12.

It was ten years since his coronation, but Kyabaggu was still on the throne. In fact, there had been no royal uprising despite Kyabaggu’s continual absence from the kingdom. Potential upstarts, nephews by former kings Mwanga and Namugala, were firmly in the control of their grandmother, Nnabulya. As Kintu had suspected, Namugala was pronounced dead soon after Kyabaggu’s coronation festivities were over and the lukiiko had dispersed. Apparently, he had fallen to his death. But the nation knew that Namugala had been dead long before Kyabaggu’s coronation. It was also known that Ssentalo was killed because he refused to assassinate Namugala on Kyabaggu’s orders. Kyabaggu had taken over Ssentalo’s warmongering and spent most of his time across the River Kiyira, terrorizing the Ssoga people.

Kintu was cynical about Kyabaggu’s warring. On the outside, Kyabaggu seemed like a warrior kabaka seeking to subdue the obstinate Ssoga, yet he had not annexed any parts of Busoga to the kingdom. On the inside, Kintu knew that soon after his coronation Kyabaggu became an insomniac given to bouts of anxiety. Rumor had it that he had lured Namugala to Lubya Hill where he speared him. Namugala had fallen on the large rock outside the palace. Recently, Kyabaggu and his priests had consecrated the rock and made it holy. No doubt Namugala’s blood was weeping. Haunted, Kyabaggu had fled the throne under the guise of war. Kintu wondered what had possessed Kyabaggu to build a palace where he had assassinated his brother in the first place.

Meanwhile, Nnanteza had played her mpiki better than Kintu had hoped. She had found favour with Kyabaggu and so far she had borne him two sons, Jjunju and Ssemakokiro. Whenever Kintu went for the lukiiko in Lubya, Nnanteza insisted that Kintu’s food be prepared by her own hand. Despite the circumstances of their first meeting, Kintu was always humble before Nnanteza. He had never discussed his role in her rise in status because words not only travel, but they acquire legs and arms along the way. And by the time they get to the person talked about, they are beyond recognition. Too many governors had lost their lives because of a rumor. Nonetheless, Nnanteza remained grateful. When she introduced Kintu to her family saying, “This is the man who rescued me,” Kintu had asked, “Which rescue? I don’t know what you are talking about.” Nnanteza had resorted to sending the princes to visit Kintu every time he came to the capital.

Kintu smiled to himself—luck was so far on his side. His plans were moving well. All he had to do now was to get Baale married and then he would start to take him along to the capital.

At home, though the family still speculated about Kalema, Ntwire had faded from Kiyirika’s memory. Kintu wondered whether Ntwire’s curse had been just words from a grieving man or whether the protection from the medicine man had worked because nothing had happened to him or to his family. Not everything had gone according to plan though: Babirye still lived at Mayirika. Nnakato had refused to have her removed because she could not bear to see her sister “discarded’ somewhere on her own. When Kintu insisted, Nnakato had started crying, saying, “Mbuga, you don’t see Babirye’s pain; it will kill us both.” Kintu never raised the subject again.

Zaya had failed to transform into a wife. She was taller than most men and stood erect in spite of her breasts. Whatever made women feminine, Zaya had missed out on. She still begged the men to take her hunting, as joining Kintu’s bambowa to go to war was out of the question. Gitta did not want her anymore but no man had come asking about her. Zaya did not even care about this “rejected” status of hers. She was happy to become part of Kintu’s household. The family now treated her as a daughter who never got married.

Kintu was waiting at the fringes of the backyard. He stood near the wawu shrub whose coarse leaves the family used to scour pots. He was waiting for Baale. Father and son were going up the hill to harvest honey. The collection of honey was Kintu’s chore. Normally, servants carried the torch on the way up and the honey afterwards on the way down, but this time only Baale was invited.

Baale joined Kintu with a lit torch and two large gourds. He was a man, taller than Kintu, though he still walked with a swagger. Baale had been reluctant to marry because he still wanted to kulyabutaala like an untethered goat. But then three moons ago he had surprised everyone by declaring that he was getting married soon and that no one was going to help him decide whom to marry. Baale had been a restless boy with a quick tongue and equally quick fists. Kalema had had a cooling effect on him. Every time the boys came home with Baale nursing a bleeding nose, Nnakato would ask Kalema, “What happened this time?” because Kalema’s versions were more reliable. The fights had stopped about the same time as Kalema’s departure. After the initial mournful stance, Baale had turned into a brooding young man who sucked his teeth at everything. Recently, his twin mothers were worried that he was getting too close to the gourd. Kintu was glad that Baale was finally getting married: a wife and a home would soon use up the excessive energy that made him swagger.

Kintu and Baale took the path leading up the hill. They walked quietly past the path that led to the gorge where the family collected water, past the twins’ banana plantations, into the fallow land where goats and sheep grazed. At this point, the climb became steep and the path was covered in pebbles, some of them quite large. When they came to the huge mango tree that dominated the slope, Baale broke the silence.

“Is this mango tree male?”

“Why?”

“It only yields a mango or two in three years.”

“If it was male, it would not yield any mangoes at all. I suppose it’s one of those trees that wastes everything on appearance: handsome leaves, expansive branches but no fruit.”

Just before the top of the hill, they came to a tree with a curious pink bark. It stood against a large rock. The tree had a straight trunk, but four meters off the ground it split into numerous branches. Kintu paused and touched it. He looked it up and down and shook his head. “There has always been such a tree in this place,” he said distractedly. They walked around the rock. “It’s always the same size though, I don’t know whether it’s the same tree or if one dies and another one grows.” Baale, walking behind him, did not reply.

