Chapter 5

Rivers and Plains

Beyond the land of giant bamboo, the Abantu encountered a more familiar mix of forest and savannah.

Eku found the trees peculiar: short, broad-leaf hardwoods with canopies shaped like upside down funnels, the leaves browned and rustling dryly at the slightest puff from Ulayo.

He and Yathi trod in the midst of a parade of people, through yellow grass as tall as they were, but listless and stripped of bristles.

Eku saw there were patches of small trees called sek-umthi, with leaves of a rounded and symmetrical shape, the leaflets radiating outwards like fingers from the palm of a hand.

During lobo-yaka, sek-umthi sprouted beautiful white flowers that turned into dates that were deadly for humans if eaten, but attracted bushpigs, which found them irresistible.

The hunters used the dates to easily trap the pigs.

Patches of the ever-resilient boxthorn were present, always green, even through sika-yaka.

Too much boxthorn was difficult and caused a detour, but the thorny bushes were always accompanied by many other bushes and sometimes trees, advantageous for finding beasts good to eat.

The Abantu liked to say, embi-kulunge, which meant learning to get the good from the bad.

Eku clicked and said what he was thinking to Yathi, “Boxthorn and poisonous dates. Embi-kulunge.”

“Not another one of those silly life things,” Yathi grumbled. “We hiked enough today. We should stay at the next camp for more than one night.”

“We will stop at the next place with water,” Eku predicted, not really caring if he was right, but knowing Yathi liked to keep things positive.

His water bladder was still half-full.

The land was plentiful.

He knew the tribe would stop when the hunters and mothers together made the decision.

The land grew steadily drier and the next river the tribe encountered was pushing far less volume of water.

Layered hedges of papyrus and river grass safeguarded the shoreline, but after pushing their way through, Eku saw a wide riverbed, mostly dry with sedimentary dirt and exposed rock. A steady current flowed past large boulders scattered along the deepest, center part of the channel.

They would cross elsewhere; besides, the dry parts of a riverbed were superb for hiking.

Eku, Yathi, Goguk and Kolo paced a shore hard-packed with small and smooth pebbles that massaged their feet.

The width of the center channel eventually widened and grew shallow and the current was gentle enough for everyone to walk across.

The people stopped only long enough to fill bladders with fresh water and continued.

From the bank of the floodplain, the land rose and Eku and Yathi were able to peer upriver and spot their first vubu, lounging in a mud pool, oblong brown shapes with a glow of pink, all but submerged.

“They look like a gathering of giant, floating turds,” Yathi said.

“Wait until you see them close,” said Kolo. “Vubu are ferocious. Never go to the water if vubu there. Vubu kill everything that comes to their pond. Even wenya.”

***

The land became drier, transitioning from forest and savannah to woodlands featuring subtropical grasses and shrubs.

The lakes and ponds that spoiled the Abantu throughout the Mantel homeland were replaced by streams, some only a trickle, but enough to support stands of fig trees and hearty soseji-umthi, which provided food for antelope and baboon.

Soseji-umthi were currently engulfed by maroon flowers hanging in long and magnificent panicles.

When the rains of loko-yaka began, the flowers matured into oblong fruits the length of a person’s arm; enthusiastically feasted upon by elephants, who sometimes tore the trees apart to get at the enormous pods.

Soseji-umthi were useless for an Abantu, but provided the opportunity to trap beasts drawn to the flowers, while the fig trees yielded bushels of easy to carry fruit.

Food and water were plentiful and progress remained steady.

Daily hiking allowed time for intimate talks and revelations.

The Abantu yearned for Uwama, almost as they would a real mother, their entire lives until now comforted by her embrace.

Many songs praised Uwama.

So they would never forget how she nourished the ancestors through terrible times.

