“Laibon’s Prophecy”

Creators of Justice Award 2020 | Second Prize: Short story (tied)

Grace Suge took up serious writing in 2019, saying that she suppressed the urge to write since her youth. When she was 13 years old, she wrote a Kiswahili language piece (Insha) about her beloved English teacher. She says, “This prize has strengthened my will to write and gives me hope that even after 28 years I can still bring out the passion of my 13-year-old self as a way of engaging with the world”.

The Maasai people had started to lose their cattle to a deluge of catastrophe including drought, disease, wildlife conflict, and banditry. Lemayian remembered the day Laibon-the village's prophet and sage, had called an assemblage of elders after a major drought had plagued the land. A lamb was slaughtered below a sacred tree, its blood poured in a gourd. This was a sacrificial act to appease Enkai, their God. The Laibon had carefully laid out some leaves on green foliage, spread the lambs’ gut atop and with five other elders began the divination process, carefully studying the entrails. After a few minutes, the Laibon looked up in shock, and then as if to confirm something, rearranged the entrails by turning them several times all the while murmuring something in his breath

“Darkness is all I see,” he finally muttered in a resigned voice. The other elders were nodding their heads in agreement. The Laibon then proceeded to squeeze out dung from the lambs’ intestines onto the leaves, after an intricate observation with his facile fingers, he fetched out a large plastic paper bag covered with dung and held it aloft for everyone in the ceremony to see.

Seemed as if the lamb ate the plastic paper bag while grazing, was Lemayians’ frivolous reasoning. The virtuosic Laibon had a different interpretation of this occurrence. He stood up, aided by his walking stick started to gesticulate:

“This is my prophecy,” he said, “we use the plastic paper bag to carry goods, both solid and liquid, the paper is not porous. You can even carry water with it due to its impervious nature. However, like everything else, it has its advantages and disadvantages, the good and the bad side of it. Outside of the animals' gut, it is useful but when it gets on its insides, it’s a deadly weapon; since it is not digestible it kills the animal slowly from the inside by clogging up its stomach, preventing absorption of nutrients from food and water. Since digestion has been hindered the animal stops feeding, becomes sick, gets emaciated and eventually dies. The plastic paper bag was made by human beings, a  great injustice to our environment. What happens when someone puts it over your head?" he asked the villagers who were silently seated encircling him.

“You die,” they all said in unison.

“So my interpretation of this is, your head represents the earth, we as human beings have manufactured this plastic bag and then put it over our head, it gets hot, oxygen gets depleted as carbon dioxide is released, breathing gets difficult and finally you get annihilated. We are killing the earth and all in it.” This did not make much sense to Lemayian then, but now he was amazed by the relevance of the Laibons' prophecy since it’s the year 2059 and the event took place some 40 years ago.

The elders kindled a fire using firesticks friction and dry grass, roasted the lambs’ meat, ate and began chanting prayers to their God to bring rain. It had not rained in a whole year which ushered in an epoch of disasters. Pasture for their cattle was dwindling. They called for Enkai to show them a sign as He had shown their ancestors before them, when it used to rain heavily immediately such sacrifices took place, a sign that He had heard them, a sign that He was going to answer their prayers, a sign that the ceremony was over and a sign that they needed to take to their heels and run back to their village drenched. This time though, they waited and waited under the bruised and surly sky until sunset. There was no rain, and the atmosphere became hot, very hot, weather situation never witnessed before. When they grew tired, they stood up, and immediately they heard a distinct screech of an owl, almost human-like. They looked up, a large owl perched atop the tallest sacred tree was staring at them and there was silence, the harbinger of death was here. Everybody knew the implication. The Laibon, whose piety was unquestioned, did not need to interpret. So he took his o-rinka, a traditional club, gave it to a strong elder who had killed a lion before,

“Please hurl this at the owl to chase it away," he instructed

The elders’ thrust would not reach the owl nor would it scare the owl away. It stayed put, its hovering stare grew wider and its’ racket hoots louder. So the Laibon picked the gourd containing animal blood, sipped a mouthful then spat on the ground as he called his ancestors to intercede for them to Enkai. There was no rain, now feeling dejected and heavily sweating from the heat, the Laibon called the ceremony to a close. Enkai was angry; He will not listen to them, seems He was no longer on their side. There would not be a closing prayer that day, crestfallen; they left in banished silence, a caterwaul on their backs.

