Still Sings the Nightbird

A Call

155 A A Call tia and his wife, were sitting on their love-couch holding hands as Kabi rushed to answer the doorbell. “Come in! “She said lovingly to her nephew Agudi who had gone out for a friend’s birthday party. Agudi went to sleep. He was tired but happy after the party and he said he could not possibly eat anything as he had eaten and drank to his heart’s content. Agudi, Sau and Ani had given their parents and aunt a beautiful treat for their anniversary. They knew that somehow their parents and Kabi were always happy together. They were at peace. Adau and Atia understood how Kabi loved Will. They were sure that she was going to live alone for years. It was clear she stood tall and firm as a widow. She wanted to relish her years with Will. Adau and Atia tried to make conversations that would help her not to escape but to see the other side of life. “How does one thank God for all our children?” asked Adau. “Let’s say, it is hardly possible. First, they are so healthy, and happy,” said Atia. “Then they are brilliant!” said Kabi. “If you took your children’s school reports and mixed them you could swap the names and still tell there is a Wakabi in the genes. The Wa Ngais: same talents, character, all of them smart!” Said Kabi. “We should have had more girls!” “Stop, stop!” Said Adau. Adau had a deep feeling that there was something wrong with speaking out so candidly about one’s blessings. They had to be whispered like gently singing waves. It was something she seemed to carry from her past. She thought Will died because her brother, his children, nephews and wife praised their quiet and successful father often. “Come on,” Atia caressed her saying, “If God didn’t mean us to say these things, then he would have created us speechless! In fact, it A 156 is the opposite. When we talk of evil we get evil. When we talk of good we get goodness on our side.” Adau did not argue about this. Atia’s words to her were always like a soothing balm. He kissed her on her forehead and she stroked his wrist. Peace was made in love. The three adults stepped outside for fresh air. They stood in the garden. Kabi looked up and then spoke. “The stars were not only made for us to gaze at but also for us to tell of their wonders,” said Kabi. At the moment she said that, strong rays of the moon silently shone through the clouds and bathed Kabi almost in slow motion for long. Gently and slowly the rays shone in circles around her eyes, closing them softly. Then they moved around her head as if she wore a halo. The rays made ways around her breasts, her belly, made a pot around her womb and sank just between her legs in awesome humility. When she opened her eyes everything shone silvery before the moon vanished silently to greet the stars. There was a long pause. The silence carried in it the music of the soul. They all knew what they had seen. “I know,” said Adau. “About the stars and beauty. We sat outside a friend’s house in the Rift Valley and did just that. Watched stars. Then our friends sang Maasai poetry to us. And how lavish and beautiful is the poetry of home.” “I heard Maasai women singing to the trees of Loita and I nearly wept. In the music, what intonation! What love for nature!” “Do they sing about trees to the cattle?” Kabi asked. “About everything to everything. I remember songs to hidden trees unsighted by mortal eyes in a holy shrine where Morans hid for their manhood ceremonies for many months. I remember too, another about Aro the bull of great horns and brown color. The song described the old precious bull, with a white star on its forehead. It was never to be killed, that bull. When it died, its owner, the old man would use its hide for a bed to keep in touch with its spirit. Sleep on it until he died,” said Atia. 157 “And his poor wife?” asked Adau. “All of these are very powerful symbols of, of… masculinity!” said Kabi. “Yes, but you know, the...