Even during the chilliest part of sika-yaka, when the tribe sheltered amongst the inland hills, an Abantu was never truly lost, a popular verse ingrained upon every child:

Like children to a mother

Water returns to Uwama

Follow her children downstream

And you find home

***

In order to circumvent a vast and treacherous estuary of brackish wetlands, mangrove forests and constantly shifting sandbars of silt fed by the confluence of two rivers, the tribe marched deeper into a strange land.

The parade of people moved through stands of mopane trees, the leaves now withered and yellowed, but clustered with plump brown seed pods that forbade a future of plenty.

The ground was littered by dried grass, scattered brown leaves and bare patches of reddish dirt.

When the rains came, the mopane would burst with two-sided leaves shaped like butterflies, eventually crawling with colorful caterpillars that once fattened, were considered a delicacy.

While travel remained pleasant and relatively uneventful, some of the Mantel maintained a deepset fear of the land where the two rivers merged.

Yat told Eku the Mantel were prone to superstition.

Eku and Kolo walked with Yathi and Gokuk, the four of them abreast, satchels and bed mats strapped to their backs.

Eku carried his ula-konto and asked Kolo what he knew of the land where the two rivers merged.

“No Mantel for a very long time goes there, but there are stories,” he said. Was about to say more, but stopped, as though perplexed. Waved his hand in a vague way and said, “It is iposo.”

“We say isipo-kee! when we talk of our ancestors,” Eku said. “Is your ipiso like a song? Or a legend?”

Unsure of the nuances, Kolo shrugged. “Isipo are passed from father and mother to sons and daughters. All of the Mantel villages have isipo to tell. But there are some isipo that all villages share. Even when families visit from villages far apart, the words are still spoken the same way.

“Like your singing but … more like talking.”

Eku asked, “So there is isipo for the two rivers?”

Kolo nodded enough for his ponytail to sway. “Oh yes. The ancestors say to stay away from land by the two rivers. Never go there.”

Goguk asked, “Why are the two rivers dangerous?”

“The ipiso is about the land where the two rivers merge. All I remember is that the land is dangerous and belongs to the yolumkono.”

Something about the tone of Kolo’s voice brought him a look of concern and Eku asked, “What does that word mean?”

Walking ahead of them, Tayat, who was Kolo’s mother, walked with Krele and Shona and other mothers. She often lingered in the back and hardly ever said a word, but typical of a mother, had ears like a bat and abruptly turned and made a shushing sound at her child.

After a moment, Eku caught Kolo’s eye and gave him a questioning look.

Kolo motioned for Eku to lag a bit and when the adults were out of earshot said, “Yolumkono are part human; part beast.”

Eku looked thoughtful for a moment, then concerned and asked, “A beast like a lion or a monkey or a plant eater?”

“I do not know. But they are ferocious.”

“Like a lion then?”

“Yes. A lion. Something terrible.”

***

Following first contact between the Abantu hunters and the Mantel, a friendship blossomed.

The combined abilities of the two tribes allowed them to explore further up the coastline; though, at first, the Mantel refused to venture beyond the giant bamboo.

Once the Abantu hunters ventured past the bamboo and returned very much alive, enough of the Mantel were convinced that the ipiso was wrong.

Or perhaps the mysterious yolumkono had not survived the terrible times.

The Abantu scouts assured the Mantel that the land was dangerous. Bountiful, but deadly.

During their first exploration of the lands north of the Mantel homeland, the Abantu hunters encountered the monstrous sized water buffalo.

And there were other, menacing creatures; in particular, a new kind of baboon, or a creature like a baboon, but two or three times the size of a normal baboon, ranging in small bands the scouts were careful to avoid.

And there had been sounds in the night.

Sounds the hunters did not want to put into song, but were obligated to tell.

Cries such as a helpless victim made when trapped by a predator and used as a plaything before death.

And sometimes, the sounds were made all the more haunting because the cries of the victim sounded as though they came from the throat of a human.

***

Eku loved being on the pilgrimage.

The tribe traveled at a comfortable pace for two or three days, stopping to make simple, temporary camps, before setting up a more permanent encampment, always next to freshwater, where they would remain two nights to replenish and repair supplies.