***

Now as Lemayian lay breathless and emaciated, memories of his childhood began flooding his mind, the days which were filled with effervescent and sonorous children gamboling about the clustering trees and climbing the wild guava and loquat trees, partaking of their succulent flesh in airy splendor while herding cattle in the expansive community land. The pasture was generously abundant on land which stretched into more land and on green hills which rolled into more green hills. So they were always going somewhere with bells tied on their cattle’s necks clanging away as a signal of their presence. The land was punctuated by enchanting springs of fresh water, a series of waterfalls they were fond of diving in clad in their birthday suits and a seraphic landscape which was an Idyllic environment for their ethereal existence in a bucolic village. Then, the Maasai lived in harmony with their neighbors; human and wildlife.

He remembered as puberty approached he was heavily tattooed with dangling earlobes lilting to their canorous traditional songs that involved a lot of galvanic jumpings for the brave when his emorata or circumcision ceremony took place. That day his endurance to pain was tested. He became a man; He became a warrior, a fearless Moran. These were the ephemeral joys of his youth. Now lying here, his life ebbing away he is going to die a warrior- a Maasai Moran. One swift act of bravery will end it all if he did not find water, fast.

***

The population of wildlife especially the lion and elephant were dwindling rapidly because of the effects of drought. Some like the white rhino became extinct. Game reserves were now laying in faded magnificence. The authorities had in previous years banned hunting and killing of wildlife and the ones that remained started to invade villages in search of food and water.

Namelock, Lemayians’ village was a victim of these frequent incursions. There was a time the elephants came, ate their corn in the fields and trampled their Inkajijik, their huts, including the Laibons’. In the morning villagers congregated in funereal gloom at his homestead, their leader was no more, the Maasai were now exposed. Laibonhood came from a lineage thus it was inherited. The one who was to now inherit the role had been mauled to death a few months ago. The Laibons’ grotesque corpse whose smothered mouth spoke all those wise words of advice, whose gouged out eyes saw beyond what the ordinary man could see, whose splattered brain matter contained all wisdom and whose smudged flat nose smelt rain in the grass, was collected by the authorities together with 20 other victims.

Then, it was common for a hut, the enkaji, not to have a door at the entrance. This meant all guests were welcome and recently wildlife took up the invite; the hyena felt obliged. One day, Ole Tipis, Lemayians’ father had slaughtered a goat and his mother stored the leftovers in her enkaji. That night, a clan of hyena invaded the village, their target being livestock. They were unable to go past the Livestock’s thorned acacia enclosure, the enkang, they thus went to the enkaji, grabbed the goat meat leftovers and others missing out on the meal grabbed Naipanoi- Lemayians’ infant sister, from their mothers’ grip. Mother tried to pull her daughter from one of the hyenas’ mouth but she was overwhelmed by their sheer number as each fought to grab a bite from the victim. When they ran off to the forest, Naipanoi was no longer a single entity. Each hyena had a piece of her in their bloody snout. 

The Morans were awakened by a scream. A scream of pain from a disconsolate mother that Lemayian hoped no other villager or human being should ever live to hear. A transcendent event that made the Maasai become a Maasai again, never to go back to what civilization tried to mold them into. In light of the enormous crime wildlife were inflicting and the anomalies of wildlife laws, they would henceforth live in lawless freedom as their ancestors had done. A Maasai should be allowed to snore comfortably in his doorless manyatta, a horn was blown, and it was time to attack.

Afterward, when a pride of Lion attacked, the Morans were ready. The pride had beleaguered their village, tore through their thorn enclosures and mauled several sheep and cattle. The livid Morans retrieved their spears and swords which were now being used as a display in their ceremonial dance and went for the pride of Lion. 

After several hours of trekking, they came across the pride resting in a savannah. In the distance, they could see some tourists led by an armed game warder, proudly taking photos and videos of the lions. The tourists were so enchanted by what they were seeing; this kind of sighting had become rare nowadays. On the other side, the Morans were boiling with rage. Finally, the pride of lion meets the Morans, twenty of them in alarming rapidity. With their sharpened spears drawn, coming from the east, west, north, and south, with accomplished ease they attacked, the pride caught by surprise oblivious of their impending fate could not roar. When the morans left, animal blood flowed freely in the savannah and the tourists’ camera lenses caught the scene as a short clip of death of the majestic lion in the blink of an eye. The world would reacquaint themselves with the Maasai of the early twentieth century.

