Posts Tagged ‘Stories’

How The Birds Came

When the sun was half way up the sky one morning, and the birds were still noisy looking for food, Mwanga was sitting with two of his grandchildren. Aiya the boy was seven, and Lilla the girl was seven and a half. The compound was quiet because the adults had gone to visit people in other compounds to borrow things like a hoe or some seeds. Or perhaps they had gone to sit under a tree, because it was one of those days that seemed to carry happiness in the air, and people could smile at each other easily.

Mwanga, Lilla and Aiya had found a comfortable place in the morning sun, and Mwanga was trying to tell the children how to understand what birds were saying. He said, “I am listening to the birds all the time and I hear what they are saying and what stories they tell. It fills my heart with love Lilla.”

Lilla sat listening for a while, but looked puzzled. “I don’t hear them speak anything to me Mwanga. Why do you hear them?”

Aiya didn’t say anything. He just sat staring at Mwanga. He knew he loved Mwanga, but he didn’t think it was because of anything Mwanga had said. His grandfather saw the love shining out of his eyes and smiled at him.

Just then a mother bird with her two young fledglings flew to the ground near the cattle enclosure. She was pecking up small insects. As she did so her two youngsters were crouching with their feathers fluffed up to make themselves look as much like babies as possible, and they were chattering all the time. Then the mother bird would give a loud whistling call to them and put food into their mouths.

Mwanga pointed to them and said, “You can surely hear what they are saying to each other can’t you?!”

“The babies are saying – ‘Feed me! Feed me’!” Aiya said, hunching himself up like one of the babies.

“And they are saying – ‘I can’t find any food! I can’t find any food’!” Lilla said laughing.

“So what is the mother saying to them?” Mwanga asked.

Lilla started with, “She is saying ‘Look, here is some food’!”

Then Aiya continued, “She is saying, ‘This is how you find your own food. Watch me! Watch me’!

“That is good” Mwanga said laughing. “So you CAN hear what the birds are saying.”

“Well I didn’t know you meant like that Mwanga” Aiya said, “and I still don’t know what makes you love them when they speak.

“Ah” Mwanga said, still smiling, “that only comes when you have fed your babies too, and seen them grow until they can find their own food. Then your heart listens also and you know what the mother bird feels. You know that all living things have a connection, and that connection brings love bubbling up like a spring from mysterious places.”

The children didn’t speak for a while. Then Lilla spoke as if she were still thinking deeply about what Mwanga had said. “I still don’t hear them telling me a story like you say they do with you Mwanga.”

“Stories take a bit more practice at listening Lilla” he said. “Birds only have a few words they can speak, but each word means lots of different things. That’s because birds have to say all they feel and know using the few words they have.”

Mwanga paused for a while pondering, then said, “When I was a small boy about your age I noticed many birds would often sit together. They would talk with each other. They weren’t eating and they weren’t mating. They were standing, fluttering their wings and talking with each other. At that time I wondered what they were saying. Slowly I learnt you must watch what the birds are doing as well as what they are saying. Only then can you hear the story.”

“Tell us what story the birds were speaking to each other Mwanga” Aiya asked.

“I will try Aiya” Mwanga replied. “But it is a difficult story to tell. You see, birds, like our tribe, have their own history. With our tribe each year we tell the history of our people. We sing what has happened to our tribe, and some parts we dance. Each of us remembers that history because out of it we have strength and wisdom in our own spirit. When the birds get together in a big group and flutter their wings, they are singing and dancing their history. If they didn’t do that they would lose their strength and forget how to make their nests.”

“So each different sort of bird is like a tribe!” Lilla said.

“Yes” Mwanga agreed. “But at the beginning, all the different birds history is the same story, and that tells how the birds came to fly, and that is the story I will tell you today as we watch and listen to the birds.”