Every day brought a new adventure.

Traditionally, both the Mantel and Abantu followed a general of command that extended from the elders downward.

All critical decisions were made by groups of elders; though, now with the exception of Tiuti, there was not a single elder amongst the entire tribe.

Settling into the administrative roles were the mothers.

Sisters Krele and Shona, along with Luvu and Nyama remained a unified voice, always followed by the other mothers when deciding where to establish camp, when and what to harvest, how much to resupply before continuing.

Whenever the hunters went into the bush, they first checked with the mothers, who said which meat would be appropriate, but more importantly, the body parts most in need; whether a particular skin or sinew, the beasts that contained in their marrow the essential oils for poultices, those with ideal bones for awls, scrapers and other tools; as well as miscellaneous important parts, such as brains for curing hides and bladders pliable enough to carry water.

“We are the elephants now,” Eku overheard Krele tell Shona, who laughed.

Eku figured that was fine.

Elephant parades were led by matriarchs, who guided the great beasts unerringly from food source to watering hole.

His aunt Shona was older and taller than Krele. Stronger physically, which Eku figured made sense, seeing that she had to lay with Yathi’s father Lume, who was like a water buffalo at a small pond.

Shona was fast approaching the highly esteemed status of isipo-bomi, a tribute placed upon a female blessed enough to raise three or more offspring to adulthood.

Yathi had hair around his penis and under his arms now, so he was becoming an adult.

Eku checked every day, but he was lagging in that department.

Yathi had Kozik and Doagu; whereas, it was just Eku and Yatyambo.

Eku’s mother was a bit shorter than average and slender, but famous for her quickness; at one time, being fastest amongst all the young females, faster even than most of the males.

Kaleni, though, was fast enough to catch her.

Krele’s first child, a son who would have been Yat and Eku’s older brother, died shortly after birth.

As the Abantu say, when something is meant to be, something happens.

Life goes on.

Devastated, Krele and Kaleni mourned, but then while inland during sika-yaka, Krele became pregnant with Yatyambo; not long after, Shona gave birth to Doagu.

Yat was a healthy baby and soon everyone was talking about her being the most capable Abantu of her age, just as her mother had been.

When first hearing such tales about his sister, Eku—who revered his mother—was horrified and needed to verify such an outrageous claim with an adult he trusted.

“Yes,” his uncle Lume told him, nodding his big head, “Yatyambo and your mother are very much alike. For sure.”

Eku walked away muttering.

Such a thing could not be true.

He loved Yat, of course, but she had a wicked temper and a sharp tongue.

Krele never got flustered because she was always thinking two steps ahead of everyone else, her thoughts making up for what she used to do with her feet.

While his father was certainly the best hunter, quite matter-of-factly, Eku considered his mother the most capable Abantu there was.

But then again, Yat was a very fast runner….

***

The Abantu had reached a truly vast floodplain, a result of the confluence of the two rivers.

Fortunately, at this time of the year the ground was dry and firm and the parade of people moved through a great orchard of palm tree clusters on elevated islands of grass.

Most importantly, these particular palms were a small, well-known variety and packed with dense clusters of edible dates.

The tribe took frequent breaks, stopping to cut through the thicketed margins of grass around each palm grouping, then climbing into the short trees to pull down looping vines that looked like ribbons pearled with oval brown fruits.

Eku and Yathi used the pointy ends of scoopers to expertly cut through the hard exterior to get at the delicious and soft core.

Yathi soon consumed so much of the sweet fruit that he began stopping to squat too frequently, forcing Shona to cut him off for a day.

Though they were well into sika-yaka, the weather remained warm and food was plentiful.

Eku marveled that not once had he missed the sealskin vest he normally wore at this stage of the cycle.

He walked amidst a long and strung our parade with Yathi and Kolo, per usual, with Dokuk, Odi and Goguk just to the side.

