A Love Story Untold Read online

  Carriages and carriages of the renowned banana wine from the Bairege kingdom, another member of the four Bakoria Brother kingdoms, have arrived and are waiting in the large storage houses. Endless trips to the Southern forests of Wisu by the older women in our family have ensured we have ample firewood stored for the festivities. The ample harvest after the harvesting season that just passed ensure we have enough grain to feed the guests that will be in attendance, as we expect them to be more than five hundred in number. Women from our kingdom will be arriving shortly to help us with all the cooking preparations.

  The massive courtyard before the large royal gooti now adorns temporary wooden platforms that the men have been hard at task in putting up, to ensure enough sitting space for majority of the guests.

  We’ve hosted weddings before, being that father now has three married sons. Wandui, my brother that’s getting married, is really my half brother. He’s twenty eight or twenty nine now, and his extended bachelor status has been father’s constant source of headache. Wandui has been adamant though, quoting that he has no wishes to rush into marriage as he is father’s fourth son, and therefore does not have the burden of needing to get heirs, as the kingship will never fall to him. Rumour is that he’d managed to pregnant the Nyabasi king’s sister, and that is a sure way to ensure he marries her, as is custom in the Brother Kingdoms.

  The Bakoria Kingdom is made up of four kingdoms that term themselves as brothers. Stories of old tell us that all Bakoria people originated from one family, the father family. They explain that the father family was created by the earth god, molded to life by the rumbling fire below the holy Mountain Mogosu. The first father, first mother and in their arms their four daughters, had crawled out of its smoldering volcanic crater. The first father had then taken his spear and struck it hard, down onto the still soft molten rocks, with enough ferocity and godly strength that the earth god was impressed, and forced the liquid rocks to cool rapidly, instantly clogging the holy mountain’s core and crater, stopping any future molten rocks from ever pouring out of the holy mountain again. The Spirit Spear, it is called, as it embodied the faith and will of the very first Bakoria mura to protect his family. It still stands to date at the peak of Mountain Mogosu, in the middle of the mountain ranges the Bairege Kingdom now occupy.

  Folktales further tell of how the first father had to sleep with his daughters to beget them children, as there were no men around to marry them. Each of the four daughters were then blessed with fertility and plenty of children. The names of the eldest sons from the four daughters then became the names of the four Bakoria clans, and the four eldest sons each became princes of the newly formed Bakoria kingdom, under their father king. The grandchildren intermarried among themselves, and thus the Bakoria people were born. The folklores claim that the father king was lucky enough to live to see his sixth generation. However, when the father king had grown so old, too old to be of this world, the earth god had called him back home.

  After the funeral and mourning period, a terrible war had broken out among the four princes, threatening to wipe out the new fragile community, for each of the brother princes believed that they ought to be the rightful king. Their mother had then called a council meeting to resolve the impasse. The queen-mother had then drawn a map of the region and divided areas to each of the princes and their families.

  Irege, father of the Bairege Kingdom, was given the area to the east, on and around the Mountain ranges. Here the Bairege have lived to date. In addition to farming, their women tend banana trees, weave baskets, brew the famous banana wine and are well known for creating beautiful handcrafts from banana plant products. Their men are great hunters, but like other Bakoria men, also look over the herding of sheep, goats and cows, as well as creating wooden items from the varied number of trees that can be found in the thick rain forests of the mountain ranges. Everybody knows to always buy timber from the Bairege, as they have the best timber up there. Even those from the other kingdoms and communities in the region travel long distances for their well-acclaimed timber and timber products. The Bairege Kingdom’s spirit animal is the jackal.

  Ribasi, father of the Nyabasi Kingdom, was given the area to the immediate West of Bairege kingdom, the plains that stretch right up to the Mara River, whose course flows from the Irege mountains, along the Northside of the Nyabasi land, and then changes course to border them to their west. Here the Nyabasi have lived, farming their lands, hunting in the Southern forests of Wisu, and herding their goats and cows. The Nyabasi’s spirit animal is the cheetah.

