupt end and they broke out into a clearing. Daybreak lay in the distance. Kintu was peering at it when he felt cold air on his head, as if his hair had been swept off. He held his breath—there was no tension among his men. Were they being stalked? But the party was too large to be attacked by wild animals. His mind raced back home to his family but he felt no danger there either. Yet he was certain that something was wrong. He asked his sons, Kalema and Baale, who now trailed somewhere in the party behind him to walk close to him.

  The horizon cracked into scarlet rays. The party had a few precious minutes to enjoy sunrise before entering the second phase of the forest.

  Kintu’s mind strayed to his wives, Babirye and Nnakato. He would rather have dealt with mutiny in his army than with Babirye, even though she was a replica of his beloved Nnakato. He never wanted to keep two women in the same house in the first place, not even identical twins.

  Tradition claimed that identical twins were one soul who, failing to resolve the primal conflict in the self, split—and two people were born. The older twin, Babirye for girls, was supposedly the original soul. Nnakato, the younger twin, was the copy, the mutineer. But Kintu could not see how this could be true of his wives. For him, Nnakato was the original. Rather than being selfish, Nnakato was the pacifier who always allowed Babirye to have her own way. Surely it had to be Babirye who had fallen out with Nnakato. She had pushed and shoved until Nnakato stepped out of the way. Babirye was born first and became the dominant twin thereafter.

  They were inside the second part of the forest. The foliage was wet as if it had just rained. The canopy blocked the early sun. Still, Kintu could see well. Huge mahogany trees rose and soared, splitting into a canopy of dense branches. The shrubs below were lanky, making thin undergrowth. The forest floor was carpeted in a thick layer of decomposing leaves. Tiny hard black seeds littered the ground. Once in a while, they came upon an ancient tree with roots wide and webbed above the ground that towered over the men.

  Kintu’s mind lingered on the primal conflict that led to a soul splitting into twins. No matter how he looked at it, life was tragic. If the soul is at conflict even at this remotest level of existence, what chance do communities have? This made the Ganda custom of marrying female identical twins to the same man preposterous. It goes against their very nature, Kintu thought. Twins split because they cannot be one, why keep them as such in life? Besides, identical men did not marry the same woman.

  But even as he raged against custom, Kintu knew that in the world of twins, things could be worse. There were people born as single souls only to bear twin personalities. More tragic were twins who changed their minds too late and arrived conjoined.

  “Red ants,” someone called and the men stood still.

  “Lift your clothes up: these warriors seek out hairy regions first,” Nnondo the headman called.

  One by one, men jumped over the intricate ant processions.

  “They are all over the place,” someone called at the tail of the group.

  The orderly convoy was abandoned. Luckily, they had come to the edge of the forest and soon broke out into the open. The men threw down their spears and loads, stomping and stripping.

  Outside the forest, the vegetation changed dramatically. An expanse of elephant grass lay as far as the eye could see. A slight yellowing in the leaves indicated that the soil in this region was salty. The earth, previously a dark loam, inclined toward red. After the soft wet carpet of the forest bed, the ground was hard beneath their feet. The wind blew on top of the elephant grass and the leaves swayed like waves on a green lake. Kintu turned to his son Baale and told him it was time to return home.

  From that point onwards, the party walked against the sun. They read its rhythm in the cast of their shadows and measured their energy against the cheerless posture of the vegetation.

  Kintu married Nnakato first. He married Nnakato against counsel, against custom.

  When he first whispered his desire to her, they were both young and Nnakato was shy. “You know you ought to court Babirye first,” she had reprimanded wistfully.

  Kintu shook his head, “It’s you I want.”

  This implied difference between her and Babirye, the first in Nnakato’s life, was so intoxicating that she failed to insist that Kintu court them both. Her parents, on hearing Kintu’s proposal, initially rejected the idea of separating the twins. However, they then relented. If Kintu would not marry both girls, then he would wait until Babirye, the eldest twin, got married.

  Kintu waited.

  No man whispered to Babirye, not even in jest. Kintu’s father died and Kintu became Ppookino. He then pressured the twins’ parents to let him marry Nnakato. He claimed that as governor he was naked without a wife.

  “True,” the parents agreed. “However, as you know, our hands are tied. If you want our Nnakato, you must marry our Babirye first then come back for Nnakato later.”

  Kintu rejected the custom even though the twins were identical. The parents were perplexed, “They’re one person. Surely if you want one, you want the other?”

  Kintu claimed that the twins’ eyes were different.

  “I don’t trust Babirye’s eyes.”

  To support his views of Babirye he asked, “Why has no man married her?”

  The parents, now cowering under Kintu’s power, offered Babirye at half dowry, but Kintu still refused. Desperate, they offered her free on top of Nnakato, but Kintu would not have her. They resorted to threats.

