11.
Ntwire, on his own on the plains grazing Kintu’s cattle during the day and alone in his hut during the night, dwelt more on the difficulties of settling in Buganda than the advantages. Over the years, the novelty of being in Buganda had eroded. In its place was the contempt typical of alienated immigrants for their hosts. The acceptance of his son as one of them, his life in their home, of working for a generous but aloof governor, and the benevolence of his twin wives were insufficient to ward off this contempt. It was not his little knowledge of the language alone that kept him apart: it was unease as well, born out of the Ganda’s indifference toward him. Then there was that obsessive cleanliness of theirs. As a foreigner, the Ganda presumed that he was naturally filthy. Even the most accepting among them would not allow him close to their utensils.
After taking his child from him, no one looked back to ask him how the boy should be brought up. At first, it was flattering to see Kalemanzira belong to the home as a son, but it soon became clear that they had no intentions of letting the boy know that he was his real father. It was wonderful to see his son happy but painful when Kalema did not acknowledge him. He never told Kalema the truth because he had heard that Kalema and Baale once beat up a boy for calling Kalema a Tutsi. Ntwire could not bear to see his son’s disappointment when he found out that he was not Ganda.
In his isolation, little things like the Ganda’s legendary ugliness gave Ntwire some satisfaction. Kalema stood out for his chiseled looks. Then there were things that the Ganda did that were just repugnant. For instance, for all their pride, art of language, and poise, the Ganda ate winged termites. It was not as though Buganda was without food. On the contrary, matooke rotted in the gardens unharvested. At any rate, the Ganda were fussy eaters who did not think that anything other than matooke deserved to be called food. Hence, to watch respectable men and women hankering after crawlies was abhorrent.
When it came to cows, the Ganda were impoverished. The only person with respectable herds of cattle in the region was Kintu. Milk was luxurious. The Ganda watered it down so badly that to Ntwire their hot milk mujaja drink looked like water. Every time Kintu held a feast, he slaughtered at least three cows to feed everyone in the nearby villages. Ntwire had never seen a people who loved meat as the Ganda did: they ate everything apart from the bones and skin. In fact, they sang songs cursing people who did not share meat with them. The men were such gluttons that they forbade women from eating chicken, eggs, mutton, and pork.
Because of his limited use of language, over the years Ntwire had developed a keen perception of body language. He could tell one who looked down on him even when they smiled. He could tell when they talked about him even when they whispered. He could tell a clear heart from a muddy one. He could tell when things had gone wrong. And now he was sure that something had happened to Kalema.
He had known immediately when the party returned. That initial eye contact when he smiled his gratitude at them for taking his boy to the capital and they had looked away. When he greeted them, they were abrupt, their bodies saying, “Don’t ask.” Often times, members of the party tensed when he walked past or they pretended not to see him. He saw it in their turned backs and in their veiled eyes. It was not one, not a few, but all of them. Ntwire was used to prejudice and contempt, but not to fear.
One moon after the governor returned, Ntwire deemed it polite to ask him about Kalema. But like a wary outsider negotiating a foreign language, he spoke without preamble. It came out brusque.
“I want my son back next time you travel.”
“That will not be possible,” Kintu looked at him levelly.
“Then I’ll come along next time you travel.”
“That will not be possible either.”
“Because Kalema is dead?”
Ntwire’s head tilted to the right until the ear touched the shoulder. It was a pleading posture.
Kintu was impassive. He did not refute Ntwire’s assertion but he did not confirm it either. A flicker of hope floated across Ntwire’s eyes. He thought that the governor was laughing. He waited for the laughter to break out so he could join in. When none came, Ntwire spoke up. It was as if he spoke his own language. His pain was harsh on the bs. Ns became ny, ks became gs and ts were muffled yet what he said was clear. He pointed his shepherd stick at Kintu.
“You see these feet,” then he pointed at his feet. “I am going to look for my child. If he’s alive, I’ll bring him home and apologize. But if I don’t find him—to you, to your house, and to those that will be born out of it—to live will be to suffer. You will endure so much that you’ll wish that you were never born.” Ntwire’s voice shook as he added, “And for you Kintu, even death will not bring relief.”
But as he turned away, Ntwire still hoped that Kintu was only shocked at his audacity, that he would shout, how dare you talk to me like that and call him ungrateful because Kalema was fine and alive in the capital.
No word came after him.
Ntwire did not go back to his hut: he took nothing but the shepherd stick.
The rest of the family, not knowing why Ntwire had left suddenly, waited for him to return. Nnakato kept his house maintained and a tally of his cattle. She was sure that one day she would see Ntwire and Kalema on the horizon. Kintu kept silent. So did his men.
Kalema returned once in Kintu’s dream.
“What did I say about you coming back?”
“It’s so lonely out there,” Kalema had gasped, out of breath.
“You died on a journey: you were buried according to custom.”
“But I am frightened. I want to come home.”
“First thing tomorrow, I am going to get you bound.”
“Don’t bind me, Father,” Kalema had started to run away. At a distance he stopped and said, “Just bring Baale to see me one day.”
But when he woke up the following morning, Kintu could not bring himself to bind Kalema’s spirit. He considered taking Baale to o Lwera, to bid his brother goodbye, but he could not risk another son. Besides, to take Baale to bury Kalema was to bring the boy into the secret. It would not be fair on him. Instead, Kintu visited the strongest medicine man he knew and asked for protection. On top of sacrifices and ablutions, the medicine man directed that Kintu’s children should never be slapped on the head as Ntwire was bound to revenge in a similar manner. Kintu made this a directive in his house; no child should ever be slapped on the head. If a child had to be punished then it would be on the buttocks where there was excessive muscle.
Kalema never came back again.