  The Bakira Kingdom, from prince Ekira, occupy the lower plains to the North of the Nyabasi, separated by the River Mara. Like their brothers to the South, they too are farmers. Their lands are drier, and it is for this reason that they grow lots of sisal plants, and create many sisal skirts, baskets, guards and other sisal items that they can trade with their brother kingdoms and neighbours for supplementary food. They also have more opportunity to hunt the great wildlife that dominates the vast grasslands we call the Northern Plainlands, that spread from their borders, northward and eastwards. However they have to be very careful in their hunting expeditions, because to their East and Northeast live the formidable Maaso, whose peace treaty with our brother kingdoms is still shaky. The Maaso warriors are revered even by the Bakoria warriors. The Bakira’s spirit animal is the leopard

  The Bagumbe, the kingdom I was born into, is descended from the fourth prince Umbe, and we live to the West of the Nyabasi Kingdom, the Mara River marking the boundary between the two lands. We too are farmers, but we are not particularly renowned hunters. We are principally traders, and therefore interact a lot with foreign peoples and lands, trading with them and learning their languages. We have thus evolved into a tolerant and most diplomatic people of the four brother kingdoms.

  As a result of our trading endeavors, we are the richest of the four brother kingdoms. It is said that half of the Bagumbe families today are richer than the combined wealth of all the kings of the other brother kingdoms. Our spirit animal is the lion, and two giant lion heads rest at the top of the giant spearheads that stand on either end of the open gateway into our home, as this is the kingstead, or as my people locally call it, the royal bori.

  I make a couple more water runs, been sure to keep to myself even as the whole village comes alive, most people making water runs too.

  By the time I’m done, there’s about two dozen women from neighbouring homesteads helping at the kitchen and thereabout, and equally as many men helping my father and brothers with the preparations.

  With all the underground tanks filled with water, I help with emptying the imported banana wine from the Bairege Brother Kingdom from the large barrels they are in, into gourds. There are about hundreds of gourds to be filled, and it shall have to be a job we do throughout the day as the gourds of drink will keep being drunk empty during the celebrations.

  The first order of business during a wedding is the drinking, as the bride’s men arrive to start the partying and drinking with the groom’s family, before the entourage of maidens and women escorting the bride, along with the young warriors of marriageable age that are meant to escort the women here finally arrive. It’s the kings and the dignitaries of the brother kingdoms that will be arriving soon, and they shall be needing millet mead and banana wine to warm their stomachs as they wait for the rest of the party to arrive. The eating always starts much later in the day at a wedding, after all are drunk and the ceremony has been officiated.

  It is upon hearing the blaring horns that warns us of the arrival of our guests, that I rush unbidden towards mother’s gooti. Mother is there already, scrubbing my youngest brothers clean in preparation for the wedding ceremony.

  “Get in!” Mother urges briefly, her face set in purpose as she lathers a piece of clothing before she starts scrubbing little Noki’s back. I waste no time in dropping the skirts tied around my waist and stepping into the large earthen bath.

  Mother scrubs us
hard without discretion. Making us all stand as she showers a gourd with lukewarm water over us when she’s satisfied with our scrubbed skin. She then helps us out of the bath and aids us into our clothes.

  After mother shines our bodies with the rich smelling oils she extracted from Marigold flowers, she helps us into our ceremonial clothes. We are to wear special skirts today, being that it’s a special occasion. So over our loincloths we wear rich shredded crocodile skin skirts that fall so low, almost touching our knees. Unnecessarily long, if you ask me. A nuisance to walk in, for I’d much rather our daily garb that just manages to reach our mid thighs. To top it all off are the royal headdresses we must all adorn on our heads. It is customary at wedding ceremonies, but the large headdress keeps slipping down my small head, and it only looks a lot more ridiculous on my two younger brothers.

  It is atypical for children, a word used to refer to all uninitiated youth, typically those under twelve, to attend a wedding. However, being that this is our brother getting married, we are to attend. Even Noki, who’s only just seen his third Mereti, the main harvest festival.

