Part 2

Heart of Umawa

The old alpha missed the home cave.

A natural fortress of stone from which he ruled for many cycles.

Dominion by club, dagger, fist and teeth.

Deciding where to hunt.

Choosing first amongst the females.

For a long time, none of the other males dared to challenge his authority.

Forcing him to occasionally pick a fight, just to have some fun.

Now, not capable of defeating those younger and stronger, he was just an old male, clever, skillful and firmly aligned with the clan’s young, powerful alpha.

Respected, of course, so that he still had a pick of the females, when he felt up to it.

The old alpha returned that respect by never selecting any of the ruling alpha’s favorites.

Despite a legendary status, some of the young males offered an occasional glance of disdain.

Annoyed by the weakness of his age.

Perhaps, someone might be stupid enough to challenge him.

He would fight, of course.

Slowed by age and injuries, experience made him a lethal opponent to all but the strongest and most agile.

But soon the day would come when another male would tear out his throat.

Or perhaps it be the jaws of a predator or the horns of a great beast.

Such a death would be welcome, of course—but only when the time was appropriate.

Besides, the ruling alpha was his offspring and looked upon him with adoration and would intervene if he was challenged at the wrong time, by the wrong male.

Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—the ruling alpha did not remember the home cave, being just a fledgling when they fled the land of their forebears.

Spacious; shaped perfectly for smoke ventilation.

Hippo skulls stacked at each side of the entrance.

Within the large, inner chamber, a magnificent pyramid of buffalo horns.

Elephant tusks rested vertically against the walls.

Mounds of soft hides, well chewed and comfortable.

Wood for burning, shards of bone useful for daggers, scrappers or diggers organized in the cool and dry inner chambers.

For generations, the clan reigned from that cave.

But now, far away, in a different land, they were gathered in another cave; really, no more than a sheltered outcropping of stone.

The mountainous terrain they found was comfortingly familiar.

Such land might serve well as new, permanent hunting grounds, were it not for the flat faces.

From a hidden perch, the old alpha and the new alpha watched the flat face clan move up the river.

The old alpha stroked the long tooth that hung against his broad, heavily scarred chest.

The younger, powerful male gazed intently, thinking.

Chapter 6

Shatsheli-Lambo

Grass.

And then more grass.

Eku simply couldn’t believe there could be so much grass.

At least in the jungle, difficult as it had been, the ever-changing surroundings and colorful surprises kept one's attention.

Eku felt as though they now marched through a dreamscape of grass.

The land was flawlessly flat, infinite leaf blades shifting light to dark, depending on the direction of Ulayo’s breath.

The grass was the same variety, but as plants do, changed constantly.

Sometimes, the grass was thick and coarse, no more than chewed away patches ankle high; at other times, the stalks were long and dried and yellowed, taller than an adult, rustling hollow as they pushed through.

Direction according to the landscape was impossible, but Ulanga always followed a set path, which guided their own.

The entire tribe walked together now, no forward party of hunters necessary to secure the way, a continuous column of humans pushing steadily forward.

With plenty of adult feet ahead of them, the path Eku and Yathi followed was well trampled.

“I would never want to be an antelope,” Yathi said with disgust. “Eat this all day? My whole life!”

“Elephants and zebras eat grass,” Eku said.

“They are just plant eaters.”

Yathi thrust his hands in front of him and wiggled his fingers. “I need lots of different kinds of food.”

Slapped a stray grass shoot aside and said, exasperated, “We must be going somewhere.”

Eku admitted, “I am tired of dried fruit and smoked meat.”

“You want to try and get to the front?”

“For sure.”

Eku and Yathi had grown nearly indefatigable during the pilgrimage, hardly noticing the full satchels and rolled bed mats secured across their backs.

Yathi attached his mat horizontally, across the small of his back, below his backpack; whereas, Eku tied his mat vertically with his satchel, along his spine, so that he could slide the ula-konto between and strap everything together, keeping hands free.

Sometimes, Yathi laughed and said Eku looked like he had a long horn sticking out of his head.

The two picked up the pace and went outside the corridor of trampled grass, dodging circular clumps of shoots to jog ahead, leaving Goguk and Kolo somewhere in the long parade behind.

The pair unexpectedly arrived at a more manageable, knee-deep variety of grass, bronze with hints of orange, stripped seedless this far into sika-yaka.

The dirt between the circular patches was hard packed and good for walking.

With fewer bodies before them, Eku recognized his father’s gait up ahead, at the front with Nibamaz and other hunters, dark, vertical bodies against a bright, shimmering background.

He thought their appearance strange, then realized the solid, seemingly endless plane of grass had disappeared; the horizon as well.

Eku had marched across plenty of inland plains to know that something always lay on the horizon.

A hint of worry in his voice, Yathi clicked and asked, “Where did Umawa go?”

Realizing what his eyes were seeing, Eku said, “I think it is only water, showing the sky.”

Word spread down the column that something large and mysterious lay ahead.

The tribe was soon forced to a stop.

Gathering loosely along a body of water that expanded as far as anyone could see, as though everything else in the world disappeared, leaving only a tiny patch of humanity with endless grass behind and endless water in front, merged seamlessly along a straight and mysteriously defined shoreline with a narrow strip of bright green.

There was not a single tree or bush.

No large beasts.

A few distant waders and ducks.

Ulayo roamed elsewhere and the enormous body of water remained placid, but for dragonflies touching down and taking off.

Eku saw enormous water striders skim across the surface.

Schools of waka-waka-waka tiny fish moved like shadows in the shallows.

The triangular snout of a good-sized turtle poked from the surface to one-eye the strangers.