Lilla and Aiya moved so they could face Mwanga as he told the story. Sometimes he used his hands and eyes as he spoke the words, and they wanted to see this. When they were ready, Mwanga started by saying, “When the birds tell their history they say to each other that in their sleep and dreams they remember all the years birds have flown in the sky. But the great dreams tell them of a time when there were no birds. In those days no birds flew to the trees, and the sky had no sounds in it apart from the wind. The clouds moved across the sky, and they were the only things to fly except for the insects and the leaves dropped by the trees. Nowhere in all the land, nor in all the water were there any birds.”

He paused to let this strange idea fill the children’s imagination. Aiya was looking at him with eyes wide. “In those days long ago” Mwanga continued, “sometimes the earth roared and the sea and sky cried. Then the earth was dark and there was fire in the sky as the hills and rivers were being shaped by powerful spirits.

“At that time there were great djinn spirits who lived in the mountains and the rivers. They were the ones shaping the land. And one of these, Kakudra, lived in a mountain above a swamp, where there were many flies.”

“What is a djinn?” Aiya interrupted.

“It’s the invisible power behind things we can see happening in the world around us, like the lightning and thunder, but we don’t know how they happen. So we give the invisible power a name. Kakudra must have been a djinn who shaped the mountains and the animals. And because he lived on a mountain above a swamp the flies were always landing on his nose and his eyes, and this made him angry.”

Mwanga slapped at the flies that were even then landing on his forehead. “When Kakudra looked across the land from his mountain he saw there was nothing in the air to catch the flies. He thought that if only the lizards had wings, they could chase the flies and eat them.”

“Like the swallows do” Lilla said.

“Just like the swallows” Mwanga said. “So Kakudra took up a lizard that was lying on a fallen tree in the sun. He pulled and pulled at the skin under the lizard’s front legs until the lizard cried. Then he pulled some more until the skin was stretched back from the legs like wings.

“Then Kakudra lifted the lizard up above his head and threw it into the air down the mountain. The lizard spread its legs out wide to land, but the wind took it as the stretched skin spread like wings, and it floated on the air until it landed in the swamp at the bottom of the mountain.”

“Was it hurt?” they both asked.

“It was very sore from where Kakudra had stretched it’s skin” Mwanga said, “But as it had floated on the wind it didn’t bruise itself much when it landed in the swamp. That was good because with his power Kakudra called the lizard back up the mountain and lifted it above his head. Before he threw the lizard again he said to it, ‘Glide on the air around the mountain and eat the flies.’ Then he threw the lizard high into the air and the wind took it again. But it took many throws and some more bruises before the lizard learnt to chase the flies in the air.”

“I wouldn’t want to be thrown down the mountain if I were the lizard” Aiya said defiantly.

“It was dangerous and frightening” Mwanga agreed. “But don’t forget the lizard was now catching a lot more flies. That is why the birds say this is a great part of their history, because it reminds them that to catch more flies you might get a few bruises.”

“I burnt my fingers a few times when I was first learning to cook” Lilla said, holding her beautiful long brown fingers up to show Mwanga.

He looked at the small burn marks on the tips of her fingers. “That is what happens sometimes when we learn something new” he said. “But Kakudra was pleased that the lizard had faced the dangers. He put a spell on the lizard so all its children would have skin stretched from their front legs to their back. And he told the lizard to jump from tree tops to chase flies so he would not have to constantly throw it into the air.”

“But it still wasn’t like the birds” Aiya remarked.

“That is true. But look at the chickens there” he said, pointing to the chickens wandering around the compound trying to find food. If you look at their legs, you can see they still have scales on them like lizards. Only slowly did the rest of their body change. The change happened because to catch flies and to avoid enemies, the lizard and its children gradually learnt to jump into the air and move their arms so rapidly they could fly instead of glide. This was difficult. It was a struggle and some other lizards were jealous and also learnt to fly.

“So that is how the birds came into the air, because Kakudra was angry with the flies. And as it was such a great thing to have done, the birds still tell this story to their children.”