  Mother looks stunning, adorning her headdress proudly, across her chest a play of all the finest jewels on golden and silver necklaces that the richest man of the four brother kingdoms can afford. Father is not a humble man, and everyone knows that a Bakoria man only flaunts his wealth on the jewellery he bestows on his wife and daughters, and the beasts he rides.

  Mother’s necklaces gleam with bright golds, whites, reds, blues, burgundies, oranges, tawny oranges, blacks- all precious gemstones. My limited knowledge of gemstones can only clearly tell apart the rubies, diamonds, sapphires, opals, topazes of varying colours, quartz and jades traded from the far east.

  If Weigesa and Matinde were to wear their necklaces today, theirs would be slightly less weighty than mother’s, but just as noteworthy. I too shall get my overly jewelled necklaces after my initiation as a gift from father. I know the jewellers shall be sure to ensure that the King’s daughter isn’t outshone by any other, except maybe by her sisters. I don’t look forward to it, for much as the gemstones are beautiful, I shall be expected to walk around with the layers of necklaces everywhere, despite how heavy they’ll be, because going about with a bare chest as a maiden is considered improper.

  I’ll miss the freedom of childhood!

  The first person my eyes fall on upon getting back to the courtyard is Matinde flirting furiously with the eldest prince of the Nyabasi, a boy of fourteen that’ll take over his father’s kingdom when the time is right. He’s the most eligible bachelor in all the four brother kingdoms, and every maiden is hot at his pursuit. The only reason Matinde is not having much competition at the moment is because other guests are yet to arrive, otherwise Prince Makena is often surrounded by more than a dozen girls at each given moment, at times the number even triples.

  He attracts them like flies to a pile of cow dung! I think to myself chuckling. There’s nothing overly remarkable about the prince, other than the kingdom he’s to inherit. He’s too arrogant, if you ask me. I’ve met him on a few official functions before, or whenever his father would visit mine to discuss kingly matters. But even on those occasions, I doubt he ever really saw me. Each time I’d greet him Prince of Nyabasi as is appropriate, he’d mutter princess of Bagumbe without even sparing me a glance. I like being invisible, but I’d much prefer that it be in my own terms. His blatant arrogance infuriates me.

  I’m following obediently, closely behind mother who’s holding Noki in her arms, the youngest of my brothers playing happily with the priceless necklaces around her neck, while Range, my other younger brother walks hand in hand with me.

  “I look forward to the dancing most,” Matinde is saying in a flirtatious voice, her well-filled and perky breasts that shine like the rest of her polished body from the scented oils she’s rubbed on herself facing the prince unflinching, and the arrogant oaf stares at them with obvious interest. I doubt he’s heard anything she’s said.

  Matinde seems not to care whether he’s heard her or not. Her main intention is to ensure that his attention is fixed to her body. That is the whole purpose for girls once they become maidens- captivate a young warrior’s attention at all costs.

  How I wish I could grow backwards!

  My sister Weigesa catches up to us just as the prince notices my mother’s presence and turns to her with an apologetic look, his hands over his groin area as though hiding something under his skirts as he bows his head slightly and greets her respectfully.

  My attention is captivated by Weigesa, the only sister that truly loves me. She’s dressed just as Matinde is, her body glowing a deep brown from the scented oils plied on her skin, a white line painted to run along the length of her womanly curves so as to accentuate them, as is expected for maidens at wedding ceremonies.

  The bride is the only one expected to cover her chest with netted strings of jewellery that are normally intricately patterned, rather than the typical chains of necklaces worn everyday by maidens and women.

  Bakoria weddings are supposed to be very sensual. Maidens and young warriors of marriageable age flirt and dance suggestively throughout the wedding as a way to appease the goddess of fertility. It can be a shocking experience to one too young, and is why children are never to attend weddings, unless the wedding is of their sister or brother, as is my case.

  “Prince of Bagumbe, princess of Bagumbe, prince of Bagumbe,” the Nyabasi prince says his greetings to me and my brothers as quickly as he can after paying my mother her respects, before his eyes fly back to my sisters.