Eku glanced at Yathi, next to Yat, next to Kaleni.

Many people gathered behind them.

They all knew that Uwama was never this calm.

There was no salty scent; nevertheless, a voice called, “Uwama?”

A frog jumped and people laughed nervously.

“No,” Kaleni said, loudly for others to hear. “We have reached shatsheli-lambo.”

Eku’s father shrugged off the full satchel from his back, letting it fall gently to the ground.

There was an ax in his belt and he held an ula-konto with a sheath over the blade, making Eku wonder who was the lucky adult to carry his javelin.

The entire parade of people caught up and familial groups separated to talk.

Yat asked, “Why can we not see the other side?”

In Abantu, shatsheli-lambo translated into the greatest of rivers.

And while Eku understood what the words meant, what lay before them could not possibly be a river.

Could it?

Kaleni said, “The river here is so wide that only a flying bird can see the other side. Which is why we will have to travel upstream before we can cross.”

Krele came up beside Eku.

Mother and child stared at the smooth expanse of water, unable to comprehend it was a river.

There was not even a smudge on the horizon.

Like staring at the unimaginable breadth of Uwama, only different.

Krele, still wearing a satchel over her shoulder, put a palm to the back of Eku’s neck.

He leaned against her shoulder, making her smile as he said in a doubtful tone, “It will not be so big then?”

“There is a lone mountain we must watch for,” Kaleni said. “On the other side. Taller than anything around it.

“When we see the lone mountain, shatsheli-lambo will not be so wide and we will cross.”

Eku leaned away from his mother and looked around and said, “There are no trees for the Mantel to make boats anyway.”

Krele laughed and rubbed his head.

The tribe marched along a shoreline that followed the direction of Ulanga.

Papyrus and river grass soon appeared in thick, parallel margins.

Soon after, hillocks and ridges added seams to the horizon.

The first, slight rise was an opportune place to make camp.

***

Yathi happily joined Lume catching fish while Eku was excited for a chance to use his ula-konto.

As with most rivers, shatsheli-lambo was loaded with ubhak-unda and Eku’s primary objective was to fill his satchel, but as always, small beasts were fair game.

He moved with other aspiring hunters from the slight hillock where they made camp to the papyrus along the water.

Papyrus was known to grow tall, but this papyrus apparently wanted to mimic the mighty shatsheli-lambo.

The enormous stalks rose four or five times the height of an adult.

Camp was established far enough back from the river for Eku to detect a discolored blemish across an otherwise uniform, densely spiculated canopy.

He hurried down the incline to claim his entry point, noting Dokuk doing the same at a nearby location.

To anyone watching from camp, the aspiring Abantu hunters appeared to vanish into a luxuriant border of green.

Unlike round and thin water reeds, papyrus stalks have three flat sides and once mature, rose to enormous crowns, feathered with clusters of grass-like spokes, creating a dense ceiling.

Under jungle-like darkness, Eku made sinuous moves through stalks more like small trees, the scratch of the red-brown scales covering the lower regions mildly pleasant to his skin.

Used his toes to test the muck before setting weight down, freeing the eyes to devour everything in his path as his ears parsed sounds for deciphering.

Gurgles from the river in front.

Ulayo whispered through the fur-like covering of spiky green branches above.

Her breath could not penetrate such growth and the air stank with decayed vegetation.

Peering through the towering stalks, Eku was reminded of the giant bamboo at the edge of the Mantel homeland.

This was like being in a similar forest, but smaller.

No!—an ordinary forest.

And Eku was a giant!

Vision adjusted to the low light, he moved in a slight crouch, using the ula-konto to push aside spider webs.

Paused when he saw fat snails migrating up the thick stalks.

Keeping in giant mode, Eku imagined the snails were lumbering bush pigs (the tree-climbing variety, of course).

Made the fingers on his free hand like the beak of a raptor and snatched the biggest, stuffing them into the satchel tied against the small of his back.

Continued the hunt of a giant.

Eku felt exhilarated.

And a bit intimidated!

His tribemates were all around; yet, here he was, amazingly separate.

Alone!

Tiuti taught Eku that while his body was small, his mind was not.

Using eyes, ears, nose and toes, Eku became larger, allowing Umawa to speak to him, his mind creating a multi-dimensional image of what was around.

Staying slightly hunched, he held his ula-konto at his side.

There was barely enough space between the stalks for him to move now, and even light was more dim.

Eku held his left hand before him, to protect his eyes from unseen spider webs and spastic jumping bugs.

Desperately hoping another aspiring hunter spooked a water rat into his path.

Or maybe a mongoose!

In his giant mind, he could pretend it was a charging lion!

Eku moved deeper into the papyrus, stalks smaller, closer, making passage difficult.

No sound reached his ears other than the rustle of the stalks, the splurt of a step or a gurgle from the river.

He used the ula-konto to poke at a lump in the low light, to be sure it was not the tail of a juvenile wenya … and then a rotted stick wasn't a snake.

Water suddenly up to his ankles, Eku peered through columns of shoots, ears deciphering plant rustlings from water sounds.

Finally, a patch of light identified the location he had singled out from shore.

Eku gripped the ula-konto in both hands, ready to thrust.

Leaned his shoulder to squeeze through stalks crawling with dark beetles with red dots and saw a trail of stained leaflets indicating a bird’s defecation.

Pushed another step forward past a final layer of stems and … Alas, the discoloring he spotted from the higher ground was not fresh.

Whatever roosted here was long gone.

Disappointed, Eku spotted crabs huddled in the pool of water below and finished loading his satchel.