The First Vision

When all the adults and children in a compound have worked to till the earth and grow a crop of root vegetables or corn, the harvest is very precious. Not only has everyone helped to make the soil ready and plant the seeds, but also because the sun is so hot water has to be brought to the plants to help them survive the blistering sun.

But there is still more to do. The plants have to be guarded against all the birds and animals that might eat them. If the crop were unguarded and eaten there would be no food, even for the children.

To guard just such a crop as this, a group of boys aged between eight and twelve were walking from the compound to the fields. Mwanga, the old witch-doctor and story teller of his people, walked with them. One of the youngest of the boys, Dindin, who was eight and just a bit frightened to be so far away from the compound, asked Mwanga when he had first chased the birds away from the fields.

“When I was your age Dindin” Mwanga replied, “I often went with the other boys to make noises at the birds. But the first time I guarded a crop alone was when I had been alive for nine years.”

Dindin couldn’t believe he would get a lot braver in just one year. “That was very small” he said.

Mwanga looked at him and smiled. “I was a child like you Dindin. That was my first time to be left to care for the harvest alone. I was very proud. My father had walked with me to the field. My father smiled as he left me.”

“Weren’t you frightened Mwanga?” Dindin asked.

“At first I was too proud Dindin. Sometimes men guarded the field without help, and this was my first time to be a man. I knew I must try not to fall asleep as the sun grew hot. I must frighten the birds, and I must keep away the cattle that might try to eat the crop. That was what my father had said to me.”

Mwanga walked along quietly for a few moments, looking at the other boys. He was old and thin and muscular. He said, “When my father had gone I made a picture in my head of having a bigger body, and being as strong as a man. I saw myself standing tall like my father. I walked up and down the field shouting. I made so much noise nothing dared come near, not even a mouse. But I was only nine. I grew tired from being so big and I fell asleep.”

Most of the boys laughed. They banged the sticks they were carrying to whack any wandering cattle with on the ground. Only Dindin looked worried.

Mwanga watched him and carried on with his story. “But Dindin, when I slept I had a vision. It was not a dream, it was a vision. It was my first vision.”

Now the boys who had banged their sticks grew quiet. They knew that to have a vision was something to be respected. Only those who could see beyond what the eyes looked at could have a vision.

“In that vision” Mwanga said, “I was standing in the field and I was looking at the sky, watching for birds. In the sky a bird flew from the East. At first it was a long way across the sky and very small. But it came closer and closer growing bigger until it landed just outside of the field. It stood as tall as I, and its wings spread longer than my two arms.”

Dindin was searching the sky to make sure there were no such birds about. “what did the bird do Mwanga?” some of the other boys asked.

“It looked at me and asked me to let it eat. I said to it, ‘I must drive you away. I must drive you away’ and I waved my stick. ‘My father has told me I must not let any birds eat.’ But the bird wasn’t frightened of me. It held up its head and called and cried, calling a flock, a black cloud of birds. They descended upon the field and they ate. I ran into the field trying to drive them away, but there were too many.”

Dindin still looked worried. “I don’t know if I like this story yet Mwanga” he said.

“Well, Dindin, you asked me if I was frightened looking after the crop alone. When I couldn’t drive the birds away, then I was afraid. I was fearful that I was still a child and I would never become a man. And I cried like a child.

“When I did that the big bird walked toward me and spoke to me and told me to watch. Then it opened its wings and flew high till it was small in the sky again. It called to me from the height. The words it said were, ‘In the pastures when the crops grow high, you will lead your tribe. There will be a bad time. You will lead your tribe through this bad time.’ Then the bird flew to the ground again and stood before me. It said ‘Do not leave me hungry Mwanga, for I can lift your eyes high. When I am so high I can see all the earth. Do not leave me hungry.’

Then I stopped crying. I took what was left in the field in my hands and I fed that bird.”