“So, Baale . . .” Kintu’s voice rose, “You’ll not wait for us to observe Ntongo. You’re on fire. You must have her now.”

“Who said I am on fire? I just can’t see anything for anyone to observe for me.”

“Exactly. You can’t see! Let’s say that where Ntongo is concerned, this thick emotion obstructs your view. But unlike you, we can see.” Baale groaned. “Listen to me, Baale,” Kintu said gently. “Let’s imagine that Ntongo has a fiery temperament. We know how hot-tempered our Baale is. Would we be wrong to conclude that the two of you would set your house on fire? You shake your head? Good, because then we would either advise you to reconsider marrying her or we would prepare to put the fire out every time it broke out.”

“There’ll be no fire,” Baale said tersely.

“What I am saying is that we’re a very large family. Sometimes, what seems a private decision might have consequences beyond ourselves. For example, would Ntongo run an extensive home the way Nnakato does?”

Baale kept quiet. He realized that his father had asked him to come along not to help with honey but to discuss his impending marriage.

They arrived at the crown of the hill. Five trees similar in size and shape stood in a circle like quintuplets. The ground in the middle was clear. The trees had cavities like deep pockets into their stems. It was dark around the mouth of each hole which, at a distance, made the holes seem deep. Only one tree had bee activity, the others were quiet. A short ladder leaned against one of the trees. Kintu got the ladder and placed it against the tree with bees. He climbed two steps up and peered into the hole. “There is a lot,” he whispered happily. He came down and took the torch. As he brought it close to the cavity, bees started flying out. Baale stood at a distance, watching.

Family lore had it that in the old, old days, a woman gave birth to a bee that settled close to home and built a colony. The colony was called Kayuki and it supplied the family with honey. But when, as a child, Baale asked Kintu about the story, he had replied, “My father did not pass on those details to me. However, he told me that the bees that live on top of Mayirika Hill are treated like a brother.”

Baale had wanted the story to be true, to add magic to his ancestry. Even then, the way bees behaved around Mayirika was significant. Stray bees inside the house announced visitors. Dead bees were an omen. When a bee buzzed incessantly around a person, it indicated love felt somewhere.

“Baale,” Kintu called. “Watch and learn; one day you might have to do this yourself. First, stand against the wind. That way, smoke comes toward you while the bees go the other way. Don’t bring the torch too close to the mouth of the hive. You need to leave room for the bees to escape. Remember not to come in a foul mood.”

When all the bees had gone, Kintu handed the torch back to Baale and climbed the ladder again.

“Sometimes Kayuki is in a mood. When the bees will not leave or when they’re aggressive, go home; return when he’s in a better mood.” Kintu worked delicately. “The most important thing is to take only some, a half maybe. Just as you pick wild fruit and must throw back some to the wild, so must you leave honey for the bees.” He withdrew a golden honeycomb and prepared to milk it.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Kintu asked unexpectedly.

Baale remained silent. All that bee talk had been preamble. Here was the real thing. Kintu did not look up. He let the honey slide down into the calabash. Silence dragged on. Finally, Baale asked, “What do you mean where I am going?”

“Women.”

Baale gave a short irritated laugh, “Of course I know where I am going.”

“I am not talking about the breathless girls you steal with behind bushes. You know, the ones that challenge: Show me your sun rising and I’ll show you heaven. Who, before you even get started, are quaking: I hear someone coming.”

“Father, I am known this village over, you can ask—”

“Who? The girls?”

“Of course not, but everyone knows I am—”

“No one knows anything, Baale, apart from you and the alleged girls. You forget I was once a boy.” Kintu laughed. “We put about stories conjured in wet dreams. After all, girls always deny.” Now Kintu looked at Baale, “I am your father. Is everything working?”

“Of course!”

“No need to raise your voice,” Kintu looked around. “In the morning, do you wake up alert or . . . drowsy?”

“Alert. Father, I rise.”

“So does my senile uncle,” Kintu laughed. “Every morning, he gets out of bed. However, either we beg or cajole. Sometimes, he gets up, but moments later he’s down again.”

“I set off prompt. I am steady,” Baale was beside himself.

“When all you have are a few stolen moments with a jittery girl, anyone will set off fast and steady. I am talking about a real woman. When you have all night, when a woman makes you stand on your toes without relief. Do you know that a woman, while you are at it, can fall asleep? And when you are done and say, Welcome back, she snores at you.”

Baale was silent.

“Come, hold this gourd for me. Put the fire out first. Take this gourd and place it near that banana leaf . . . Be careful, Baale. Now hold this one for me.” Kintu noticed that Baale’s hands were shaking. “Don’t worry about women. I was like you but with time I worked them out. You see, we Ganda, we don’t leave the propagation of the nation to chance. You must know what you’re getting into before we place our bid on Ntongo’s lap. Assure me that all’s well and I’ll assemble an impressive team made of my brothers, my older sons, and my friends. They shall descend on Ntongo’s village and her family with style and pomp. But all that will be a show if you don’t display something as impressive when she arrives.”

“Obviously, I’ve never been married so I don’t—”

“Now you talk like a man. Lift that jug. Are you sure you can carry it fine? We don’t want to collect Kayuki’s honey and pour it at his doorstep . . . Be careful, Baale. You know what, put it down, go home, and bring someone else to help us.”

The way Baale fled down the hill made Kintu wonder whether he had been harsh. But he knew the pressures society put on men in marriage and he would never send a son into it unprepared.