Reluctantly worked his way back through the papyrus by following the same path he came in.

Dokuk was the winner of the day, choosing his section wisely, filling a satchel with crabs and managing to spear a water rat.

Strong Tuve retrieved a pair of giant frogs with fat legs; though, his satchel was only half full and Eku noticed he earned a frown from his mother.

Krele exclaimed pleasure at his full satchel and gave him the Mom smile that he cherished when she discovered the snails; nevertheless, Eku vowed to do better next time.

He and Yathi grabbed freshly sharpened cutters from a tribal supply and joined Yat, Tar and Maz working nearby shallows, pulling water grass and separating the plump, inner tubers from the lower stems.

The hunters and izik-kosi prepared fire pits.

Once harvest was finished, the young people gathered layit-umlilo for burning.

Mothers and benzi-kusela orchestrated the butchering and slicing and pounding and grinding and cooking and the Abantu feasted on a communal stew.

***

Bellies full, Eku and Yathi found a patch of short grass at the edge of camp to sit upon, another river to gaze over; though, this landscape was much different than the last.

Surrounded by bristling grass, the camp was high enough so they could look across the fuzzy top of the papyrus at the enormous body of freshwater.

Waka-waka flamingos began to fly overhead, a bit away from where they sat, high over the river.

The young companions watched.

Finally, impressed, Eku said, “That is a big flock.”

Yathi, similarly impressed, leaned back on his hands and tilted his head.

Gazed in awe at the countless bodies.

“How can there be so many?”

“I do not know.”

“A lot of flamingos must live here.”

“For sure. Maybe they are following shatsheli-lambo to the salted waters of Uwama.”

“For sure.”

They continued to watch the birds as they flowed past.

A river was now above the one below.

Peering left, Ulanga was low and Eku had to squint.

Leaned his body and brought up a hand to shield his eyes.

Ulanga was an orange crescent peeking over the horizon of the river, amber rays slicing across the entire continent to spotlight the colorful birds, bringing their majestic numbers into awe inspiring clarity: countless white bodies with pink and black wings, long necks and distinctive curved beaks.

Soaring in harmony.

Eku thought of the dancers tearing off their robes of feathers to hurl into the bonfire.

Brought a hand up to shield his eyes from Ulanga’s final fire and peered into the distance, wanting to see just how far the flock stretched.

There was no visible end.

Flamingos, as far as Eku could see, as though the flock stretched all the way to wherever Ulanga was setting.

An unbroken stream of beautifully colored birds following shatsheli-lambo, the greatest river.

***

The Zambezi River has carried water from the central African plateau to the Indian Ocean for over two million years, the backbone of an ecosystem that has sustained, for countless millennia, one of the great collections of large animal life on earth.

To confront the Zambezi, the Abantu traveled inland to avoid an enormous delta that covers thousands of square kilometers, an impassable fusion of brackish wetlands, swamps and mangroves.

Forced west, before the tribe lay expansive, alluvial flats through which the massive river coursed sluggishly, as an inexorable, tidal force.

The Abantu, throughout this journey, had felt their own kind of momentum, each person coming to believe they were part of an unstoppable team, the power of their combined abilities allowing them to overcome any obstacle, banish any threat.

The Zambezi humbled those thoughts.

***

The Abantu trekked steadily upriver, Eku glad to see the endless plains of grass transform to traditional savannah, with patches of mopane woodland and the return of the upside down trees Yathi liked so much.

Shatsheli-lambo dominated the landscape, often breaking into thick channels with numerous islands and outlying streams.

Both the Abantu and Mantel were fortunate to have prospered on fertile lands; nevertheless, neither tribe had ever experienced such a density of beasts, large and small.

Giant bats soared the lower layer of Ulayo’s breath while red-headed vultures drifted the higher.

Flocks of green pigeons raced over the tall grass.

When Eku and Yathi marched below riverside palms, the chatter of brightly colored parakeets was deafening.

And at one point, Eku worried that a fire may be raging ahead, when smoke began to billow over the river … Only to realize it was birds.

A flock more vast than he could have ever imagined came pouring out of riverside vegetation to swirl and eddy before melting into the endless horizon of water and grass and trees.

Streams meandered from the main body to form interwoven shorelines of papyrus and reeds where white storks posed and grey herons stalked.

Broods of pintail ducks crossed from one tract of bristle grass to another.

Water buffalo, muddied and glowering beneath helmeted horns, plowed trails through the matted growth of the riverside, stirring up clouds of water flies, while oxpeckers hitched rides on their backs.

Eku noted the buffalo had lighter fur here, and eyed the humans with no suggestion of the quick aggression that made them such a menace in the Abantu homeland.

Opportune basking spots were sure to offer menacing rows of armored wenya, lounging with surprising social tolerance of each other, as well as the white egrets that stepped amongst them, snatching crawling creatures off the scaled skin.

To circumvent areas dangerous because of beasts or terrain, the people followed the river’s corresponding ridgelines, often crossing the trampled dirt highways left by enormous parades of elephants going back and forth from favored watering holes.

Each day, the giants were spotted throwing mud on themselves, spraying each other as little ones—as if an elephant could ever be called a little one—scampered about the shallows under the watch of matriarchs.

When the tribe wandered away from the margin of shatsheli-lambo, the trees thinned to savanna, where wildebeest and zebra roamed side by side, battling amongst themselves, but never each other over the favored females amidst endless fields of foxtail grass, soon to burst into growth with the onset of lobo-yaka.

Thickets of the indomitable boxthorn appeared, drawing the oryx and other beasts, including a large antelope the Abantu had not seen before, with stout bodies and lustrous, nut-brown fur and a white underbelly.

