Not so long ago, in a time when salt was as precious as gold, there once was a family whose story whispered through the winds of time. They lived in Shamba, a land of secrets and wonders, where every stone seemed to harbour tales of ancient glory.
This family resided in a quaint village known as Ngula, a name bestowed upon it by the ancient founders, translating to “Tomorrow” in the ancient tongue of its founders. Their abode, a humble dwelling, occupied a space just a bit smaller than half a football field.
Within the confines of their home resided eight cherished souls: Mr. Shetu, his four sons, his beloved wife, Ms Tuli, and the venerable matriarch of the family, Mr. Shetu’s ninety-year-old mother. To all the children, she was simply known as Grandma. For a full decade, this intimate group of eight had been the heart and soul of their household.
But fate, like a tricky puzzle piece, wove a new thread into the fabric of their lives one sunny morning. As they toiled in the golden fields harvesting pearl millet, a sudden, sharp pain pierced Ms Tuli’s lower abdomen. She gingerly settled beneath the comforting shade of a nearby Marula tree and began massaging her belly in an attempt to soothe the distressing ache.
“Quickly!” Ms Tuli urgently called out to her sons, her voice laced with discomfort. “Hurry to Mr Hishiko and let him know I require his donkey cart. Inform him that I’m not too far away. I must reach my mother’s house before the day darkens. I’ll have the help I need there. Go now, make haste,” she directed her eldest son.
“I’ll come along, my dear. I might be old, but I can still lend a hand,” Grandma offered as she gently massaged Ms Tuli’s swollen feet. She had chosen to accompany her daughter-in-law on this journey since her son, Mr. Shetu, the third of his lineage to embark on the king’s salt-mining expedition, was far away at the salt plains.
Of course, Hafeni, the youngest of the four sons, pleaded to accompany them. “Pleeeeease, mama, take me with you,” he begged, his eyes wide with anticipation.
“Okay, fine. You can come along,” his mother agreed, though her response was accompanied by a somewhat exasperated sigh.
For the past few months, Hafeni had keenly observed his mother’s tummy gradually getting bigger with each passing day. He didn’t need anyone to explain it to him. His mother was expecting a new little brother or sister. After ten long years, he would no longer hold the title of being the youngest child in the family.
The prospect of having a new baby sibling brought a mix of emotions. On one hand, he looked forward to the exciting adventures and activities he’d now be able to enjoy, just like his older brothers. On the other hand, the new baby will get all the attention.
With the assistance of Mr Hishiko and his trusty old donkey cart, Hafeni, his mother, and Grandma reached their destination just before the sun dipped below the horizon. As the cart rolled to a stop, Hafeni’s maternal uncle and his mother’s mother, whom the little boy affectionately called Grandmama, rushed out of the house to greet them. With gentle care, the men helped Ms Tuli off the donkey cart and swiftly carried her into a hut that Grandmama had prepared in anticipation of her arrival.
Hafeni, although eager to stay with his mother, knew he couldn’t accompany her this time. Instead, his aunt, who happened to be his mother’s youngest sister, led him to the cooking area where a warm dinner awaited him, surrounded by the comforting presence of extended family.
As the family gathered around the crackling fire, Hafeni found himself bombarded with questions from his curious cousins about the adventures he’d had accompanying his father to the salt plains.
But despite their enthusiasm, Hafeni struggled to focus. His thoughts were consumed by worries about his mother, and his anxiety was palpable. He kept stealing glances in the direction his mother had gone earlier, his concern etched across his face.
Although fatigue eventually weighed down his eyelids, Hafeni was determined not to succumb to sleep until he saw his mother safe and sound. He lay down beside the comforting warmth of the fire, gazing up at the night sky.
Suddenly, a shooting star streaked across the heavens, as if in reassurance that everything would turn out fine. After a while, his eyelids grew heavy, and he finally drifted into slumber. His caring aunt gently scooped him up and carried him to bed.
As the morning sun graced the new day, Grandmama went to fetch Hafeni from the hut he slept in to take him to his mother. She found the boy already awake. Before Grandmama could greet Hafeni, the boy dashed past her and ran to his mother’s hut. Hafeni’s face beamed with joy when he saw his dear mommy. She looked exhausted, but still radiated beauty and warmth. She stretched out her hand, and Hafeni eagerly took it, with a beaming smile mirroring his mother’s sweet expression.
“Come,” she whispered, her voice filled with love, “Come and meet your little sister.” The happiness in the air was so palpable that it seemed to make the morning itself shine a little brighter.
The new-born baby lay beside her mother, so tiny that Hafeni hesitated to hold her, afraid he might hurt her. Ms Tuli gently picked up the baby and brought her closer to him, her eyes gleaming with pride.
“Look, Hafeni,” she said with a warm smile, “This is your baby sister.”
