5.

Just as the sun moved into the center of the sky to inflict its worst, o Lwera, a region of barren land came into view. For Kintu, o Lwera marked the beginning of uncertainty. The men greeted the sight of o Lwera with both excitement and dread. It was only the seventh day but they had covered a ten days’ journey and could now rest for the night. However, o Lwera was o Lwera. Even at this distance, a dirge, the hum of its heat, was audible. Waves of radiation danced in the air warning: You traverse these grounds at your own peril.

Rather than stopping at this point for the night, Kintu decided that the party take on o Lwera for a short spell to give the men, especially those trekking for the first time, a sense of the moorland. There was a cave, not far away from where they were, where his father’s entourage used to camp. They would spend the night there. Kintu feared that spending the night outside o Lwera’s borders would enhance the men’s apprehension. Still, the pace fell as each man battled with private doubts about traveling through o Lwera.

Kintu was a boy the first time he spent a night in o Lwera. He had traveled with his father. His father’s head-wife’s tyranny had led to the formation of cliques among the children in order to protect themselves. Kintu, an only child whose mother had died, had neither clique nor mother to protect him. Though his father later brought two other wives to the home to curb the woman’s tyranny, Kintu never fit in. This led to a close bond between him and his father. That night, as everyone slept, Kintu had slipped off his sleeping skin and sat at the mouth of the cave. In his young mind, o Lwera was the son who, because of an intrinsic evil, isolated himself from his siblings and severed all intercourse with the family. Even at night, o Lwera seemed to turn its back to the moon and stars. It stood sullen, spying, and scheming. The following day, when he asked how o Lwera came to be, his father had explained, “O Lwera was the shallows of Lake Nnalubaale. But one day the sun, the lusty fool, attempted to kiss the lake and it shrank. o Lwera was formed.”

Now, Kintu looked into its expanse and sterility stared back. The few scraggy shrubs scattering the landscape were nettled. Small parched weeds crawled the ground laying nasty thorns. o Lwera was level, its soil gray, thin, and loose as if a fire had caused the desolation. The ground burst intermittently into tiny gray bump-like anthills. Even the cool breeze from the Nnalubaale that soothed Buganda avoided o Lwera.

O Lwera played mind games. Its weapon was illusion. Distant objects seemed so tantalizingly close that gullible travelers set themselves impossible goals, often missing the right places to rest. Rookie travelers swore that when they lifted their feet o Lwera moved the ground so that they stepped back where they were before, that the sensation of walking but not advancing was frightening.

Kintu looked at his son. Kalema had kept to himself since Baale returned home.

“How are the feet, Kalema?”

“Still good, Father.”

“Do you think you can wrestle o Lwera?”

“I am not frightened.”

“Don’t push yourself. If you’re tired, we can take a rest.”

“I am fine, Father.”

Typical, Kintu thought. Kalema was at the threshold of manhood where the words ‘I am not sure’ did not exist. Shy hairs peered above his upper lip. His voice had dropped and his legs and arms had lost their childish flab. He was almost as tall as Kintu yet Ntwire, his biological father, was stocky. Kalema was born Kalemanzira but family tongues had reduced his name to the familiar and royal name of Kalema. At home, he was Kintu’s son but older residents knew that Kalema was the only child of Ntwire.

One day, Ntwire had arrived in Kiyirika Village, distraught. In his arms was a shivering newborn, still covered in birth-blood. Between demonstrations and gestures, it became clear that Ntwire was a munnarwanda on his way to settle in the capital but his wife had died in childbirth. The residents took Ntwire to the governor. Nnakato, who had just given birth to Baale, offered to put Kalema on her breast. When Kalema grabbed it as if it were his own, Nnakato sat back in satisfaction: Baale had a twin. As a rule, a child in Kintu’s house was a child of the house. Talk of different ancestry was taboo because it led to self-consciousness and isolation. In a house where all Nnakato’s other children were twins, Kalema being Baale’s twin never raised interest.

In appreciation, Ntwire pledged to lay down his life for Kintu. He would do any work for him. Ntwire took a piece of land that Kintu gave him, abandoned plans to carry on to the capital and started herding Kintu’s cattle. However, while Kalema blended into Kintu’s vast household, Ntwire hovered on the peripheries of the community. Unlike the Tutsis who found their way to the capital and who assumed Ganda names on arrival and married Ganda spouses, Ntwire stood aloof. Inside, he was torn between his needs as a lonely outsider who craved his son’s love on the one hand and, on the other, he wanted to let the world take his son where happiness was. Otherwise, Ntwire was content to note that in spite of Ganda food, language and mannerisms, Kalema had taken after his mother: tall, regal, and with the most comely face that a womb ever sculpted.

When Ntwire found out that the governor was traveling to the capital again, he came to talk. He had decided that Kalema should find a job in the courts of the kabaka. Kintu was surprised that after all these years Ntwire still thought that working in the palace was a good opportunity. It was true that settlers from other tribes found jobs and sometimes favor in palaces. To some ba kabaka, surrounding themselves with people from different cultures was equivalent to traveling to these places. Mawanda used settlers as escorts to his envoys. Namugala employed them as spies. However, Kintu was uneasy. He knew the reality of the palaces, especially at such a time when a neophyte kabaka was still grappling for the security of his reign. In any case, there were many Tutsis in Kyadondo Province already. Despite this, Kintu understood Ntwire’s dilemma. While Kalema the child had enjoyed the life of a governor’s son, as a man, once Kintu’s protective hand lifted, he would plummet to reality. Ntwire’s refusal to take on a Ganda name and behave Ganda would always make Kalema a foreigner. Had Ntwire been a woman, mother and child would have been absorbed into the tribe as soon as a man made her his woman. Kalema would marry a Ganda girl: Kintu would give the children not only names, but his clan. However, Ntwire, the real father, was defiantly Tutsi and as long as he was alive, Kalema would be Tutsi in spite of his marriage and in spite of his name. Now Ntwire had chosen to send his son away. Kalema was on his way to the palace.

Kintu decided that if Kyabaggu did not need Kalema, he would put him in charge of the family estate on Lubaga Hill and let him carve out a future. Who knows? Kalema could become his eyes and ears in the palace. It would work out even better when Baale became governor. The two brothers would make a great team.

When Kintu told Baale about Kalema’s departure, the boy was broken. Kalema seemed confused but he was a quiet lad who always did as he was told. Nnakato and Kintu had decided not to tell him the truth of his birth. If Ntwire wanted his son to know he would tell Kalema himself. But as far as they were concerned he was their son. All Kintu told Kalema was that he needed him to stay in Kyadondo to learn the ways of the ba kabaka court and that it would be useful to Kintu.

Baale and Kalema’s parting was silent. Kintu had told Baale to return home several times. Each time, Baale had asked to go “just a little further.” Finally, Kintu raised his voice and ordered him back. Everyone else stopped. Baale stared at the sky. Kalema looked down, drawing lines on the ground with his big toe. The pain on both their faces was heartbreaking but Kintu held his stern look. Baale turned abruptly—without a word to Kalema or to his father, without waiting for his escort—and ran toward home. Kalema too started to walk without looking back. He did not talk to anyone for a long time.

O Lwera’s heat hummed. Kintu removed the leopard skin and passed it to the men carrying his clothing. Kalema walked in front of him carrying Kintu’s drinking gourds. They were tied on a string, which Kalema had draped on his right shoulder. As he walked, they knocked each other noisily but he did not seem to be bothered.

“Snails are licking my heels. Pacesetters stretch your strides!” Nnondo called from the back. Kintu took the string of calabashes off Kalema’s shoulders and carried it himself.

“There, you’ll walk faster.”