Their horns were as impressive as the oryx, but instead of standing straight like spears, curled majestically over each shoulder.

Groves of acacia and wild apricot drew kudu and giraffes.

Kudu, with reddish-brown fur and white stripes and corkscrew horns nibbled flowers, fruits and shoots, while the orange-spotted giraffes, perfectly camouflaged despite their giant size, gorged on vines and twigs and leaves from the upper levels.

Scattered amongst ground-hugging bushes and shrubs were impala and springbok, the smaller antelope often congregated near warthog groups, all of them skittish, perhaps because of the proximity of so many of their giant relatives.

As well as the predators who stalk them.

Hyenas and lions sometimes followed the Abantu for a distance, only to stop and stare at the enormous herd of two-leggeds moving purposefully along.

Bewildered, Eku thought.

When the Abantu passed an ideal rise with layered limestone slabs topped by mopane with rounded canopies, Eku got a good look at the region’s ruling pride, unusually large in number.

Adults lounged under the shade of the trees.

Cubs chased each other across the rocks.

Ruled by two, magnificent brothers with massive heads and shaggy manes.

Balefully eyeing the intruders.

Eventually, the ruling males padded out of the shade.

Heads high with eyes big and round and focused on the strange herd moving two-legged and appetizingly slow through waist-high grass with juvenile spikelets, they trotted forward with a purpose.

Some of the lioness rose to range behind, curious to see what might develop.

From a safe distance, Eku and Yathi stopped and watched Abantu hunters peel off the main line and march directly at the maned lions, javelins ready, chanting in deep voices a killing song that rose louder when organized into two groups, and then four.

Each group bristled with deadly blades and the hunters continued to fan into position to meet the lions, who instinctively paused at the abrasive noise and coordinated movement of so many.

The lions all had their heads high above the grass, warily watching the two-leggeds who came directly at them, the singing growing louder.

When the two maned lions turned to trot away, the others followed; though, a single lioness paused to glance back, as though already aware that usurpers had entered their kingdom.

***

The change of cycles was upon them.

Lobo-yaka and shatsheli-lambo proved to be a ferocious combination.

By midday, Ulanga was hot in a way Eku had never felt.

The people wore loincloths or nothing at all.

Through the middle of the day, the tribe rested in shade, as close as possible to drinkable water.

“If Ulayo is not blowing, stepping out of shade and into Ulanga is like stepping next to a bonfire,” Yathi said.

Eku recalled words from a song about the rain.

How rain was a gift from Uwama, the return of her water without salt, but Ulayo, her mischievous daughter, may deliver that gift with mercy or vengeance.

At home on the southern shores, but for the occasional squall, Uwama’s gift was merciful: gentle showers and a periodic, good soaking.

Shatsheli-lambo unleashed storms short, but fierce, making up for brevity with intensity.

“This rain is vengeance,” Eku announced after the first storm of lobo-yaka.

“For sure,” Yathi said. “These storms are worse than Yat when she gets angry!”

The first few storms heralded a daily cycle.

Generally, around the same interval of each day, dark clouds appeared and day became dusk.

Fat droplets began to splat pleasantly against bare skin.

A welcome respite from the heat, for sure.

But then the clouds thicken and thunder rumbles and rain arrives as an unrelenting force.

Strange as it seems, Eku feels even wetter during these storms than when swimming, rivulets of water streaming down his face and body.

Finally, the clouds blacken and boil and thunderclaps rattle your bones.

Rain arrives in vomitous torrents.

Like the beasts, the people stop whatever they are doing.

There is nowhere to hide.

Nothing that anyone can do.

Eku bows his head and focuses on the solidity of Umawa beneath his toes.

The flattened landscape is awash and out of focus, companions blurry, vertical brown shapes.

He inhales as though from liquid air, but still breathable.

Rain as a single, giant force pounds Umawa.

Lightning flashes and thunder explodes.

Eku and Yathi put arms over each other’s shoulders and lean to touch foreheads, laughing defiantly.

As quickly as it appears, the storm continues down the river.

Clouds disperse and disappear.

Ulanga shines mercilessly, as though nothing happened.

***

Abantu males are assigned ikanabe at birth or shortly after.

Females are raised in generational groups called laba-ini.

Luvu, the mother of Dokuk and Goguk, had gentle, kind eyes and the same, broad face and flat nose as her sons.

Eku often thought he saw sadness in Luvu’s gaze; despite his young years, understanding that such a wonderful mother could not otherwise grieve.

Luvu worried over Goguk.

But then, everyone did.

Goguk and Huzi were ikanabe and shared the teats of their mothers until weaning.

Learned to walk together, play together and work harvest together.

Goguk and Huzi, like Eku and Yathi, were more than brothers, more than friends: ikanabe are obligated to watch out for each other for life.

During lobo-yaka, the Abantu massed in familial based camps.

Waka-waka such camps were strung along the fertile plains of the southern shore.

Large gatherings of waka-waka-waka people sometimes took place at communal areas, for entertainment and sport, with temporary pavilions for feasting and celebrating.

To avoid the chill that came with sika-yaka, more severe along the coast, the large tribes broke into smaller, familial-based tribes that migrated north to forested ravines fed by freshwater from the mountains.

The extended family groups often returned to the same campgrounds along streams, lakes or ponds, or easily found a new location, when necessary.

During sika-yaka prior to this one, Eku and Yathi’s family traveled with other families with whom they would camp and shelter at the edge of the mountains, away from the storms that swept through the coastal plains during this stage of the cycle.

Unbeknownst, alongside their tribe, a leopard stalked.

