The feast
It was an eve of festival in the village of Zele; drums beating and people cheering up for a big day that was coming. It was a celebration for umuganura -thanks giving day. Beer was being tested; Food of all kinds were being prepared. Walls were being adorned for an auspicious day
Joy and happiness filled the cloud. Children were playing; wondering how the food would be testing. They could not decide whether to go with umutsima, ingereke, umunyigi or umufa -traditional African’s cuisine. The umuganura feast was a day of appreciating agriculture’s yield and this implied how grandiose the table of the day was to look like. The flute called and the melody was turning to the most popular one with drumming. All children rushed in the center to dance. There she was! Keza! the beauty of the village. Her fame not only rested on her outstanding natural beauty but also her adept at dancing accentuating amaraba -type of traditional dance- as she shaped her arms like the horns of Inyambo -Cows with beautiful long horns. All eyes were pointed to her as she moved from left to right in the beat of the music. Men couldn’t blink. Looking at her, the only thing that could turn into your mind is that black is indeed beautiful. As she was dancing Keza could not turn her face from the crowd. She was scanning for one face; the only face that couldn’t be chilling up for her. The face of her father Nywere.
Nywere always argued the toss about Keza’s dancing. He said that dancing is childish not for adults. “You are soon to get married” he reminded her. “you should now be learning how to conduct as a house wife; I don’t want to see you disgracing me again.” Although she had received that ultimatum, Keza couldn’t hold herself from the beat of the music. By dancing all troubles were relieved; she could laugh, and be truly herself. Luckily, her father Nywere wasn’t around. His zeal for beer couldn’t let him move even one inch from where they were being tested. Nywere were known for his agacuma -small pot for beer- that couldn’t easily leave his hand. He exerted a rule of hand toward his household. The test of his Kiboko -large stick- could be witnessed by his neighbors who usually herd the cries of his wives. Uwera was the first to embrace the warmth of Nywere’s kiboko a lot. Uwera was Nywere’s first wife and keza’s mother. She was the only one to not give birth to a boy within Nywere’s wives. With small human mistake, the hell could be opened up for her because of only one reason: for giving birth to a “she” instead of a “he”. However, to Uwera Keza wasn’t a burden. To her she was her whole world. To her she was complete joy and the reason to live on. Seeing her laughing as she danced reminded her of her own past when she was also the village’s beauty.
The signal was given and the music stopped. A beautiful young lady decked out in her umushanana -traditional dressing style for women- was spotted coming outside from the hut carrying intara -large wove plate- filled with imyumbati -cassava. The lady was praising the land for yield, glorifying the sky for rain and appreciating the man for care. The lady was the sign to the beer house that cooking is now finished. Large pots of wine were carried in the center. It was believed that at least two muscular men could handle one pot’s weights. Women followed up each carrying intara filled with different dish.
The mutware -village chief- stood up for giving an address. Today we are celebrating the most prestigious day of the year. Today we are appreciating the product of our hands. Zele rose over it’s surrounding not because of special medicines. Zele rose because we have watered our land with our sweats. We are honoring those heroes who have embraced their hoes every morning in those cold varies. Those whose production excelled our expectations. they have made us triumph today. Umaganura isn’t the day to seat and eat only. It’s the day to aim so as to achieve. “It is the day to welcome peace and harmony in our household,” he said looking at Nywere whose mind were captivated by the froth that was flowing from the pots of wine. “Dear fellow clansmen, I extend a warm welcome to the party of tonight,” said mutware. The mirth was produced and not that long the meal was attacked according to one’s taste bud’s feelings. The village’s orchestra took the stage making the food even more testy than ever. That was the night where all people of Zele regarding of their status could vanish any word compatible with hunger from their minds.
For the following chapters follow on link above: https://www.wattpad.com/story/311219510-keza-the-essence-of-african-womanhood