Hafeni’s eyes widened in astonishment as he gazed at the baby’s tiny head. He couldn’t help but notice, “Mama, the baby has white hair like Grandma and Grandmama.” Tenderly, he ran his little fingers across his baby sister’s delicate hair.
“Yes, she does,” his mother replied with a gentle nod. “She’s one special little girl. Her hair is like that of ancient star travellers, the divine messengers that come from the highest place,” Ms Tuli said, her eyes filled with pride as she spoke.
Hafeni’s heart swelled with wonder at the mention of the Highest Place, a name his ancestors had given to the kingdom far beyond the stars. It was the kingdom of the good King who ruled over all creation from the mountain at the edge of life.
Since Mr. Shetu was not there to give his little girl a name as is tradition, the two grandmothers decided to name her Nuusiku. It means “the one that arrived at night.”
Nuusiku was truly unique. It was as if the light of a million stars shone through her hair, which was whiter than the grey hair on both her grandmothers’ heads. The little baby looked unusual in more ways than one; her hair was not the only remarkable thing she was born with.
Grandma reached for a cloth woven from the inner bark of the baobab tree, the very tree from which Hafeni’s ancestors believed the first woman fetched milk to feed her children. They called it the “tree of mothers.” Slowly, Grandma unwrapped the cloth, revealing a lock of white hair adorned with twelve knots. These knots gleamed like the bright midday sun. She brought the lock of hair closer to the boy.
“Look here,” Grandma said, “Your sister came to us already filled with power. This lock of hair rested on her forehead and fell off shortly after she was born. This is how the divine messenger travels from beyond the stars to our world. They arrive with this lock of hair draped over their faces. The ancestors called it the ‘horn of power,’ but today we know it as the ‘garland of twelve suns.’”
“It is said that when a clan is truly fortunate, one of its daughters will be blessed with a baby who is a divine messenger. Nuusiku is the second messenger of the good King to be born into my clan. I am truly blessed to have lived long enough to see both of them,” Grandmama said with immense pride.
“But who is the other messenger?” the curious boy asked.
Grandmama chuckled warmly, “My grandmother, your great-great-grandmother. She, too, had white hair like that of the divine messengers of the good King, who rules from the mountain at the edge of life.”
Hafeni pondered all that his mother and grandmother had shared with him. There was still one burning question in his mind. “If she’s the good King’s messenger and she was sent to us, what message did she bring?”
“We will only know that in about seven days’ time when her umbilical cord falls off. On that day, a wise San man or woman from the tribe of the Ancients will come to our house. They will shave off Nuusiku’s white hair, and the hair along with the garland of twelve suns will be burned in an ostrich’s egg,” Grandma explained.
“Yes, once the hair and the garland of twelve suns are completely burned to ash, the wise San elder will smash the egg on the ground. A message will be revealed on one of the pieces of the broken egg, clear as daylight to the wise elder to see. Only they will be able to understand the writings and explain it to us. It will be a message for the whole kingdom to hear,” Grandmama explained.
Hafeni felt his excitement bubble up. He couldn’t wait for the seven days to pass so that he could hear the message his sister brought them. “When I grow up as big as Papa, I’m going to be a divine messenger too. Just wait and see. I’ll have white hair and a message for the people to hear,” the boy declared, full of confidence.
Ms Tuli, Grandmama, and Grandma burst into laughter so hearty that tears ran down their faces.
After three days of rest, Ms Tuli, Grandma, Hafeni, and the baby returned home, just a day after Mr. Shetu’s arrival from the salt plains. All the older boys rushed out of the house to greet their mother, led by their father, who held a massive spear.
Before his wife, mother, and baby, Mr. Shetu thrust the spear into the ground and began to dance. He stomped the earth with his feet in joyful celebration. Grandma joined in with ululations of pride as she looked on. Nuusiku was then gently handed over to her father. Mr. Shetu cradled his daughter’s breath-taking face in his hands as he slowly walked to their hut, a smile radiating from his face.
When everybody had sat down, Mr. Shetu started telling his family a story. “Long ago,” he began, “this beautiful kingdom of ours was gripped by the worst drought our people had ever experienced. Not a single drop of water was to be found anywhere in the kingdom.
The strongest of men risked dying of thirst by travelling to the kingdoms of our ancestors to get water. But by the time the men would return, the calabashes of water would be as empty as when they embarked on the journey.
As everyone settled in their seats, Mr. Shetu began to tell a story. “Many, many years ago,” he started, “our beloved kingdom was gripped by a terrible drought, the worst our people had ever known. There was not a single drop of water to be found anywhere. The strongest of men risked dying of thirst by travelling to the kingdoms of our ancestors in search water. But alas, when they returned, their calabashes were as dry as the day they set out.
Every day, the women of the village gathered, dancing to the rhythmic beat of the drum, their voices rising high as they called upon the rain. The rain still chose not to come.