Once a proud hunter of pig, antelope and baboon, the leopard had grown old, partly lame, teeth worn, unable to catch let alone kill the prey it was accustomed to.

Fur, once golden-brown, was dulled and the spotted rosettes were faded to gray.

The old cat struggled to evade hyenas.

Forced to move from one territory to the next.

Despite a long life, the leopard never encountered humans.

Driven to the point of madness from hunger, once catching the tribe’s heavy scent, the predator was unable to resist.

Perhaps the leopard knew from watching other primates that small humans would be clumsy on the ground and easy to kill.

The tribe settled for the evening.

Huzi, always the more adventurous of the pair, wandered the perimeter of camp, Goguk tagging along.

The old cat could still move quickly compared to a human; thus, when Huzi strayed too close to the bushes where it was hiding, the leopard leaped and drove Huzi to the ground, sank jagged fangs into the neck and dragged the small body into the bush as Goguk screamed.

Hunters quickly tracked and killed the old leopard, but there was no saving Huzi.

Perils during early childhood were part of the Abantu existence; though, by the time children are weaned, the loss of a life is rare; thus, Huzi’s death was especially painful.

When half of an ikanabe was lost, especially at a young age, the survivor from one was often matched with another in a similar situation; but, being away from the more populated camps of lobo-yaka, none of the current families had a solitary male of Goguk’s age.

Dokuk stepped in as much as could be expected.

And Eku and Yathi already treated Goguk like a brother.

But amongst the Abantu there was a superstition: that if half of an ikanabe was lost, especially when the bond was strong—and especially if a replacement was not soon found—the remaining half would follow his companion into the afterworld.

***

The tribe camped a short distance from the river, within a mopane grove sprawled across a prominence of land, a welcome respite after the monotony of flat plains and low hillocks.

Slanted slabs of pale sandstone pierced the rise; the dirt was gritty beneath Eku’s toes.

Mopane grew thick around the base of the rise, but across the top grew only in scattered groups of saplings and mature trees.

The open ground not showing rock was covered by an unusually heavy grass, new to this area, currently browned and bent over, but with shorter, fresh green shoots poking from the base.

Eager to explore somewhere different, Eku woke at the first hint of dawn.

Yathi snored quietly beside him.

They had slept in the open, at the edge of a flattened area before the land started to slope toward the river, having convinced their mothers to allow them a view of the water.

Of course, waka-waka other young people had the same idea and bodies lay all around in familial groups, cuddled for warmth.

Looking across the tops of the trees that grew lower down the hill, Eku saw a white glow over the flat horizon of the water.

Ulanga was rising.

Eku stood and silently moved out of the crowd of bodies to head across camp away from the direction Ulanga rose.

The camp was well trampled, all of the debris pulled away from the center, leaving a grayscale of matted grass and a few, dark vertical trunks rising into tangles of black branches.

Only a few rounded shelters of grass and brush were scattered about, most people having slept in the open.

Eku crept past faceless, sleeping couples.

The center of the encampment was dense with young bodies and there were areas where he had to step carefully.

Eku’s nose led him to the spot on the downside of the hill, reserved for emptying bowels and bladders.

He took care of business and then moved silently through the remaining cleared area, heading more toward Ulanga, but into blackness.

Eku reached where the mopane grew thick and none of the underbrush or lower branches were cleared.

Stepped into the dark and went into a crouch.

Maintained a forward gaze, eyes only on the black.

Relaxed.

Waited.

Ulanga’s light would come.

Slowed his breathing and focused on his hearing.

Relished the feel of Umawa under his toes.

Listening to mated owls hoot back and forth in the trees ahead.

Eku was perfectly still.

And then.

Ibe-bonakalio.

First, the outline of tree trunks.

Branches and leaves.

Imagining he was the stealthy genet, Eku moved as his father taught him, one, slow, step at a time.

Stopped and went still again.

His mind told him there was movement; though, the eyes and ears registered nothing.

What?

His father said to always trust the mind.

Teaching him how the eyes and ears and nose and skin each told a story, but only the mind puts them all together.

Ulayo breathed softly and swaying grass tickled his legs.

What had he sensed?

Ah!

The mopane caterpillars have emerged.

Continuing, Eku did not even interrupt the hiss of nearby cicadas.

Kept his movements deliberate and fluid.

Precise.

Hands at his sides, fingers spread, palms slightly forward, he made sure Ulayo’s breath remained against him, so that his scent would not be carried forward.

Relishing the details of the ground beneath his toes.

Energizing.

But never a sudden move!

Thus, Eku ignored the tickle of soft wings, that peculiar feel of insect wing membranes against human skin, knowing it was only the last stragglers of a nightly horde of river flies that emerged from the water to perform an infinite number of matings before dying at first light.

There was still enough paste on his body to protect him from anything that wanted his blood.

In front of Eku, conical figures emerged from a mix of forest and grass.

Termite mounds, like vertical sentinels, rising where the trees thinned and the grass grew higher.

Eku crept forward, curiously trying to decipher new scents.

A colossal beast came into focus amongst the tubular shapes, even bigger than a vubu, maybe the length of a bull elephant.

Black in the darkness, Eku could tell that it was hairless like an elephant, with stumpy legs and an enormous head and neck.

Grown from the nose was a single, spectacular horn, tapered to a point and as tall as Tiuti.

Eku was but an accompaniment to Ulayo’s soft breath as he continued down the rise, but paused to listen, fascinated by the sounds made by the giant horned beast as it ripped and chewed the tough grass.

He stopped once more when the river expanded before him.