“Why Mwanga?” The boys shouted, “Why, when it had called the birds to eat the crop?”

Mwanga stopped walking, for they were near the fields now, and the boys looked at him. “That great bird is the Bird of Vision” he told them, looking right into their eyes. When it was so high it could see when I was born and when I would die. It told me I would lead my people through bad years. Such a bird one must give honour to.”

“What happened then Mwanga?” Dindin asked.

“Then I woke, for I had seen my vision in my sleep. The crops were still good. There were no birds, and I was proud, that I was no longer a child, even though I had slept, for I had seen my first vision.”

“Will I see a vision?” Dindin said.

“Perhaps you will” Mwanga replied, as they walked into the small fields, “For you are growing into a fine man, and a vision would show you your strength.

So Dindin walked into the field with his stick feeling it was a good day.

Man With The Dark Head

On a day when a number of people from the compound were walking to a village some miles away to sell produce at the market, the talk turned to whether the rains would come on time. The river was the flow of life to all the tribe and animals, and being drier than usual, it was something important to talk about. Without water the crops and animals would die. As Mwanga was a respected elder of the tribe they asked him if he thought the rain would be heavy. He walked along with them silently for a while, then said, “If we are a happy people, then the rains will be full. But if there is division among us, then is the time to worry about the rain.”

This seemed a mysterious answer so they asked him what he meant by it. He said, “The talk of rain reminds me of a story told me many years ago in my early years of being a father. An old woman of the tribe told it to me, and I will try to say it just as she spoke it to me, because it answers the question.”

He paused for a while to borrow a coloured scarf from one of the women, and arranged it around his chest as if he were no longer a man. Then as he started to walk again he walked as if he had carried many a child on his hip, just as old women of the tribe do. Everyone laughed, especially the children walking with them, and Mwanga laughed too. But then he looked serious and started to tell the story just as though he were the old women. Tallking like he was eanestly remembering he said, “In the autumn that came when the river was dry, there was very little food. But a little rain came in the winter and we managed to find enough food to keep the animals alive and feed the children. My belly was small then. I have never had such a small belly as in that winter.”

Mwanga made sad noises, just as women do to let out their sorrow and not hold it inside like a thorn in the foot. He said, “When the spring came we hoped for a change with the new year. The dark spirit that had stopped the rain falling was still troubling our people. Many of us were afraid and we wept. Someone thought we should move, that we had been cursed and we would all die. So spoke my own fear. It was like a shadow that crept into my hut at night and whispered that unless I ran away my baby and I would die. I know fear spoke to the hearts of many of us like a shadow at night. It told us to run away from this place.”

Mwanga knew that when the river was low, there was always some fear that if the water got lower and dried up, everybody would have to leave their homes and try to find somewhere else they could live. So the story was saying what was in the heart of each person, especially the women with children.

Now, still sounding a little like an old woman remembering her past, Mwanga spoke as if the troubles were something happening for those walking with him. He said, “In the past our tribe have been proud, and our people have been strong. We remembered this as the shadow of fear spoke to us, and the spirits of our family came close to us. They strengthened us and told us not to run like frightened dogs.”

Mwanga’s voice became wistful, and there were tears at the corner of his eyes. “But my child was two years old, my breasts were very dry, I was trying to feed my child with husks of last year’s harvest, and there was nothing to eat.”

The women in the group moaned at the thought of this. Some of them cried because this was the story of their tribe, and it felt to them like they too had lived through this dark time and feared for their baby. Brindy, the mother of twins cried loudest. How would she have fed two babies at a time like that. “What did we do not to run away Mwanga?” she asked.

Mwanga wiped his eyes with the scarf wrapped around his chest. “Let me finish the story as the woman” he said. “Then you will find out.” So returning to his role of the aged woman of the tribe he continued. “At that time when there was no water left anywhere, Nhadrach Dandra, the man with the dark head, as we called him, who lived by himself outside of the compound, asked for food and we had none. We told him this and he said if we found him a woman he would lift the curse. For when Nhadrach Dandra was living outside of the village as a youth, no woman had chosen him at the dance of choosing.”