Still trekking through the small palms, Yathi gazed forlornly around and then grumpily asked if anyone had anything interesting to eat.

Eku swung his sealskin satchel from back to front and felt around inside.

Pulled out a parcel of wrapped leaves.

Peeled away a leaf for a smell and said, “Wenya. Greasy and smoky, but should be good.”

Grateful, Yathi took the parcel and unwrapped the leaves to find the jerked meat. Gave a smell, which seemed satisfactory and tried a bite.

Yat came up from behind, just in time to catch Yathi's jaw at work.

“You have to stop eating,” she scolded.

Her hair was wrapped in a narrow plume with feathers as decoration, the plume bouncing off her full back sack, the feathers fluttering as she walked.

“Not palm fruit,” Yathi said, and dangled the strip of the jerked meat so she could see. “Smoked wenya.”

Yat’s pretty face contorted as she said, “Smoked wenya is disgusting!”

“I know. I do not like it either.”

Aghast, Yat snapped, “Why are you eating it?”

“I like chewing.”

Yat looked on in feigned horror as Yathi tore off a stringy chunk and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. Then said, “The smoky and sour taste goes away and then you can just chew it.”

Sternly, Yat said, “You are silly.”

“Chewing helps me to not think about walking.”

Yat seemed prepared for another critique, but paused to consider Yathi’s words. Gave a slight nod and went to move on, but not before shooting a sly grin at Dokuk that left him with his heart racing.

Yathi continued to chew contentedly, though, when he caught a look from Eku, who was mimicking Yat when she looked stern, they burst into laughter.

***

The Abantu trekked far enough inland to bypass where the rivers fractured into distributary channels and eventually, swampland, wenya infested and impassable.

A gentle rain fell as Eku and Yathi followed the parade of people through trampled river grass and palm trees to reach the main body of water.

The first river was the smaller of the two, currently low and fordable by foot.

The land between the rivers was thick with bristle grass, finger grass and more palm groves; though, now the palms were as big as forest trees and equally tall; a new, massive palmtree the Abantu had never encountered.

There were yelps along the line and word passed to watch one’s step, the ground littered with giant, fan-shaped leaves, margins armed with spines now dry and brittle, painful to step on even for their toughened feet.

Some of the adults were forced to wear skins for protection.

When the tribe reached the second river, the opposite shore was but a smudge on the horizon.

With no boats prepared in advance, this would be their most serious challenge yet.

Making the choice of the route more delicate, since the pilgrimage began there were a number of pregnancies, several of whom, including Yathi’s sister Doagu, would soon give birth.

The tribe set up camp amidst the steady rain as the hunters scouted upstream for a better location to cross.

All around, Eku saw land covered in dried and flattened river grass interrupted by patches of palms with thick crowns.

The ground where they made camp became squishy and muddy underfoot and Eku and Yathi worked their arms to weariness helping to gather bundles of thick, river grass stalks to create flooring for the small, rounded shelters erected as refuge from the rain.

The location of their camp would transition dramatically through loko-yaka, becoming an ocean of thick grass as the water level rose, tributaries winding through like a maze to temporarily reconnect the two waterways.

Fortunately, the water was at its lowest levels; nevertheless, the second river remained an intimidating boundary.

***

Yat, Tar and Maz came upon Eku, Yathi, Goguk and Kolo gazing across a smooth expanse of still water. The rain had stopped and heat like the middle of lobo-yaka was settled upon them.

Eku clicked greetings to his sister, who said confidently, “We can swim. It is not as far as it looks.”

Looking worried, Kolo said, “In some of the waters where we live there are fish that bite you and bite you. They are not large, but there are many and they are ferocious. And if you have a cut that bleeds they bite and bite and bite. Once they smell blood they do not stop.”

“And in these large rivers there are creatures that burrow into your body and do terrible things,” Tar added with a smirk.

Maz gave Tar a stern look and said for the sake of Kolo and Goguk, both of whom looked frightened, “That is why all the women carrying a baby must cross in a boat.”

