The following story (Part 1) is inspired by the Historic Town and Archaeological site of Gede, an abandoned Swahili town with origins in the 12th Century. I have included some links above if you want to find out more.

https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1720

https://museums.or.ke/gede-museum

My inspiration for the story lies in many visits to Gede. The site is away from the coastline and surrounded by a coastal forest and there are remains of narrow streets, sunken courtyards and tombs as well as an entry to the palace that once stood there. It was a wealthy and busy place, now populated by monkeys, birds and insects and I hungered for the reasons the town was abandoned. I was told they were not known, but probably down to raids from neighbouring ethnic groups, diseases or simply because they may have run out of water. My imagination was fuelled one day when I found some turquoise and yellow beads on the ground there, and then when walking along one of the numerous paths in the forest I startled a sleeping cobra, and I turned back, and ran. After that day, I always felt there was a malevolence there, hidden behind the sweet, gentle Kilifi breeze.

I wrote this story about 10 years ago. I didn’t give it a name but the title is Chapter One. I think I may possibly have run out of inspiration, or I just didn’t have any time. Maybe I forgot or maybe it was something that would stand alone so for now I will call it The Story. I didn’t read it again before typing it here!

The Story (part 1)

The night was wild with the sounds of the forest, the noisemakers sang as they rubbed their legs together, their hollow bodies amplified the vibrations, turning them into high pitched songs as they frantically called for their mates. The high pitched scream of a bush baby came from the canopy of trees above while a chorus of monkeys were snorting and rasping, warning of nearby prowling creatures in the darkness. In the small hut Ana cried silently. Far away she heard a broken erratic sound, a distress call emitted by something seized suddenly from where it was hiding. She gazed through the billowing smoke drifting from the fire that had burnt since sunset. The woman, her companion was close by. This was Ana’s darkest hour. The pain was monstrous and her loneliness was unbearable. She questioned her sanity, called silently for an end to her suffering but was determined not to cry out. This was her punishment.

Ana had been labouring all day, since morning, she lay on the ground, her head resting on a rolled up blanket. The woman, her companion had finally sent for the midwife.

A figure appeared at the door of the hut. A whispered voice told her story. All was not well and the night was briefly silent but for the sound of breaking waves on a beach. Ana felt the blood that coursed through her veins turn cold and as a powerful shudder gripped her belly, she closed her eyes, then re-opened them. At the door stood a man, the midwife had refused to come.

Ana recalled her own childish voice questioning her mother long ago,

“Who is it that began the quarrel?”

The pain worsened. She saw that it was the old man. Ana did not want him. She shook her head, shivering with a sudden chill while her stomach tightened in a wrenching contraction. She gritted her teeth, the child within squirmed, turning and kicking its legs, and something, some part of it caught itself under her ribs. She stiffened her spine. Groaning she shifted her body on the floor clawing at the earth beneath her. Surely he wasn’t going to assist in the birth?

The old man approached and spoke soothingly. In her confusion she did not understand what he said even though he spoke her language. He sat on the floor beside her watching her contractions come and go. He placed his wrinkled hands on the base of her belly pressing downwards slightly and then sat her upright. She stared at the man they called ‘Mbuzi’, and her mind cleared a little. Her eyes focussed on his features, his white hair and his beard. He didn’t look like a goat, his skin was dark and lined, his pupils the shade of burnt wood and his breath, for once odour-free was warm upon her face. He took her hand in his and quietly he spoke,

“This is the most important thing a woman can do. You will be rewarded with a beautiful child. Hold my hand and when you feel pain don’t fight it.”

Ana nodded. The woman, her companion tried to loosen their hands but he sharply ordered her to leave them alone.

The three of them struggled all night. The woman, her companion turned her and rocked her, rubbed her back and gave her sips of water. At times the old man made her walk around the hut until she was too tired and needed to rest. The night calmed and the forest grew quiet and they were united, young and old, male and female in their sole purpose to bring to birth the child that resisted the forces of nature. The pale moon settled in the sky and in the hour before dawn, the darkest, they achieved their purpose. Kneeling on the floor Ana gave the final push and the child, a boy, wet and wailing was born. A crowing cockerel and the early morning birdsong hailed him.

Through tears Ana watched the old man cut the cord with a sharp blade and quickly check the infant, saying nothing before wrapping him in a cloth and handing him to her. The dim morning light crept through the cracks in the walls of the hut and she stared at the tiny face and angry, quivering chin, searching for some likeness to the father but finding none. Mbuzi spoke a few quiet words to the woman, her companion, and slipped out of the hut.

Ana felt her shame deeply, She had been alone a long time and now she had a fatherless child. At least it was not a girl. She gave him the name ‘Mosi’ meaning firstborn and from then on she was known, not as Ana, but as Mama Mosi. It was the tradition.

Read Part 2 of The Story here https://elephantshavetherightofway.co.uk/the-story-part-2/