“How could he lift the curse?” the man named Adega asked. “Did he know magic Mwanga?”

Someone else told Adega to let Mwanga finish the story.

Mwanga carried on without attempting to reply to the questions. “There was a woman Bantwa, who said she would be his wife if rain came within a week. Rain came within three days and it was heavy. Then rain came again and we were saved.”

Everybody clapped and laughed. “It rained” they cried. And Adega shouted out, “He did know magic!”

When they had quietened they asked Mwanga what happened after it had rained. He took of the scarf around his chest, to show he was no longer the old woman, and said, “Then Nhadrach Dandra and his new wife were with the tribe and he became a father. With water the woman’s breasts became full and her child lived. The tribe had food. The cattle gave milk. We, the children of those people are still here.”

Adega, still thinking about Nhadrach Dandra said, “But did the man with the dark head know magic? If not how did he know it would rain?”

“The old woman told me Nhadrach Dandra had no dream. He had no vision. He was not a man of magic. He was a boy who was left outside of the tribe until he found a wife. The woman told me the story because that is what happened. There is no other reason.”

Some of the women laughed and said, “Finding a wife strong enough to make you a father is magic enough.” And they walked on to the village market to sell their produce.

Mwanga Flies To The Moon

An MP3 audio file of the story of how Mwanga Flies to the Moon.

When the moon was very bright one night, everyone in the compound was sitting enjoying the feeling of having food inside them. They sat close to the fire because with the moon so bright the sky was clear and it was cool. When most of the babies had fallen asleep someone asked Mwanga to tell a story.

Mwanga was sitting with a coloured blanket around his shoulders, his dark face shining from the fire and the moonlight. For a while he turned his face full to the moon. Then he looked around to see if everyone was listening, and said “On a night not so long ago the moon was big like it is now, and growing bigger. I had been woken in the deep of night when all of you in the huts were asleep. Perhaps it was an animal crying in the darkness. I do not know. But as I was listening I thought I could hear the moon whispering to me, so I went out of the hut and sat as I am sitting now, near to the embers of the fire.”

He looked meaningfully at the dying fire, and catching his meaning someone threw more wood on and for a moment the sparks flew up into the night’s darkness.

“As I sat,” Mwanga continued, “I felt as if I were the only one alive in all the world. Only a buffalo coughing somewhere was my companion in the darkness. But I could hear the stars talking. Some stars cry, and some stars sing. Each of them tells a story, but on that night it was the moon who spoke to me.”

“Did it tell you a story Mwanga?” Brindy, the woman who had given birth to twins asked.

“No,” Mwanga said thoughtfully, “On that night it asked me if I had ever left the earth and flown to the moon.”

He paused to let the excited talk die down. “That is very strange!” someone called.

Mwanga nodded, and sat closer to the fire. He waved his hands to stop them talking. “I said to the moon that I had never flown to it. I told it I had never even seen the crows, or the great dark winged bird, the ibis, do such a thing. It said to me that if I lift up my mind, if I think of the moon, then I could fly to it.”

“We’ve never heard you tell this before Mwanga” several people called.

“This is because I was frightened when the moon called me to fly to it, and I didn’t want to tell you how old Mwanga had been afraid of the moon. I was afraid because even if I did get to the moon, would I ever be able to come back? Even on the highest hills I have stood upon, the moon has been no bigger or nearer. It is sister to the sun who we can never touch, even if we throw spears from the top of the mountain.”

All eyes were on him and people nodded their heads in agreement.

“I was frightened that if I went to the moon I would never see my wife or my children again. Perhaps the moon would call me so far away I would get lost in the sky, and nobody would be able to find me, nor would I be able to find my way back!”