Yat clicked sharply and said, “Yes, it is dangerous, but we will be fine. My father has done this before.”

She looked at Eku, who clicked agreement with his sister; though, but when he looked back across the water, he felt fear.

The water was still and there was not a strong current; nevertheless, the expanse was far.

The next day, the tribe left the muddy ground behind, moving further upriver to where the land started to rise and palm trees were replaced by riverine forest.

The Abantu made camp to prepare for the crossing.

***

Once again, Eku, Yathi, Gokuk and Kolo, wandered the river, looking for something to do.

Eku saw Dokuk heading in another direction with his ula-konto, with waka others, who of whom were carrying some kind of weapon to practice with: wooden spears or keri sticks.

Eku felt a pang of jealousy. He always wanted to practice, but sometimes did other things, as neither Yathi or Goguk aspired to be hunters.

The camp was sprawled across an open area between the river and forest, mostly tall grass with some bush, growing in clumps.

Brush and bramble had been cleared to the ground and laid around the perimeter. A few clumps of palm rose within the perimeter of the camp.

Where the land rose gradually in the direction upriver, the riverine forest included tall and straight jackalberry trees.

Eku spied Tiuti, standing on a sandbar spread around a rare protrusion of rock near the edge of the river, staring where the forest began.

“We should see what Tiuti is looking at,” Eku said. “Find out what he is doing.”

Goguk said, “Tiuti scares me.”

“He just ignores you, like most people,” Yathi said.

“He is busy with his thoughts,” Eku said.

“He is ancient and wise,” Kolo said.

Yathi said, “When Tiuti works with the izik-kosa, he laughs when my father tells dirty jokes.” He clicked and grinned at Eku, who grinned back.

“Come on,” Eku said, confident the others would follow.

Tiuti stood upon an opportune flat rock, staring away from the water, at the trees.

Deep in thought, a smile lifted the corners of his normally stern mouth at the approach of the tribe’s youngest males.

Eku called, “Izik-ikiz Tiuti. Why do you stare so?”

Tiuti motioned them closer. Gestured at the nearby hillock, dotted with sturdy jackalberry and said, “Today the Mantel are to begin carving a boat from a tree.”

He gazed thoughtfully at Eku, before adding, “You should come. All of you. See what the Mantel can teach us.”

***

Later that day, many people gathered near the edge of the forest, by the trees Tiuti pointed out earlier.

Amongst the Mantel was a group of experienced boat makers, who selected two trees, suitably close to the river, growing on an incline so the base of the trunks naturally curved before growing straight up, with no branches for the height of several adults.

Eku watched as the Mantel gathered near the two trees and began an animated conversation with lots of gesticulating. Though it was difficult to follow, to Eku the people seemed to be arguing, but with a ritualistic feel, as though the entire population must be involved in a discussion that finished with them choosing the same trees recommended by the boat makers in the first place.

By the time the Mantel were ready to start, the entire tribe had wandered over, curious to see how the forest people made the amazing boats they used to cross the great river that preceded this one.

The people crowded in the shape of a half circle around the trees.

The Mantel set up work platforms at the base of the incline, away from where the trees would fall.

They brought forth stones for sharpening and polishing.

Several Mantel chopped at the thick base of each tree. First, cutting at least a hand's depth all the way around, then chopping a deep wedge to direct the fall.

The forest folk had excellent axes, having found enough quality quartzite to make ax heads that were adze shaped, bound and glued to a short haft; effective, but really, no more than a well balanced club with a cutting edge.

While the Mantel would do the boat carving, the Abantu begged for the honor of cutting down the trees and the Mantel were happy to relinquish the brute labor.

The Abantu made axes with quartzite, not wasting precious isipo-igazi on tools used for blunt force chopping. But the izik-kosa had the luxury of quarries with excellent rock. They used Tiuti’s vices to groove and shape the knapped heads.

