6.

Isaac’s body still shook from the intense emotions of the rituals. He sat on the ground to try and gather himself together. He looked around the campsite and thought, “This is real.” To be within touching distance of almost three centuries’ history, to be surrounded by hundreds of relatives whose presence testified to that history. Finally, his own presence on earth was accounted for and his painful life justified. When Isaac looked back at his life—at the friend who stayed with him when he was young, at Ziraba his grandmother and at Sasa—it was not misfortune that he saw, it was intervention. Most of all, the twins, Babirye and Nnakato, had paid him a visit even though they did not stay. There was no doubt that Kintu had tirelessly intervened in his life. Isaac could not contain his trembling.

For him, the homecoming song had set the tone of the rituals. He had heard the song in traditional performances before but its significance only hit home when the patriarch arrived. And when Muganda stepped out of the shrine resplendent in traditional regalia, everything fell into place. Isaac had whispered his father’s name, desperately willing Mr. Kintu’s mental sickness into the stick. Isaac did not flinch at the slaughter of the sheep. When he saw the blood flow, something snapped and he felt so buoyant that wind could have blown him away. That fire consuming his stick made him so giddy that he sat down and wept. His immersion was only broken when the woman became possessed and Muganda asked everyone to leave. People said that the woman was a twin who had attempted to bind her dead twin’s spirit. Imagine that! No one was surprised. The woman had only arrived that day and had carried on as if everyone and everything being done was beneath her. Why come then? These things, you need to be totally committed or you stay away. Otherwise, they rip you apart. There was so much Isaac did not understand, but he was not arrogant enough to turn his ignorance into unbelief.

Later, as roast goat was passed around the camp, a rumor wafted along. Apparently, in Kintu’s time, ablution was a rite where each child born to him was thrown into the gorge. If the baby belonged to the family, the gorge threw it back, but if it did not, the gorge swallowed it. Having witnessed the physical manifestation of the curse in Suubi, apprehension settled on the clan. Who was sure that their mother was not a liar? Isaac had read somewhere that twenty per cent of children did not belong to the men they called fathers. Now, the actions of generations of women who married into the family became unfathomable. To Isaac, the idea of surrendering Kizza to the whims of water spirits was unsettling.

Time for ablution came. Every elderly man, with a queue of his offspring behind him, made his way toward the gorge. Isaac held his son’s hand and led him there. A few people held back to see what would happen first. Isaac noticed that Elder Miisi cut a forlorn figure standing on his own while men his age led an extensive queue of children and grandchildren to the gorge. Isaac had heard that Elder Miisi had lost most of his children but where were the two who survived? He wanted to go and stand with him but held back.

Muganda started. “You stand before the spring that watered the family in those days. We are going to wash the curse off. Wash your face, hands, and feet. You can have a full bath if you want, but it’s not important. Family heads will draw water and make sure that every member of their family is washed. Don’t let children near the gorge. I’ve heard that you were worried we would throw you in,” Muganda laughed. “It’s true such a ritual took place in the past, but it was for specific children dedicated to certain gods.”

When most people had finished washing, Muganda wound up.

“Tomorrow, the locals who’ve kept your heritage alive will join you in thanksgiving. Those who must rush back home, once you’ve washed, you can go. I thank you for taking part, for the discipline and for the desire to fight against the fragmentation of your blood. I pray that after today you will keep an eye on each other and hold each other up. I would like to say that you can go and live happily ever after, but I would be lying. What you’ve done today is to start on the journey of healing. The curse will break. However, in its death throes it might wreak havoc. Our fathers said that an anticipated plunderer makes off with less. Hold each other’s arms.”

While young people jumped into cars and drove to Masaka to catch the tail end of Easter festivities, Isaac went to bed. As he lay down, he remembered that the results for the blood tests were still in the car. He could have rubbed HIV in the stick, but he did not believe it would go away. For a moment, his mind fancied that after the rituals, the results could be negative. He sat up to go and get them but stopped. It was no use getting delusional and spoiling the moment. He had decided that he and Kizza would check out of the world soon after the reunion. In his view, they had been given the best send-off.

The following day, Isaac was woken up by Bweeza. It was midmorning. Bweeza seemed panicky.

“Son, you’re needed in the shrine.”

“Is it Suubi the twin?”

“Suubi will be fine. Run to the shrine.”

Outside, the morning was slow. It was Easter Monday, the last day of the reunion. Isaac’s heart fell. Women cooking in the kitchen area were talking animatedly. A few meters away, sounds of chopping led his eyes to men butchering the meats. Kizza and other children sat on mats eating breakfast. Isaac smiled. The sisters, on finding out that he was a widower, had taken Kizza off his hands saying, “Leave him to us,” and Kizza was enjoying having so many children around him. He looked around the campsite: nothing rang wrong or urgent in the air.

When he arrived in the shrine, he saw a lifeless form lying on the floor. It was covered in barkcloth like in death. Fear in the shrine was almost tangible. The assistant was beside himself. Isaac guessed it was Muganda.

“Sit down, Isaac,” Elder Kityo whispered.

Elder Miisi sat leaning against the wall, his legs inside a sleeping bag. He looked up at the roof, but his jaws danced.

“What happened?”

“Ntwire’s demon,” the attendant answered. “It speaks Lunyarwanda only.”

Isaac noted that Elder Miisi did not join in the explanations. He still looked up at the roof, his jaws frantic.

“Is he alive?” Isaac whispered.

“I couldn’t find a pulse last time I checked but I cannot say he’s dead,” Elder Kityo said.

Isaac wanted to ask why Muganda was covered as if he were dead but changed his mind. If the elders had not queried it, then it was the right thing to do.

“We’re waiting for an interpreter.”

“I’ve never come across anything like this in my entire career,” the assistant said. “A spirit that won’t speak a language you understand means only one thing; it’s come to terrorize.”

“I thought it was one of those deaf or dumb demons vindictive people hire because they’re aggressive. But then Nsimbi tried sign language and it swore at him in Lunyarwanda,” Kityo said.

“We woke you up because we need more hands when it gets roused.” Elder Miisi finally looked at Isaac.