  “We don’t wish you ill, Kintu. However, not only have you split our Babirye from her other half, you’ve humiliated her.”

  “If the girls didn’t want to be separated in the first place, they should have not split into twins.” Kintu was defiant.

  The parents gave up, turned to the gods and prayed for mercy.

  But after the wedding, Nnakato would not settle down to marriage. She kept going back and fort
h, back and forth, to her parents’ house to check on Babirye. When, after many seasons she had not conceived, Kintu forbade her from visiting her sister. He declared that if the twins must see each other then Babirye, unmarried, should do the gallivanting.

  Still Nnakato did not conceive.

  The parents hung their heads in a now-you-see posture. But Kintu blamed Babirye for Nnakato’s reluctant womb. Oh yes, twins might have an uncanny sense of each other, but to him, Nnakato’s concern for Babirye was guilt and fear. It was this that locked Nnakato’s womb. Kintu was certain that Babirye had punched Nnakato so hard while they were in the womb that Nnakato learned to make peace with her. He was surprised that Babirye did not devour Nnakato; such overbearing personalities often ate their twin and were born with a hunchback.

  In the end, when Nnakato failed to conceive and Babirye failed to get married, Nnakato suggested that Babirye come and help her with conception. Even though Nnakato had abandoned her for a man, Babirye was keen to share her womb. At first, Kintu would not lie with her. However, as time passed, Nnakato’s apparent barrenness began to compromise not only his virility, but his governorship. Expectant whispers: Is the bride getting morning sickness yet? turned from well-meaning to prying and finally petered out. Kintu gave in: better to have children with Nnakato’s twin than with another woman.

  Even though moments with Babirye were few and perfunctory, Kintu felt that she had jumped at the chance of becoming his wife. When Babirye conceived, she took over Nnakato’s home with gusto, walking around the village showing off her swelling belly. Even when Nnakato explained to Kintu her agreement with Babirye—that on conception she would step back and assume the role of Babirye looking after her expectant sister, Kintu would not trust the older twin. To him, those first two years of Nnakato becoming a visitor in her own home, when Babirye became his wife, made Nnakato shrink. Babirye played her part well. Residents only noticed a slight change in Nnakato’s’ character. Apparently, her tone was sharper and she was impatient. Old women nodded knowingly: pregnant women were notoriously bad-tempered.

  Babirye gave birth to twins. She nursed the babies until they started to run. Then she returned home to her parents. Over the years, she bailed Nnakato out four times. Each time, Babirye gave birth to identical twins. However, during the pregnancies, Kintu stayed away from home: either he traveled to the capital or toured his province.

  Kintu was conflicted. He resented Babirye’s claim to their marriage but prided himself in siring twins. His new title was Ssabalongo. The residents marveled, “As a sire, Kintu is chief indeed.” Every time a set of twins arrived, they shook his hand, “A strong man may wake up late and still get to do as much as we who woke up with the birds.”

  Nnakato and Babirye were both called Nnabalongo, the children called both of them “Mother”, but in her heart Babirye knew that when people called her Nnabalongo they were talking to her sister. She knew that the children called her Mother not because she had knelt down in pain to bring them into the world, but because she was their mother’s sister. Babirye’s eight children belonged to Nnakato.

  It was midmorning: the sun was still amiable. Villages were now behind them. The further they traveled, the more stunted the vegetation became. Reeds had given way to ssenke, a sturdy grass accustomed to stingy weather. The ground was harder than before. Even to a novice taking the journey for the first time, the hardening of the ground, the yellowing sparseness, and thinning of vegetation indicated that they were moving further away from fertile land toward a more arid landscape.

  3.

  The party was now on its fourth day of travel. They had stopped for the third break and changeover of tasks. The men refreshed with water and fruit they had collected along the way, while Nnondo briefed them on the remaining part of the day’s journey. They were to watch out for anything bright-colored and slithering, especially monitor lizards and snakes.

  Kintu took a swig from his gourd, the smoked flavor reminding him of home. He scanned the horizon for any dark cloud that would shield them from the sun but the sky was a sterile blue. He cut a slice of mango and ate: unripe but soft, it was tangy. Normally, mango was fruit for children but Kintu and his men were eating dried meat and roasted seeds. Meat was light in the stomach and it kept hunger away, but it was obstructive to bowel movement. Mango kept the stomach in motion.

  After refreshing, the men stood up. Pacesetters at the head of the convoy took over the migguggu of Kintu’s sheets of barkcloth, his regalia, skin robes, ceremonial wooden slippers, and other personal effects. Others carried food—especially meats hunted on the way and dry-roasted, as they were soon coming to regions without game or fruits. They now walked in the middle of the retinue, while men who had been at the back took over pacesetting at the top of the convoy. The ones that had been carrying loads now took the rear. As they set off, Kintu ignored the nagging ache in his feet.