Mwanga gave a deep sigh as he felt the sadness of being so alone. “But I flew there” he said. “Despite my fear I stood upon the Moon and darkness was in the sky. There was no light from the stars. I was alone.”

There were gasps from the villagers at the thought of being so far away from home and their kin, but no one interrupted.

“Then from far away on my right I saw a man walking to me.” Mwanga pointed across the fire as if the man were indeed walking toward him. Some dark heads even turned to look into the night. “The man had his head bowed, but as he came close he lifted up his head and looked at me. I was full of dread, knowing it was my uncle from my mother’s family, who was dead. My belly felt empty and strange. I fell on my knees thinking I must have died, and nobody had been with me.” Mwanga beat on the hard earth with his hands.

“But my uncle called for me to stand. He came closer and said to me, ‘It is not your time to die, Mwanga, even though you are old. Listen and follow me’. Then he led me across the Moon to a dark hole in the ground. In that cave was a woman I had never met before. She was not of my tribe. She lifted her head with her eyes closed. Then she opened her mouth and only sand fell from inside her.”

Mwanga wrapped his arms about himself, pulling his blanket closer. “I was so afraid my body shook. But my uncle smiled and pushed the woman’s mouth open, making me look inside. Her mouth was dry and full of sand. She was dead!”

Some of the villagers made small moans, but Mwanga continued with bright eyes. “My uncle said, ‘This is what you have been afraid of Mwanga. You have feared your mouth would be full of sand when you died.’ His words gripped my heart so hard I cried, my tears falling onto the dry sand.”

Then a great shout came out of Mwanga, a mixture of pain and much joy and wonder. It made the dogs wake and bark as if they too wanted to shout with the same great feeling. Mwanga looked around at his friends and family, his face alive with his emotion. With a slight sob in his voice he said, “My uncle made me look at him. He opened his mouth. His teeth were young. He was not dead. His mouth was not full of sand. He led me out of that hole in the ground. He said to me, ‘When you die Mwanga you will face that woman whose mouth is full of sand, but now you have seen her you will not be afraid’.”

Some of the villagers reached out to touch Mwanga, to be closer to his spirit as it spoke to them through his words. He held them with the strength of his heart.

“Then my uncle took me to a large compound, a big place with many people. I had known them all, and they had all died. Their mouths were not full of sand. In that place I was greeted and made to feel welcome. I did not feel alone.”

Then Mwanga was silent and for some time the whole village sat quietly taking into themselves what Mwanga had told them, and what he had given them of himself. Then in a very gentle voice, but one touched with triumph, Mwanga said, “In the hour we die and we are buried in the ground and our mouths fill with sand, our spirit flies away and is not lost, and is not lonely. It is met and loved by those who are our kin. This the moon showed me on the night I was alone but for the cough of the buffalo and the crying and singing stars.”

Then Brindy, the woman who had twins, started singing, quietly at first. She sang, “In the hour we die and we are buried in the ground and our mouths fill with sand, our spirit flies away and is not lost, and is not lonely.” She sang the words over and over until the others joined in, and the sound was glorious. People stood up singing, and slowly danced around the fire, letting their body express their joy as they sang the words – Our spirit flies away, and is not lost, and is not lonely.