The morans involved in the hunt became village celebrities with well-deserved approbation. Many a girl could not think twice when it came to having a dalliance with them. Sanaipei became enamored by Lemayians’ bravery and his undeniable charm. Within no time they were married. They went on to have seven children, two of whom had died in recent years from various ailments, treatable ailments that could have been cured were the parents able to take them for proper medical care at a Medical facility in Narok town, some 20 miles from Namelock village. Lemayian was unable to because of a lack of money. He had been selling milk to processing plants before but his cows had been drying up from lack of water and sufficient pasture. Many of them had died. A few days ago Lemayian had left Sanaipei and his children in the village, he did not know when or if he was going to come back. It was up to fate.

***

In the coming years the number of tourists visiting game reserves dwindled, the reserves were no longer a cynosure as the few remaining wildebeest stopped migrating because their migratory routes had been lost and the ones remaining led them straight to the jaws of hungry crocodiles. Migration was left to the young Maasai men. With few cattle and lack of pasture, men started leaving the village in droves, became medicine men and went around the surrounding towns dispensing herbal remedies to sick folks. They were no longer conspicuous.

With fewer morans around, the villagers could not put up much resistance when banditry escalated. The neighboring communities raided Maasai villages to steal their remaining herd of cattle and the Maasai ransacked the enemy village, took back their cattle plus some more. A cycle of retaliation that never ceased up to date. They were actively back to an era before civilization. 

Earlier this week, Lemayians’ cousin who lived in Mau Narok came and informed the villagers that there was a bit of pasture remaining in the Mau Forest. The forest was an important water tower in the country and the recent past loggers, coal traders, villagers in search of land to cultivate and corrupt politicians invaded it. Millions of Trees had been felled. Major tribal wars and violent fights for pasture with neighboring communities had continued to present times in the forest.

“If you succeed to get past the dessert ahead, wild animals, our human enemy and make it to Mau Narok, you’ll be able to get pasture for your remaining herd of cattle and save them from starvation,” he had said. 

Two days later Lemayian bid his wife and the children farewell. With blessings from his bedridden father, he set off, 80 head of cattle and two donkeys in tow for the 100-mile journey to Mau Narok. Sanaipei watched her husband slowly disappear on the horizon and with tears in her eyes she bowed as she entered her enkaji. Smoke billowed from the traditional cooking stove with dried cow dung as its fuel. Firewood was not readily available as they had cut down most trees in the village. There was nothing much she could do. She had to go back in time and share her dreams with her ancestors.

After about 10 miles of the journey, Lemayian was welcomed by an uncle at Namayana village to settle for the night as he watered his livestock. In the morning his uncle strongly dissuaded him from continuing the journey because water grew scarce on the way and there were fewer boreholes from which he could water his cattle. Lemayians’ resolve could not be broken and there was no going back for him. He loaded 80 liters of water on the donkeys and a ration of  fried and dried meat as he set off with 78 head of cattle. 2 had died from diarrhea at the eighth-mile. Seemed they had drunk toxic water.

***

As he moved along on his journey, the weather became hotter and hotter while the water became a bit scarce. There were boreholes dug in the wild rugged escarpment along the way but even these had nearly dried up. At the 25th mile, 4 more cattle had died. He had now entered a dessert with no human settlement. The 2 donkeys carried barely 20 liters of water fetched at a borehole on his last stop. He had watered his animals to their fill for he did not know whether he will be lucky enough to get water on the way to assuage their thirst. 

He had also noted that vultures were becoming numerous as he continued the journey and were always scavenging skeletal remains of livestock left behind by other herders who went ahead of him. For a moment, he wondered whether this daunting journey was at all necessary, maybe he should have listened to his uncle. Looking at the donkeys, he felt pity for the animals which were now showing all their ribs. As if looking for reassurance from one of the donkeys,

“I did not choose this journey willingly; I was forced by circumstances beyond my control. You see if I remained in the village, your fate would have been sealed but if we reach Mau forest, we might have a chance of survival,” he said in Maa. 