  It’s laughable at how quickly his eyes flutter about between my two sister’s breasts, as though unsure which he likes more. Matinde doesn’t seem to be the least bit disheartened at the fact that our elder sister is stealing her thunder. A clear sign that Matinde doesn’t really have feelings for the Nyabasi prince. It’s just a game to her, one she’d like to win just because she likes to win.

  I rush after mother who’s already moving on towards the sitting platforms. We pass every dignitary from the four brother kingdoms that are in attendance to see the joining of two royal families yet again. No one mentions the fact that Wandui had to be arm wrung by father into this marriage as he’d impregnated the Nyabasi King’s sister.

  According to what I’ve overheard mother and other women in the kingdom say, princess Mokami isn’t showing yet, but her mother confirmed the pregnancy when she placed her fingers up her. That thought, of a mother placing her fingers up her daughter’s birth canal to check for signs of a pregnancy, had haunted me for nights. I couldn’t imagine ever letting my mother do that to me. But again, I can’t imagine ever doing the deed that’d lead me to a pregnancy.

  I help out with the serving of drinks all day, having to wrestle with my royal headdress each time just to keep it from slipping down, and by the time the food is being served I’m almost passed out with exhaustion.

  I run away to the edge of the kingstead and hide behind the zorses our guests arrived in, so as to eat in peace without being sent around on errands. Zorses are the riding beasts we Bakoria people prefer. They are a hybrid of the grassland zebras and the desert horses traded from the North. Horses are unsuitable for the tropical climate of our area, as they are unable to withstand the diseases here. Zebras are best acquainted, being faster in speed and having more stamina, but are yet too unpredictable and shifty to be safe riding beasts. The best riding beasts for us are zorses, the hybrids often allowing for the stamina and speed of zebras to be blended in with the calm and manageable temperament of horses.

  I enjoy riding dearly, and have my own mare whom I ride almost daily. I’m therefore very comfortable around zorses. I sit here with them as they graze quietly around me while I eat my meal of grilled gazelle ribs and ground-baked green bananas. I also take the time to take off the heavy royal headdress that has been weighing me down all day.

  It’s then that I hear them- their laughter really. I probably shouldn’t ha
ve thought to go check it out, but I do it anyway without thinking.

  That’s when I see them, Makena, the Nyabasi prince, and a girl I haven’t seen before, that must have arrived with the party from Nyabasi escorting the bride here, to her new home.

  They are coupling, I know it. I’ve never seen it done before, at least not in broad daylight. I’ve occasionally heard mother and father go about it, but I always knew better than to listen in. Often I’d plop a thick cotton blanket over my head to block all noises, and would silently sing to myself just to ensure I don’t accidentally hear anything, until I finally fall asleep.

  Seeing this however, one of the girl’s brightly shone leg over his shoulder, his royal headdress still on, their skirts pushed up as he pumps into her again and again, trying to capture her laughs and squeals with his mouth- it all just looks so much more- animalistic- than I expected.

  It’s only upon the girls slight outcry that I realize I’ve been found watching them, as my eyes had been captured by the way with which his muscled buttocks and thighs flexed as he pumped into her.

  “What is wrong with you, silly girl?” The Nyabasi prince is saying angrily at me when he suddenly leaps of the girl and approaches me while wagging his finger before me. That is when I catch a glimpse of his member that is now rigid and firm, the sight of it sickening me, before I look back up at his face.

  “If you dare say a word of this to anyone I’ll make sure to discredit you and ensure to have your father and his sons sent to the Northern Plainlands to search for the wild settlers there, where they are sure to be captured by the wild tribes and maybe even eaten if those settlers happen to be cannibals.”

  When he finishes delivering this threat, standing just a foot away and looking down on me threateningly from his great height while wagging his finger at my face, that’s when I realize that he doesn’t know who I am. He thinks I’m just anybody because I don’t have my headdress on. He has no idea that the father he’s talking about sending out is a king, and his sons are princes too.