The Story The Rain and Wind Tell

Here is an MP3 audio file of  The Story the Rain and Wind Tell

Africa is one of the oldest countries on the face of the Earth. The animals and people have been there a long time. One evening as the sun was sinking, with thunder clouds gathering, the crickets and the birds were calling, and the evening seemed as old as the world. Sitting outside his hut watching for the coming rain, Mwanga seemed just as old. His face was as lined and full of the marks of the sun and wind as the dry ground. He sat so still one could believe he had nowhere to go. Perhaps he had lived so long he had already been there!
His ancient face didn’t stop the children sitting with him to watch the sky change and the sun sink. Just then it started to rain. Slow big drops at first, that made a good sound hitting the dust. Mwanga’s face seemed to shine with some wonderful unshared vision, and he smiled with pleasure. “Tell us Mwanga.” the children said. “Tell us where your smile comes from.”
“The rain is speaking to me” he said quietly.
“The rain is speaking to him,” they said to each other. Then to him, “What does it say?”
Mwanga touched his hands to his head as if he hadn’t heard them. It was a salute, a movement of his spirit through his body, giving his wonder to the increasing rain. As if he were listening intently he said, “Listen. It is always speaking. Listen to what it is saying now. It is talking about all things that are wet and give life, like blood. It is talking about making rivers flow. It is telling me how thirsty the earth is after lying for so long in the sun.”
He paused and stretched out a hand into the falling rain. His thin sun blackened arm was soon wet, and his face shone again. “The rain says that the grass and trees have drunk the water deep from the earth’s breast, and the new seeds are waiting. It tells me that when things are born, it is water that gives them life. It is talking about the birth of all the things you see, and how they came out of the water. How the water was given, and with it came life, and we were born out of the water.”
Little Sandwa took his arm to make him look at her. “How did I get born from the water Mwanga?” she asked, her eyes wide.
Without taking his eyes from hers, Mwanga said, “The rain is telling me about your mother Sandwa. It says your mother has a great lake inside herself where all the small animals live. Mother loved you so much that when she looked into the lake inside herself she saw all the animals, and she chose you! She chose you, because she loved you so much!”
Then he looked at the others and said, “This is the story the rain tells us. How your mother looked into the lake and chose you. She drew you out of the water with her love and made you.”
Sandwa clapped her hands together and smiled.
But Denda, who was a little younger than Sandwa, shook Mwanga’s hand. He looked a little uncertain when he asked, “But where was I before my mother drew me out of the water Mwanga?”
Mwanga was quiet for some time, listening intently to the rain, now splashing on the wet compound. He shook his head slightly. “This the rain doesn’t tell me Denda. I must listen to the wind. Only the wind knows that story.” He listened again and the children with him, hearing the wind hitting the rain hard against the huts and making a noise in the trees and roof.
Mwanga held his thin arm out into the rain again, cupping his hand until it had a little water in it. He drank this noisily. Then he said, “The wind blows the rain and moves the trees. It lifts up the dust when the earth is dry, and blows the flies away from the cattle. You can watch it coming from a great distance, moving toward you across the brown earth, picking up things, playing with them and dropping them.”
He moved his hands and body as if he were indeed the sinuous wind. “It gathers all the things that life has left, the dust, the leaves and the bones of things, and it plays with them. Sometimes it lifts them high into the sky, and that is what happened to you” he said, looking at Denda. Then he picked Denda up to sit on his lap.
“There was a time long ago when you were like a leaf fallen from a tree, and the wind lifted you high into the sky. And the wind held you there for many seasons because it loved you, and wanted you with it there in the blue space between the clouds. But you got lonely. You wanted to see your mother and father again, and your brothers and sisters. You wanted to play with the dog and tease the cattle as you always did in the past. So the wind grew quiet one day, and just as your mother and father were lying together in love; just at that time when they were crying – you know how when they are loving they cry – ‘Ahaa. Ahaaee.’ Like this they cry.”
He looked at the children and they laughed and made the sound themselves like a laughing cry. Then Mwanga went on, “Just then the wind blew into their mouths. It blew you into your mother’s mouth, and she drew you in as she was laughing. And your father loved her so much he pushed you deep into your mothers belly, until you were anchored there. Then you became part of that lake until she drew you out. And that is the story of what happened to you before you were born. It has happened to you many times. You were the dust, and the wind played with you and lifted you into the sky until you were lonely again, and wanted to be with your mother and your father, your sisters and your brothers, and wanted to tease the cattle once more and play with the dog.”
The children looked at Mwanga as he finished and sat silently watching the rain. After some silence they all moved close to him and looked at the rain too.