Tiuti also invented a drill of isipo-igazi to bore holes straight through the quartzite head, to more firmly attach the blade to a longer handle.

The Abantu loved a contest and the hunters challenged the izik-kosa.

Teams were selected.

Yathi grinned ear to ear when his big brother Kozik stepped forward with his ikanabe, Ingwabi.

Kozik was one of the tallest in the tribe. He had broad shoulders and powerful legs. Ingwabi was the eldest child of Nibamaz and supremely capable, like his father.

Teaming up to attack the other tree were Azik and Kizma, also ikabane and two of the tribe’s strongest izik-kosa.

Dokuk leaned over Eku and Yathi’s shoulders to whisper, “Azik and Kizma do not have a chance.”

The young hunters had necklaces with a single fish eagle talon and swung them around to hang down their backs, while the izik-kosa did the same with their individually unique pendants of carved wood and bone.

The contest began and wood chips flew, the members of each team taking turns whacking away at the base of their respective tree.

Though the izik-kosa were more familiar with an ax and applied precise cuts, they soon fell behind, mostly due to the sheer might of Kozik.

It was clear the izik-kosa were overmatched when a shout came from the back of the crowd.

“Out of the way,” a stern voice commanded.

The contest momentarily halted as Lume lumbered through the crowd like a bull elephant making its way to a watering hole.

Yathi’s father was known for two things: being Tiuti’s most highly skilled izik-kosa, and for his size.

Lume loved to eat.

A lot.

Yathi’s father’s belly was legendary on the southern shores. And such a belly might have been cumbersome, were it not set between boulder-like shoulders and tree trunk legs.

Even Lume’s hands were large, like seal flippers, fingers thick and powerful from a lifetime of working rock and bone.

“My turn,” he said to Azik and Kizma.

In Lume’s hands was a long shaft of hardwood, attached at the end, a huge, wedge-shaped ax head with a hole drilled through the center, resin-glue and sinew wrapped and heated to melt around the haft and stone.

Kozik grinned at his father. He and Ingwabi had cut much further into their tree. Said confidently, “You cannot catch up.”

“We shall see,” Lume answered.

The contest began again with great fervor and the crowd began rhythmically clapping and shouting.

Kozik and Ingwabi were young and strong and took turns attacking the tree.

Everyone knew it would fall shortly.

But in Lume’s massive hands, the beautifully crafted ax was something to behold.

His huge belly bounced and roiled and wood chips flew in chunks.

The crowd murmured in amazement, then began cheering loudly as Lume firmly anchored his feet and whirled the ax faster and faster.

Eku could not believe the sound the ax head made when striking the tree, a sound with a visceral edge, as though the air itself was shocked by the impact of each blow.

Kozik and Ingwabi each took frantic turns, their young muscles striated and straining, but normally placid Lume was possessed by a demon, the ax spinning over his head, first from one direction than the other, wood chunks flying in all directions, slivers plastering themselves to his great belly.

In no time, Lume surpassed the hunters and soon his tree groaned and creaked and after a last, wicked blow, fell downward, the crash drowned by the roar of the crowd.

Shortly after, Kozik delivered a final blow to the hunters' tree and the crowd cheered more loudly.

Sweating profusely and covered with slivers of wood, Lume hugged his powerful, but still young son and pulled him toward the river.

“I’m going with them,” Yathi told Eku and tore off to squeeze himself between his big brother and giant father, the three of them leading a large group for a swim.

Eku grinned up at Tiuti, the two of them having stayed to watch the boat carvers.

He watched the Mantle attack each tree, stripping bark and smoothing knots; chopping through the trunk where the branches began.

After the brush was cleared, each end of the giant log was chopped and scraped to a tapered point and the crowd gathered once more to push and roll the big logs down the remainder of the incline, to the platforms by the water, where the more precise carving would take place.

Eku noted the tools the Mantel would use for precision carving had been modified to fit Abantu blades of isipo-gazi.