  Soon the scenery gave way to huge cone-like hills covered in stone gravel. Rising off a flat plain, the hills were so close to each other that there were no valleys between them. The convoy walked around them through the narrow corridors. There was only a smattering of vegetation at this point. The hilltops were totally bare. The grass, only inches off the ground, was dewy, soft and wet, refreshing to the men’s aching feet. For a while, the hills were a welcome distraction as they interrupted the horizon and kept Kintu’s mind off the discouraging distance. But then a burning sensation—as if the air he breathed grated his nose—gripped him and tears came to his eyes. To ease the pain, Kintu held his nose and breathed through his mouth until they had left the hills behind.

  Kintu married other women besides Nnakato. The women were brought to him as tributes: some from ambitious parents, others were daughters of fellow governors. His wives’ homes were scattered all over the province for his convenience when he toured. The families, especially in far-flung regions of the province, were also a reminder to the local populace of his presence. Nnakato was in charge of the wives. When a bride arrived, she named and allocated her a role within the family—there were those good with children, creative ones who concentrated on crafts; those with a lucky hand in farming and who produced more food. When Kintu was away on kabaka’s duties, Nnakato visited the wives, checking on the children and the state of the land they lived on. When the children were older, she rounded the age groups up and brought them to Mayirika for instruction. She also garnered, informally, local moods and major incidents, reporting back to Kintu. Nnakato made sure that the wives met and visited each other regularly. The children visited each mother to meet their siblings. But to Kintu, the women were a duty.

  At the thought of his wives Kintu gnashed his teeth. He felt bound. He was a prize bull thrown into a herd of heifers. He was Ppookino: Why did he have to mount every woman thrown at him? On the other hand, how could he not? He was a man, a seed dispenser. It was natural: he should enjoy it. For the ba kabaka, women brought to them were put away to entertain envoys, dignitaries, and other guests. Unlike a kabaka, Kintu was not above culture. Women given to him had to become his wives. In any case, Nnakato was an effective head-wife. She put in place a roster: every wife would have a child at least once in three years, ideally, once in every two years.

  Kintu did his rounds; he spent a week with each wife. However, this sexual journey through his wives, ebisanja, was more arduous than the trek to the capital. Women waited moons to see him. Most were young with high expectations. They drained him. Despite Nnakato’s potions, Kintu never felt fully replenished. In any case, Nnakato brought the wives who failed to conceive to Mayirika and asked him to double his efforts. Kintu winced at the thought of the potions. They were enslaving. Once you tried them, they confiscated what was naturally yours so that you depended on them. Probably, men envied him every time someone arrived with a shivering virgin, but he was not interested, not even in Babirye who writhed and made noises like Nnakato. He was no Ppookino, Kintu decided. He was a slave to procreation and to the kingdom.

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bsp; Just as the eldest twins Kintu had with Babirye were about to get married, Nnakato conceived. Kintu could not travel to the capital because Nnakato’s pregnancy was jittery: several times, it threatened to fall through. She became emaciated and haggard. Kintu cut down her duties and Babirye took over. Finally, Nnakato gave birth to a son, Baale.

  That is when trouble started.

  While to the family Kintu’s love for Baale was mere indulgence of himself and his youngest son, Babirye saw it as Kintu wedging a distinction between her “own” children and Nnakato’s son, that he never loved “her” children the way he loved Baale. Babirye, still living with her parents, threatened to tell the older children the truth. After all, Nnakato had her own child now. Nnakato was frightened, not of Babirye telling the children, but of the possibility of being partial to her son. She swallowed her hurt and asked Kintu to tell the children but Kintu would not hear of it.

  One day, as Babirye prepared to return to her parents after a long visit, she took Nnakato aside and asked, “Nnakato, do you ever think about me?”

  “Why, Babirye, how can you ask?”

  Babirye was silent for a moment. Then she counted questions on her fingers. “Who carried those children for nine moons? Who labored on her knees to bring them into the world? Who nursed them for seasons? Who gives them up as soon as they are weaned? Have you ever wondered what happens to the mother in me as I pack to leave?”

  When Nnakato did not answer Babirye said, “These breasts, they weep.”

  Nnakato choked. She had Mbuga—Nnakato called Kintu Mbuga affectionately—she had Mayirika and nine children. Babirye had nothing. Nnakato pleaded with Kintu to tell the children, but he threatened to keep Babirye away from his family. He felt that Nnakato fell too easily under Babirye’s spell.