He wondered whether the donkey could understand his language, the whole of its generation were beasts of burden in their household and now the two sibling donkeys were the only ones remaining. They never complained regardless of the amount of weight they carried or the distance they were to cover in rugged terrain especially in the recent past where water grew scarce by the day. Furthermore, like a downtrodden drudge in their unremitting toil, they were savagely beaten often as people seemed to grow angrier as they blamed everything else for the calamities other than themselves. 

“Why have we been cruel to you? You've been so useful to me on this journey. If I were you, I would go out one morning and never come back in the evening or I could even use my hooves to knock out someone’s teeth then hightail to the wild to join my cousins the Zebra who thrived without chains and loads. Who would go back to such kind of beating and workload? Unlike a Moran, you seem to have an accommodating temper.” 

The donkey stood there with drowsy tranquility, the way it had done for eons. That day as the sunset he went to a cave nearby, switched on his solar lantern, unloaded the donkeys, and herded all the now thinning animals inside. As he lay down at the furthest corner of the cave, he looked at the lantern intently while brooding. This gadget has been helpful to him he discerned; people who manufactured and distributed them in the village informed the villagers of the goodness of green energy. He got to know-how by using them there would be less pollution in the environment. He wished more people could have adopted such technology in the past. Maybe, just maybe things would have been different. 

As he dozed off, a loud shriek and a donkeys’ bray rent the air, startled, he jumped up and in the corner of his eye, he sees something slither fast heading out of the cave. In the confusion, the animals ran amok, some were running out of the cave and others were running towards him. If he didn't act fast they were going to trample him to death. He remembered earlier he had seen a crevice on another corner which he had specifically avoided because he didn’t know what was crawling inside. He dived and sandwiched his lithe frame in the space and at that very moment the light went off. The cacophony of the lowing cattle, braying donkey and the accompanying clangor of their dangling bells filled the air for about 30 minutes before the howling chaos quieted. Unable to come out of his fortress, he waited for sunrise in cavernous gloom which seemed to take forever. 

After a few hours, he was awoken by the few cowbells ringing outside the cave-it sounded like a symphony of grief; he slithered out of the crevice to a scary and shocking scene. The animals had trampled on each other, most of them laying still, some dead and some badly injured. He surveyed the scene, at the entrance to the cave lay a dead 10-foot long rock python and when he went out 10 cattle and a donkey were wondering about.

Now he felt completely defeated, this was a calamitous course. Continuing the journey with 10 head of cattle seemed implausible but so far he had covered 80 miles and he saw no sense in going back to the village. The journey had to continue, he resolved. The jerry cans he used to carry water in and the solar lantern which had a phone charging port had been broken at the cave commotion, now as he continued on his journey he had no water, no lighting and no means of communication. When thirst got the better of him he had to make do with drinking cattle urine. Fetching the urine was in itself a rather irksome task that required energy-sapping good timing. Eventually, the animals started falling one by one. 

***

After more than 100 miles he could not see any kind of life or vegetation anywhere, it was a deserted desert. Had he gotten lost? The location tracker application installed in his phone could have been a great help but now he was stranded maundering in the terrain. Quickly losing weight and getting dehydrated but with a warriors’ unrelenting spirit, he dragged on and on languidly until he could no longer walk. Alone now, apathetic and starving he knew his end was nigh and when he could not walk anymore, he lay down under the punishing sun and rested for a bit while all these reminiscences flooded his mind, the seasons of his life. It had all come to this, slow death for lack of water.  Seems rain does not come from heaven after all but from down below. 

He was not going to die like a goat waiting for slaughter, death will happen on his own terms. When he had gathered enough strength he stretched his hand towards his colorfully beaded belt and took out a glistening sword from its sheath. He had carried this weapon since he became a warrior and it had served its purpose well. It had slaughtered the lion and other wild creatures. It had also been used to cut roasted meat for his meal. Now it will serve a purpose for the brave, he murmured a final prayer, a request for his God to bring in hungry vultures and hyenas, that will devour his corpse without leaving a speck of blood or a wisp of hair that could further pollute the soil and that his spirit should not be a social disgrace when the deed is done. 

With virile hands, he held the sharp sword up, directly above his heart and using all the energy conserved he thrust it towards its target. From up above, the vultures saw a stream, a stream of human blood that flowed like that of fresh spring water on a summery day in Namelock village in the year 2019 and the hyenas were watching the vultures’ movement keenly.