A young bachelor and a young maiden rode a black cow into the sunset to fetch the rain as the oracles of the Ancients advised. The fiery sunset consumed both the cow and the maiden. Yet, even after such a sacrifice, the rain still chose not to come.
The animals began to die, and the seeds planted in hope began to rot in the ground. Tears flowed freely from the eyes of the young and old alike, their hearts heavy with despair. In the end, the whole land was devoid of hope.
Finally, the wisdom of the elderly men and women led them to remember the merciful hands of their Maker. They remembered He who is said to have formed their skin from the mud of a riverbank and their bones from the marrow of a bulrush.
With hopeful hearts, they raised their voices to the sky, seeking the benevolent Kalunga, the good King who ruled from the mountain at the edge of life. Through endless days and starry nights, their fervent cries filled the sky as they called upon His name.
Finally, on the eve of the seventh day of their relentless pleas, something utterly extraordinary occurred. A colossal, flame-covered rock descended from the sky, landing with a resounding boom right in the heart of the forest, at the very centre of the kingdom. The earth quaked, sending ripples of fear through the land. Yet despite their apprehension, the people emerged from their villages to witness the awe-inspiring event.
‘Did you see that?’ they asked one another.
‘Did you see the fire fall from the sky?’ somebody was said to have asked.
‘Surely the sun has fallen out of the sky,’ another person ventured to guess.
Arming themselves with spears as protection against any wild beast they might encounter, the people trekked all night to the forest at the centre of the kingdom.
Right in the middle of the forest, they found a huge rock, unlike any they had ever seen before. Water was gushing out of the earth beneath the rock, creating a bubbling spring. To their amazement, they heard the faint cries of a baby emanating from the top of this wondrous rock.
Though the rock felt slightly warm to the touch, a resilient and elderly San woman, a member of the tribe of the Ancients, fearlessly climbed on top of it. And there on top of the rock, lay a baby boy, squirming and wriggling. A lock of hair with twelve knots hung delicately from his hairline.
The San woman tenderly lifted this lock of hair off of the baby’s face, revealing the most exquisite infant she had ever laid eyes upon. The hair on his head is said to have been as white as the milk of a cow, and the twelve knots gleamed like a radiant garland of suns, as if it were the middle of the day.
The baby boy continued to cry and wiggle as the San woman, filled with awe and reverence, carefully wrapped him and his horn of power in a blanket made from the bark of the tree of mothers.
The San woman raised the baby boy high into the air, presenting him to the gathered crowd. “Look! Look!” exclaimed the joyous elder. “A divine messenger has been sent upon a star to bring us the gift of water!” Her voice rang out with pride and wonder.
The women began to ululate with delight, while the men celebrated by pounding their spears into the ground. Even the forest’s wild inhabitants, the jackals, ostriches, and elephants, joined in the jubilation. Their howls, honks, and trumpets echoed through the land, proclaiming the arrival of this miraculous gift.
Days later, the garland of twelve suns and the baby’s milky-white hair were ceremoniously burned in a large calabash. The message from the King who rules from the mountain at the edge of life was unveiled:
“I have heard the cries of My people.
They remembered Me,
And therefore, I have chosen this very day to save them.”
“Did that really happen?” inquired the second youngest of Mr Shetu and Ms Tuli’s sons.
“Well, of course it happened. That’s how the spring at the centre of the kingdom came to be. Its waters have never failed once, and the kingdom has never seen drought since the star came down with the divine messenger,” Grandma confidently affirmed.
As Hafeni listened to his father’s story, he realised how special his little sister was. Convinced that his sister had arrived upon the shooting star he had seen on the night of her birth, Hafeni moved closer to his father’s chair and asked, “Now, Papa, you too have to give her a name. What are you going to name her?”
His father paused for a moment and then replied, “Magano. That is what I am naming her.”
“That means ‘gift!’” exclaimed the eldest of the boys.
“Yes,” Mr. Shetu confirmed with a smile.
“In four days, we will get to hear your message,” Hafeni thought. He then tenderly planted a kiss on his little sister’s cheek and whispered her full name into her ear, “Magano Nuusiku, the gift that arrived at night.”
Author Biography
Nande Thomas Sakaria Kamati is a 30-year-old Electrical Engineer. Nande’s true passion lies in writing captivating children’s fantasy stories set in Alkebulan (Africa) as it once was. Drawing inspiration from his Bantu, Khoisan and Christian heritage, he seeks to transport young readers to enchanting realms filled with adventure. In April 2024, his children’s story “Hambie: A Purr-fectly Mysterious Tale” was published in the Writers Space Literary Magazine. It appeared on page 12, 13 & 14 of the magazine and received the honour of being selected as the editor’s choice. This marked his debut as a published author. You can find his story in the April 2024 edition of the magazine, accessible via this link: Writers Space Literary Magazine