He spent several days with the old master, the two of them learning everything they could about how the dugouts took proper form.

***

This is a good night, Eku thought.

Darkness had fallen some time ago, but the entire tribe remained awake and active.

Eku figured that, like himself, everyone was excited for the next day, for the crossing of the river.

The air was warm and sultry, but clear, more like a night of early lobo-yaka, before the moisture moved in and the rains began.

Eku, Yathi, Kolo and Goguk sat at the edge of the river, on a flat river rock, wearing only loincloths, feet dangled so toes almost touched the water.

The bellies of the young males were full; they were content, enjoying the atmosphere of a mysterious land.

Yanga had yet to rise, but a spectacularly speckled carpet of sable to plum was enough to make the dark, slow-moving water alternate inky black and silver shimmer.

Eku looked up at a vast sprawl of celestial bodies so vivid he wanted to jump up and grab one.

The cough of a leopard echoed across the water and brought his attention earthbound, where bats were squeaking shadows wheeling after insects swarming over the glistening surface.

“I like it here,” he said.

“Me too,” Yathi agreed.

“I like home better,” Goguk said.

“I want to see the land of legend,” Kolo said.

“Me too,” Eku agreed.

“You miss home?” Kolo asked Goguk.

The two of them had been spending much of their free time together, many of the Abantu hoping that Goguk might have found an ikanabe.

“It was nice where we lived,” he answered.  “I like eating mussels. They are my favorite.”

Yathi clicked rapidly and made a grunting sound. “I want to go back to the other river, with the little palm trees.”

“You will end up fat like vubu,” Kolo said. Giggled, adding, “When they get mad at each other, they shit and use their tail to fling it in all directions.”

Yathi laughed and said, “I wish I could do that.”

“They are disgusting and make disgusting noises. Never drink water near vubu.”

Kolo leaned close to Yathi.

Nose to nose, the night was bright enough so they could see each other’s features.

“Why are your eyes so?”

“Laza eyes,” Yathi said.

“Laza?”

“My mother says laza eyes are a gift from Uwama, for taking her islands back. She gave some of my ancestors’ eyes the color of her water.”

Yathi opened his eyes wide and Kolo peered closely.

Solemn, he said, “I have never seen Uwama.”

The Abantu males chimed, “Never!”

Kolo leaned back, saying, “We do not travel beyond the mangroves.”

Yathi said, “My ancestors lived on islands. They had boats. Probably like yours. We fished and speared seals. But then Uwama raised her waters and we took our boats back to Umawa and became Abantu. That was a long time ago. Even before the terrible time.”

Kolo said, “That is also one of our ipiso. When ash fell from the sky and the trees died.”

Eku blurted, “Probably not the jungle trees. They are too old and large.”

Goguk exclaimed, “Have the jungle trees been here forever? Like the rivers?”

“Rivers are forever, but jungle trees die,” Kolo said matter of factly. “They fall and then bamboo grows.”

“But jungle trees are old, for sure,” Eku said.

“For sure,” Kolo agreed. “Like Tiuti.”

There was a sound and they all turned to look: Yat and Dokuk settling on a rise of grassy earth, a bit away from the young males.

“I cannot wait to ride in a boat tomorrow,” Goguk announced.

“You are lucky,” Yathi said, with envy.

“I want to swim,” Eku offered, knowing he sounded braver than he felt.

“Not me,” Yathi answered quickly, though Eku knew he was an excellent swimmer. “I would rather ride. The last part is too far.”

Kolo said, “We are many together. What Yat said before is correct. It is safe. Besides, this river is not good for vubu. They like mud and ponds.

“And wenya, if there are big ones, the hunters on the boats will stop them.”

***

The tribe would cross where the river at its widest in either direction, but dotted with islands.

The people would walk or swim from island to island, crossing as the wildebeest did, en masse, cutting across the river as a river themselves.

