At Mema Sundiata learnt that Soumaoro had invaded Mali and that his own brother, Dankaran Touman, had fled. He learnt also that Fakoli was holding his own against the king of Sosso. That year the kingdom of Mema was at peace and the king’s viceroy had a lot of leisure time. As always, he went out hunting, but since the news about Mali had arrived Sundiata had become very gloomy. The aged Sogolon was ill. Manding Bory was fifteen and was now a lively youth like his brother and friend Sundiata. Djata’s sisters had grown up and Kolonkan was now a tall maiden of marriageable age. Now that Sogolon had grown old it was she who did the cooking and she often went to the town market with her serving women.
Well, one day when she was at the market she noticed a woman who was offering for sale nafiola55 and gnougou, condiments unknown to the people of Mema, who looked in astonishment at the woman who was selling them. Kolonkan approached. She recognized baobab leaves and many other vegetables which her mother used to grow in her garden at Niani.
‘Baobab leaves,’ she muttered, ‘and gnougou, I know these,’ she said, taking some.
‘How do you know them princess?’ said the woman. ‘I have been offering them for sale here in the market of Mema for days but nobody wants any here.’
‘But I am from Mali. At home my mother used to have a vegetable garden and my brother would go to seek baobab leaves for us.’
‘What is your brother’s name princess?’
‘He is called Sogolon Djata, and the other one is called Manding Bory. I also have a sister called Sogolon Djamarou.’
Meanwhile a man had drawn near and he spoke thus to Sogolon Kolonkan, ‘Princess, we are also from Mali. We are merchants and are going from town to town. I am selling colas myself. Here, I give you one. Princess, could your mother receive us today?’
‘Of course, she will be happy to talk to people who come from Mali. Don’t budge from here and I’ll go and talk to her about it.’ Kolonkan, without caring about the scandal of the viceroy’s sister being seen running across the market-place, had knotted her long dress about her middle and was running at full speed towards the royal enclosure.
‘N’na,56 she said, out of breath and addressing her mother, ‘I have found baobab leaves, gnougou and many other things at the market, look. Some merchants from Mali are selling them. They would like to see you.’
Sogolon took the baobab leaves and gnougou in her hand and put her nose to them as though to inhale all the scent. She opened her eyes wide and looked at her daughter.
‘They come from Mali, you say? Then run to the market and tell them that I am waiting for them, run, my daughter.’
Sogolon remained alone. She was turning the precious condiments over and over in her hands when she heard Sundiata and Manding Bory returning from the hunt.
‘Hail, mother. We have returned,’ said Manding Bory.
‘Hail, mother,’ said Sundiata, ‘we have brought you some game.’
‘Come in and sit down,’ she said, and held out to them what she had in her hand.
‘Why, it’s gnougou,’ said Sundiata, ‘where did you find it? The people here grow it very little.’
‘Yes, some merchants from Mali are offering it for sale in the market. Kolonkan has gone to fetch them for they want to see me. We are going to have some news of Mali.’
Kolonkan soon appeared followed by four men and a woman; straight away Sogolon recognized the eminent members of her husband’s court. The salutations began and greetings were exchanged with all the refinement demanded by Mandingo courtesy. At last Sogolon said, ‘Here are my children; they have grown up far from their native country. Now let us talk of Mali.’
The travellers quickly exchanged meaningful glances, then Mandjan Bérété, Sassouma’s brother, began to speak in these words:
‘I give thanks to God the Almighty that we are here in the presence of Sogolon and her children. I give thanks to God that our journey will not have been in vain. It is two months since we left Mali. We went from one royal town to another posing as merchants and Magnouma offered vegetables of Mali for sale. In these eastern lands people are unacquainted with these vegetables. But at Mema our plan worked out perfectly. The person who bought some gnougou was able to tell us of your fate and that person, by a crowning stroke of fortune, turned out to be Sogolon Kolonkan.