Vast, with a soft appearance in the reflection of the dawn’s gentle light.

Eku was startled to see a dark band appear across the water and beyond that, a blemish on the horizon.

Rising out of the flatness, a mound with a brow of green, tall enough to catch Ulanga’s first fire.

No longer a stealthy genet, but an excited human, Eku kept his discipline and remained ibe-bonakalio as he worked his way back to camp to tell his father he had seen the lone mountain.

***

The tribe had moved past the confluence of shatsheli-lambo and its largest tributary, the south-flowing river that drained the massive lake to the north, where the people were destined.

Upriver from the conjoining, shatsheli-lambo remained monstrous, but a bit more tame, snaking her way across yet another broad, fertile plain.

Once Ulanga was high, the people could see the dark line of the distant shore.

For days now, daily rains soaked the ground; anything with roots grew at a frantic pace, allowing waka-waka-waka large beasts to gorge.

Soon, the ground and plants would no longer absorb all of that water and the tributaries downstream would swell and shatsheli-lambo, as large as she was now, would significantly expand as swampy wetland.

The place and time for the Abantu to cross the river was here and now.

But how?

***

Eku, Yat and Yathi stood with their fathers in waist-high foxtail grass, sodden and bent from the latest storm.

A zebra group foraged nearby; wildebeest grazed in the background; in the distance, a parade of many sized, but similarly shaped elephants marched trunk to tail from the water for a stand of mopane.

The wide open landscape of the river was pocketed with grassy islands.

The opposite shoreline was a dark line in the distance; beyond that, the lone mountain bumped darkly over the green.

The Abantu watched a section of river in front of them, where a male elephant crossed.

Barely discernible, the square head disrupted an otherwise placid surface.

Eku could just make out the tip of each tusk poking from the water, the trunk raised S-shaped, pointed toward shore.

“How can they do that,” Yat asked.

Her father answered, “They are not a rock, Yatyambo. You know how their bodies are made. You have seen them butchered.”

“Elephants are good swimmers,” Lume said.

“I know,” Yat replied. “But they are so big.”

Watching the solitary males cross, the Abantu learned that while vast, most of the river was shallow; more importantly, the current remained sluggish, even in the deepest, middle section.

The land where the tribe camped was a mix of savanna and mopane.

The trees had short trunks and twisting branches, much different from those the Mantel required to make dugouts.

The Abantu would build an isiga-wila, the type of raft they built when away from the rough waters of Uwama, a simpler platform, designed to float on calm ponds, surrounded by water reeds and most importantly—papyrus.

Eku and Yathi tagged along with Lume and his izik-kosa to where they located young trees not damaged by elephants to cut down and strip into long poles.

The longest poles were set aside for pushing off the river bottom.

The remaining poles were separated and measured and notched and securely bound to form a simple, tapered body around a center keel.

Additional, shorter logs were attached at either end and along the length like ribs to provide strength.

The izik-kosa went into the tall papyrus and in no time, assembled a great pile of hollow and highly buoyant stems.

The flexible stalks were cut to length and while still green, threaded along the structural support to build the main body.

A mat of papyrus and water reeds was woven across the top.

The izik-kosa swarmed over the structure, cutting any jutting sticks, smoothing sharp ends and using cordage to further secure weak points.

Once the papyrus had a few days to dry, the voyagers set out at first light, waka-waka males, mostly hunters with several izik-kosa, Kaleni and Lume amongst them.

They would swim for most of the journey, but each would take turns on top of the platform, where three at a time were required: two to handle the long poles and another to keep weapons secure.

There was enough room so that a fourth swimmer could flop aboard for a rest.

And in an emergency, all of them could either cling to the top or the side.

The entire tribe gathered to watch the group depart.

Once the raft was offshore, most of the people returned to the shade of the mopane, but Yathi wanted to stay.

The shoreline from which the raft departed was flat and grassy; dotted with round boulders; the bare spots of silt were dark and clay-like.

Yathi found a good place to sit and watch those crossing, while Eku raced back under the trees to retrieve his ula-konto.

***

Returning to the riverside, Eku set the spear down next to Yathi.

Gathered withered grass from the surrounding area and mashed together bundles, which he fortified with mud around the base to make several mounded targets, about knee height, evenly spaced along a flat space of smooth silt.

Finished, Eku retrieved his ula-konto and faced the targets.

Held the weapon in front of him, holding the half with hands spread slightly, close to center, using only his fingers and thumbs, a flexible grip so he could quickly redirect the weapon before tightening on impact.

Thought about the lessons his father taught him about the importance of maintaining a proper grip.

First, a proper grip was critical to deliver a precise thrust, but also—especially for larger prey—once impaled, a beast could squirm violently and pull away and a hunter must not lose control of his weapon.

Eku skipped from pile to pile, practicing the quick foot and hand motions he needed for going after prey in thick stalks of papyrus.

An ula-konto was designed for throwing, but could be used in one or both hands as an extended knife blade for stabbing.

His father taught him a variety of grips and how to attack from different angles.

Maintaining balance with his feet and midsection enabled him to use the strength of his entire body when directing the blade.

Eku’s motions were steady and precise.

After serious practice, he had a bit of fun, spinning around and jumping and making stabbing motions, as though he and an invisible prey were locked in a macabre dance of death.

Eku clicked to get Yathi’s attention.

Spun while whipping the ula-konto in sweeping arcs.

The rotation of his body made the ula-konto blur and then suddenly—and seemingly miraculously—the weapon was impaled in a mounded grass target.

Yathi clapped and Eku made a little bow.

But then Yathi returned to staring across the water, chin in his fists, elbows on his knees.

