Ama -- an extract from a novel

by I. Moses

 At the first glimmer of dawn, the slaves were shepherded into their assigned positions.

A band of drummers led the caravan. Next came a small squad of musketeers.

Koranten Pete followed, with his guest, Sharif Imhammed. Each sat in a hammock, borne aloft on poles by four bearers. The horses had been left behind in Kafaba. They were too many tsetse flies in the forest.

The male slaves followed in groups of twelve, manacled wrist to wrist in pairs and spaced a stride apart along a heavy chain, just as in their journey from Yendi. Two armed guards marched before and behind each chain gang with some of the women and children between them. Each slave carried a head load, tribute goods from Yendi or luxuries from Kafaba.

Another squad of musketters brought up the rear.

Koranten Pete's secretary poured libation and invoked the blessings of the ancestors. Then the royal horn was blown, the drummers struck up a rhythm and the procession moved off.

Nandzi and Minjendo were now both well enough to carry a load. They walked together, with Joji their constant companion.

As they moved off, Nandzi began to hum a traditional dirge. In her mind she sang the words she remembered, inserting the names of those whose death she was lamenting, first Itsho and then, in turn, everyone else whose death she could recall. Then new words began to form themselves, somehoe planted in her minds without any conscious effort on her part. Dimly, she sensed Itsho's unseen presence. Her eyes were open but she seemed to be dreaming. Her spirit left her body. She floated weightlessly and saw the whole caravan from a great height.

"Why are you humming a dirge?" asked Minjendo, who also remembered the tune.

Nandzi continued humming.

"Nandzi, don't you hear me?" Minjendo said to her, but Nandzi appeared to be in a trance.

Then Nandzi began to sing the new words, softly, tentatively, adapting her rhythm to the beat of the drums.

Oh you our ancestors, our grandparents
And their parents and grandparents:
Hear our voice,
Hear our lamentation.
Oh you our ancestors, all those who in the dim mists of the past
Have lived upon rhis earth and have gone before us into the world of the spirits:
Hear our voice,
Hear our lamentation.
Advise us, help us,
Succour us.
Hear our voice,
Hear our lamentation.

As she sang her voice gained power. Minjendo turned her head and looked at her. The spirits have possessed her, she thought; and she was afraid.

We too have died and yet we live still.
We are as walking corpses.
Hear our voice,
Hear or lamentation.
We have no drink to offer
But we beg and beseech you.
Hear our voice,
Hear our lamentation.

One of the older women began to join the chorus, Hear our voice, Hear our lamentation; and then another. Soon all the women in the group were singing the chorus. Minjendo was the last to join.

Our freedom has been taken from us
Our spirits are chained to our dead bodies.
Hear our voice,
Hear our lamentation.
Who will perform the rites which will free our spirits
And send them to your world?
Hear our voice,
Hear our lamentation.
Hear us, advise us, fortify us,
Give us back life; give us back hope.
Hear our voice,
Hear our lamentation.

Nandzi paused.

"Again," the older woman called to her. She began again from the beginning.

Again and again they sang the dirge until they knew all the words. The song passed up to the beginning of the caravan; and it passed down to the end. Even the women who did not understand the words were moved to join in.

The guards did not understand the words but they sensed the meaning from the sound of the song. They did nothing. One does not lightly interfere in matters concerning the spirits of the dead.

The singing of dirges is woman's work. At first the male slaves listened in silence, like the guards. But the words of the song captured their misery and one or two began to join the chorus. The rules of the old society were losing their power.

Soon the lament had been taken up throughout the length of the caravan and the singing echoed across the plain as they trudged on. Again and again they sang it until the words were inscribed in every memory.

Only when they came to a board river was the rythm interrupted. The musketeers fired volleys into the air to fighten off the crocodiles and they waded across waist deep without incident. For the time being spell had been broken