NARRATIVE

This is my story about the people of Kanyading’ding’. It is not so long ago because Opuk my greatest grandfather was still there! And you know what? I’m here. Or you think if he were not there I would be here now? Wee usilete vako bana. You know what Puklu, these things have not started now, they have been there. Maybe, better.
Ehe Pakla,
I have never lied to you, have I?
A A never
So let me tell you about the Kanyading’ding’ people. (Clears his throat) there was this beautiful Nyadendi I have never known her real name, because every time I hear her story, emotions take me off, am carried by the winds to back in the days and at the feet of my greatest grand father I set myself, to be sure that today, I can tell you the same story. So, Puklu, allow me to call her Nyadendi. (A song in praise of Nyadendi, Puklu and Pakla both sing)
Hey! Hey! Pakla, you need some more kwete, and then you promise not to go there, but stay here, until the story is over.
Puklu, I have never said no to busaa. Let me tell you about Nyadendi, she was beautiful.
Must be the most beautiful woman any man has ever even had in his illusions. She was beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. (Drinks’ some busaa from the calabash) she had neither hip-star, nor spa-strap. But she left men staggering wherever she passed. Her breasts were covered in ondakla-banana bark- her waist was adorned in bright caloured beads do you know how they were called? Ah! Puklu, they are called winde. Wi
Nde
Wi
Nde.
Yes, winde. And beneath the winde, she had a round sisal skirt called owalo. I tell you, she was beautiful. On her neck she had tigo. The improvision my sister has named necklace. She had a pronounced gap on her upper jaw. Since these Kanyadin’ding’ people never wanted to leave anything without a name, they called her gap mbanya. Nyadendi Rambanya
Ooh Nyadendi, (a song - chogo min ohero nyadendi yo X2 ayaye nyadendi yo chogo min ohero Nyadendi yo) X2
Puklu, Puklu
Pakla,
Don’t finish the sweet song, before you see the graceful steps of Nyadendi balancing her water pot from the river. Her buttocks swayed in a rhythm that all of us have a tune for in the play ground. But the one Puklu and Pakla love is this
Kabich, Carrot X3
This is the reason, why many men went for amen (wrestling) until the strongest man in the village was found and allowed to marry Nyadendi. (Ululations) it was sigalagala everywhere, because the beautiful Nyadendi had finally found a mate. The village messenger ran to the transmission hill and lit a bon-fire that smoked above and beyond Kanyading’ding’. He sent happy celebration messages to the whole neighborhood and I no time, baskets full of roast meat or should I say aliya and ugali started trickling into the celebration arena. Delicacies like alenya and aluru were brought in plenty. People danced to ohangla tunes till morning and busaa was drunk in plenty. But, strength does not scare away death. Nyadendi’s husband died. Even Nyadendi’s beauty would not keep off tragedy. Puklu, Nyadendi is widowed.
But that does not take away a woman’s beauty, does it?
Puklu, because of this beauty, they say, Nyadendi’s husband died from chira!
He! Chira/
Chira! Nyadendi’s husband was long lilo. Umh, that strong man was impotent
Important?
Impotent.
Impoted
Impotent
Impotent
You got it Puklu. (Snaps his fingers) her husbands condition made her become a creeper, and not being too careful, it gave her husband the fever. The man died childless.
Wooii
But, Nyadendi was pregnant!
Mayie Pakla!
So she could not be inherited before she gave birth. All that could be done at this time was to shave her head. (Takes’ the calabash and returns it down without drinking) everybody watched and waited, for the birth of Nyadendi and Punglu, her secret lover. Nobody was to know, but somebody knew and now, everybody knew and waited. The day came, and nyamrerwa -midwife- was called, she tried, but as Nyadendi pushed and screamed out Punglu’s name, she breathed her last. The baby gave a shrill cry to signal both her birth and sorrow. An owl’s ugly voice was heard from a distance, a strong wind -yamo- blew and the trees went punglu pwap, punglu pwap punglu pwap. So the midwife called the child Oyamo Pwap. (Drinks) The village was caught up with mixed emotions. Some mourned Nyadendi’s death while others celebrated the birth of Pwap. Others hung in between mourning and celebration. You could see a smile on one side of the face and a tear rolling down the other cheek.
Pakla my friend, I beg you do no more talking, let us drink kwete to the end of our lives. For if my beautiful Nyadendi could die just like that, I should not live.
No Puklu that is not the spirit that brings forth a man. You must be strong for odds and good, expect twists and turns which shapes our livelihood and appreciate the rises and falls that come with it.