‘Alas! I bring you sad tidings. That is my mission. Soumaoro Kante, the powerful king of Sosso, has heaped death and desolation upon Mali. The king, Dankaran Touman, has fled and Mali is without a master, but the war is not finished yet. Courageous men have taken to the bush and are waging tireless war against the enemy. Fakoli Koroma, the nephew of the king of Sosso, is fighting pitilessly against his incestuous uncle who robbed him of his wife. We have consulted the jinn and they have replied that only the son of Sogolon can deliver Mali. Mali is saved because we have found you, Sundiata.
‘Maghan Sundiata, I salute you; king of Mali, the throne of your fathers awaits you. Whatever rank you may hold here, leave all these honours and come and deliver your fatherland. The brave await you, come and restore rightful authority to Mali. Weeping mothers pray only in your name, the assembled kings await you, for your name alone inspires confidence in them. Son of Sogolon, your hour has come, the words of the old Gnankouman Doua are about to come to pass, for you are the giant who will crush the giant Soumaoro.’
After these words a profound silence reigned over the room of Sogolon. She, her eyes cast down, remained silent; Kolonkan and Manding Bory had their eyes fixed on Sundiata.
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘it is no longer the time for words. I am going to ask the king’s leave and we will return immediately. Manding Bory, take charge of the envoys from Mali. The king will return this evening and we will set out first thing tomorrow.’
Sundiata got up and all the envoys stood up while Djata went out. He was already king.
The king returned to Mema at nightfall. He had gone to spend the day in one of his neighbouring residences. The viceroy was not at the king’s reception and nobody knew where he was. He returned at night and before going to bed he went and saw Sogolon. She had a fever and was trembling under the blankets. With a feeble voice she wished her son good night. When Sundiata was in his chamber alone he turned to the east and spoke thus: ‘Almighty God, the time for action has come. If I must succeed in the reconquest of Mali, Almighty, grant that I may bury my mother in peace here.’ Then he lay down.
In the morning, Sogolon Kedjou, the buffalo woman, passed away, and all the court of Mema went into mourning, for the viceroy’s mother was dead. Sundiata went to see the king, who offered his condolences. He said to the king, ‘King, you gave me hospitality at your court when I was without shelter. Under your orders I went on my first campaign. I shall never be able to thank you for so much kindness. However, my mother is dead; but I am now a man and I must return to Mali to claim the kingdom of my fathers. Oh king, I give you back the powers you conferred upon me, and I ask leave to depart. In any case, allow me to bury my mother before I go.’
These words displeased the king. Never did he think that the son of Sogolon could leave him. What was he going to seek in Mali? Did he not live happy and respected by all at Mema? Was he not already the heir to the throne of Mema? How ungrateful, thought the king, the son of another is always the son of another.
‘Ungrateful creature,’ said the king, ‘since this is how it is, go away, leave my kingdom, but take your mother’s remains with you; you will not bury her at Mema.’
But after a pause he went on, ‘Very well then, since you insist on burying your mother, you will pay me the price of the earth where she will lie.’
‘I will pay later,’ replied Sundiata. ‘I will pay when I reach Mali.’
‘No, now, or you will have to take your mother’s corpse with you.’
Then Sundiata got up and went out. He came back after a short while and brought the king a basket full of bits of pottery, guinea fowl feathers, feathers of young partridges and wisps of straw. He said, ‘Very well king, here is the price of the land.’
‘You are mocking, Sundiata, take your basket of rubbish away. That is not the price of the land. What do you mean by it?’
Then the old Arab who was the king’s adviser said, ‘Oh king, give this young man the land where his mother must rest. What he has brought you has a meaning. If you refuse him the land he will make war on you. These broken pots and wisps of straw indicate that he will destroy the town. It will only be recognized by the fragments of broken pots. He will make such a ruin of it that guinea-fowl and young partridges will come to take their dust baths there. Give him the land for if he reconquers his kingdom he will deal gently with you, your family, and his will be forever allied.’
The king understood. He gave him the land and Sogolon received her funeral honours with all the regal obsequies.