Eku sighed.

He extracted the spear from the target and set it down next to Yathi.

Went to the smaller piles and broke them apart to combine into a single, large pile.

After firming the target and supporting it with a base of mud, he eagerly jumped up.

Time for his favorite activity—the three-step throw, for which an ula-konto was really designed.

Each ula-konto was unique, as the length and balance must fit the body and style of the thrower.

Every spear began with a perfect sapling, which was matched to a perfect killing end.

Uncle Lume taught Eku that a throwing spear needed a light shaft, but sturdy and long and thick enough to properly balance with the killing end.

For an adult, the killing end was carved bone conjoined to a knife-like blade of isipo-gazi.

In Eku’s case, the killing end was only bone.

But Uncle Lume had painstakingly carved the still wet foreleg of a wildebeest into the shape of an extended blade to mimic the shape of an adult ula-konto.

By removing the spongy marrow and embedding small stones, he shifted balance to the killing end, which Eku knew would make the weapon more difficult to master, but would turn a wooden spear into a speeding barb.

Especially when thrown properly.

Lume fit the killing end to a haft to complete the weapon, using strong cordage wraps and sinew glue to fuse the two.

A final grinding provided precise balancing and resulted in a smaller, but equally deadly version of the weapon used by a full-grown hunter.

Eku had excellent coordination and naturally took to the discipline of a three-step throw, which was the most efficient means of delivering an ula-konto accurately over any distance.

A three-step throw did not actually require three steps, but the arm and torso needed the same coordination of muscles.

A hunter could throw from one spot, where the feet hopped, or, if necessary, simply by twisting and rocking the body.

But to deliver an ula-konto with accuracy and maximum velocity, a three-step throw required three full strides.

Eku practiced a variety of throws, altering the distance and trajectory.

When his arm begged for a break, he joined Yathi.

Eku stood, while Yathi sat on the same rock, looking worriedly across the water.

Against the flat and dark line of the distant shore, the raft and swimmers were barely distinguishable.

Eku said, “What do you think is over there?”

“Our fathers will find out and come back to tell us.”

“It is probably the same over there as it is here.”

“I do not want to go.”

“You have a bad feeling,” Eku asked.

He held the ula-konto in one hand and joined Yathi on the rock, looking at him with concern.

Yathi offered only his profile.

Stuck out the lower lip.

“At home, rivers are small. Not here. And I do not like vubu. Elephants leave us alone, but … there are so many here.”

He shrugged and added, “Everything was easier at home.”

Eku clicked in sympathy, knowing that Yathi was missing his father, adding, “The journey is hard. Sometimes.”

***

Eku and Yathi watched until the raft and swimmers faded to a speck and eventually disappeared into the darkened line of the far shore.

The Abantu did not have schedules.

Most days include an informal gathering for the first and last meal.

Children have daily chores.

And of course, everyone participated in harvest.

Harvest could mean many things, but generally, the gathering of fruits and plants.

Sometimes—especially in the midst of a pilgrimage with so many people to feed—harvest was a communal effort to capture whatever was available.

While at home on the southern shores, life was more predictable.

Celebrations were held in conjunction with the lunar cycle.

And of course, just for fun.

The Abantu always found an excuse for feasting and singing and dancing.  

During a typical day, hunters scouted the surrounding area, a task performed every day with never an exception.

Tended snares and traps when necessary.

Entered the bush to hunt in teams when the tribe required larger beasts.

Izik-kosa made repairs and filled orders for all sorts of tools, from hammers and axes, to turtle shell bowls and carvings of wood.

Mothers and benzi-kusela performed the countless tasks that kept a camp running: organizing harvest, preparing food and poultices, braiding sinew and plant cordage, weaving bed mats and baskets, sewing hides and preparing bladders.

Sleep or rest was up to the families and individuals.

Most Abantu, especially the children, sleep when it is dark.

The night after their fathers crossed shatsheli-lambo, Eku and Yathi remained awake later than normal.

Krele and Shona allowed them to make beds out in the open, again, with a spot where they could see the river.

Lathered with paste for protection from the relentless swarm of bugs that emerged with the rain and heat.

Night rain was rare and Eku and Yathi preferred sleeping out in the open, as did most of the tribe.

Left to themselves, Eku and Yathi outlasted even Yat, Tar and Maz, notorious busybodies who liked to talk into the night and rarely fell asleep before any of the younger people.

“I still do not feel tired,” Yathi said.

Eku clicked to indicate the same.

“You want to find Kozik and Doagu?”

Eku clicked yes.

Yanga was almost perfectly round and bright overhead.

The two could see clearly, though with no color, stepping through groupings of familial units arranged radially around the hubs of yellow fire pits.

The tribe sprawled across a grove of mopane trees, all the branches cleared within easy reach of an ax and then dragged to the periphery or if dead and dry, added to piles of layit-umlilo.

All brush and bramble was cleared.

Eku and Yathi paced quietly through matted grasses, winding through groups of sleeping forms, to find a group of young adults, seated around a fire on the edge of camp.

Doagu sat cross-legged on the dirt beside Iti, amongst a rough circle of couples.

She was not wearing her fancy cap and in the firelight, Eku realized that if he ignored the short hair, Doagu still looked the same age as Yat.

Spying Eku and her little brother, Doago lifted her head away from Iti’s shoulder, grimacing at the required repositioning.

She motioned to join them.

Yathi clicked gratefully and settled next to his sister.

Doagu smiled, supported by Iti on one side and her younger, but already sturdy brother on the other.

She rubbed Yathi’s head as he talked into her belly.