The current was negligible and the presence of so many able bodies was reassuring for the weaker swimmers, especially the Mantel, who, ironically, having lived their entire lives along ponds and lakes, rarely swam; whereas, the Abantu learned to dive for shellfish as children.

The side from which the tribe departed began as an expanse of riffles; the people needed only to wade or float from small island to small island, some thicketed with brush, others just rock covered shoals.

The first, real swim was required to cross where the center channel deepened for the first time, before rising to an island large and dry enough to support a partial ecosystem, with monkeys in the trees and evidence of duiker and pig.

The swimming stretch was not far and the current was barely noticeable and everyone had an easy time.

The two dugouts transported supplies and gave rides to those who could not swim safely.

Once everyone was on the island, the tribe rested.

The people had crossed half the width with little difficulty, but the remaining portion lacked islands and would have to be swum.

A good distance, even for an Abantu.

While the rest of the tribe prepared, hunters swam the remaining distance as the dugouts transported javelins, ula-konto and other supplies.

Soon after, the tribe set out en masse, swimming steadily, the dugouts roaming back and forth, transporting supplies, watching for wenya and other dangers, and giving rides to those not swimming.

At times, the current seemed to pull, especially where the temperature varied with a cold spot, and Eku scissor-kicked to maintain course.

Yat and Yathi were strong swimmers and remained at his side, occasionally offering encouragement.

At one point, Goguk passed on one of the dugouts, sitting with two pregnant females, hollering gleefully as powerful Lume sat at the front, proudly rowing, refusing to relinquish the paddling duties to anyone else no matter how many trips across.

***

Beyond the second river, the land returned to savannah, pockmarked by trees and bush, level as far as the eye could see.

After conferring with the mothers, Kaleni and Nibamaz charted a course across grassland that ended at mangroves.

The people waded along a shallow stream that tunneled through the thick mangroves until suddenly the thick ceiling of twisted branches supporting the overhead green canopy abruptly changed to sky.

Just sky.

And Uwama.

Eku and Yathi splashed through a warm and shallow estuary with delicate water grass to—joy of joys—a sandy beach.

The Abantu were all smiles; the Mantel were in awe.

Bleached sand gone pale, almost like ivory.

Rolling waves of green tinged gray water cresting with barely a white cap.

Other than the people, the beach was deserted.

A few crawling crabs.

Bird calls from the mangroves.

Expanding before them, in all her majesty: Uwama.

There were soft murmurs.

A few tears.

Words could not suffice.

Nevertheless, Kolo, walking up to stand beside Eku, Yat and Yathi, tried, saying softly, “She is so big.”

Yat said, just enough to be heard above the gentle surf, “Uwama carries the world.”

“I missed her,” Yathi said.

“Me too,” Dokuk and Goguk chimed, having joined them.

Kolo said in the same, reverent voice, “She is so big.”

Yat repeated, “Uwama carries the world. There are songs of Uwama’s caress turning Umawa one way or the other, but my father thinks Umawa does not turn at all, and that the land goes forever, like the salted water of Uwama does, but in different directions.”

Eku added, “He taught us how to tell.”

Gazed up to find Ulanga and checked his shadow. Oriented himself and pointed north, up the coastline, adding, “We find out by going that way.”

Kolo asked, “Does Tiuti think there is more land beyond the land of legend?”

Proudly, Yat said, “Him and my father.”

Goguk exclaimed, “How big is the world?”

“I do not know,” Eku said. “But we will be the ones who find out.”

***

For several days the tribe clung to the coast, wading around pockets of mangroves; swimming across the intertidal zones that separated one small pristine beach from another; feasting on endless sources of ubhak-unda, fish and octopi.

Three straight nights where all the Abantu had to do to make camp was roll out bed mats on the sand and gaze at stars.

The rain, when it came, was gentle and they made crude shelters and slept together for warmth.

Finally, the mangroves thickened and the shoreline dropped; the tribe was forced to follow a small river upstream, to begin marching into the heart of Umawa.