Eku found an open spot and settled cross-legged and made himself comfortable.

Gazed at the fire and tried to sit up straight, hoping to eavesdrop on the soft conversations.

There was the hunter Goagu and beautiful Inka, who smiled at him and winked.

Eku struggled to control the size of his return smile, having to admit that a wink from Inka just made this late night spectacularly worthwhile.

For some reason.

He saw strong Kozik cuddled next to lovely Ola.

Maz, with her pretty eyes and nice thighs came to mind.

Eku noticed her now. Sometimes.

The way she looked when sleeping beside Yat and Tar.

He shook his head.

That was not right.

Maz was older and he dismissed such thoughts.

Eku found himself staring one by one at each, single talon that dangled on the males’ chests.

All of the tribe’s youngest hunters were next to a female from the same laba-ini.

Eku has known these people his entire life and realized his first memories of each are from a moment when they were roughly the same age as he was now.

He sat up straight and vowed—as he had countless times before—to one day step before a tribal circle and receive an eagle-talon necklace.

Doagu saw his face change and clicked softly.

Eku looked and she said, “You do not have to be so brave all the time.”

Cocked his head, unsure of what she meant, then said, “I remember what it was like when father was away.”

Doagu smiled and a moment later, Yathi seemed in better spirits.

They returned to their bedding with a view of the river.

“Doagu has Iti and soon a baby to think about,” Yathi said. “I cannot wait to meet the baby. I will be an uncle, you know.”

“For sure.”

Yathi laid down on his bed mat and sighed, adding, “Kozik lays with Olo. He is lucky.”

“Olo is nice,” Eku said.

“I hope I am matched with a female soon. Like Olo. I like the way she walks.”

“Olo walks nice,” Eku agreed.

Back on their homeland, Olo’s mother was an elder mother, achieving isipo-bomi many times over: five females and three males; a truly revered status.

Kozik, big and strong and capable, was an impressive catch for a female, but Olo was the last of her sisters and highly coveted.

Eku understood why Kozik was fortunate.

The Abantu believe their existence—all existence, was due to Uwama, the mother.

The making of life and the maternal bond flowed through all mothers, the way Uwama’s water flowed across the world, by rain and river, nourishing even those who lived exclusively upon Umawa.

Eku said what he was thinking, “Kozik is good for Olo. He is a good hunter. Clever and strong.”

“For sure,” Yathi said.

Eku wanted to add that he was sure that Yathi would grow up to be even more impressive, but kept that to himself. For now.

Yanga sent enough light through the mopane for Eku to see that Yathi remained worried.

Ikanabe always talked.

There were no secrets.

No shame or envy.

Eku was trying to think of something comforting to offer when Yathi exclaimed, “How many females are there? Of our age?”

They lay side by side, on their backs.

Yathi held up both hands, fingers spread so that Eku could see.

“Waka! That is how many we pick from.”

“There is more.”

“They are old. Like your sister.”

“Yat is not old!”

“You know what I mean.”

Eku clicked in a neutral way and said, “You said you like all of them, so why does it matter?”

Yathi clicked his agreement.

Sighed and added, “I do like all of the females, especially Sisi, but she seems to like Bot.”

“Sisi is good,” Eku agreed. “She is a good diver for shellfish. Even better than you.”

Yathi sighed even louder and said, “I wish I could be matched with Inka.”

Now Eku laughed. “She is old! And she is matched with Goagu!”

“Inka is not old!”

“You know what I mean.”

They were quiet for a moment.

Eku recalled Inka’s wink and smiled in the dark.

Clicked softly and said, “Sisi is nice. Maybe she likes you too.”

“I like it when I work near her at harvest. Maybe there will be harvest tomorrow. Something to do.”

Eku glanced worriedly at Yathi, knowing he never looked forward to harvest.

Craned his neck to look at the river.

A narrow beam of Yanga’s shimmering reflection was all that disturbed a vast darkness.

The sounds of the people were all around, talking and clicking, ambient murmurs that mixed with the background of whirring and chirping of insects, the distant, moaning roar of a male lion marking its territory.

Eku laid his head down and said, “I do not care who I am matched with.”

Yathi exclaimed, “Why not?”

Eku thought for a moment, then shook his head, as though irritated and said, “It is too hard to think about. I will ask mother to pick someone for me.”

“That is a good idea,” Yathi said. “Maybe I will ask father. When he gets back.”

“That is a good idea.”

“I am going to sing a song.”

“Not too loud,” Eku cautioned.

They settled comfortably and Yathi sang softly.

He was a good singer, like his father.

Lume, so huge, nevertheless had a voice that was gentle, soothing and yet strong, as though transporting his physical strength to his listeners.

Yathi’s voice was still that of a young male, but his fast growing body would change that.

His voice was soft, but carried through the dark branches above.

Umawa send our hunters home

Give them food

Give them water

We Abantu know

When something is meant to be

Something happens

Our hunters are brave

We miss them so

Give them food

Give them water

When something is meant to be

Something happens

Uwama bring our hunters home

***

The next day, still early, shouts came from the river.

Eku and Yathi joined the entire tribe in a race from beneath the mopane trees to the water.

Ulanga was low and bright and cast shadows long in the direction upriver.

The raft was coming back, downstream from where it crossed the day before.

There were four Abantu on top, including Kaleni and Nibamaz, using poles to push off the bottom.

There were no swimmers, but there were three more rafts in single file behind the Abantu, even larger and more impressive, but the people on top using the poles and paddles were not Abantu.

At least not Abantu-Uwama or Abantu-Mantel.

Whoever was poling the other rafts came from a new tribe.