'Yes.'

'I meant to bring you a banana, but I forgot.'

Johnstone nodded.

w.a.n.gira couldn't take his eyes off the tent.

'There's nothing to see,' Johnstone said, following his gaze.

'Nothing?' w.a.n.gira said, looking from Johnstone's face to the missing legs. 'You mean they have ...?'

'No, idiot. I mean they have wrapped my feet and legs in mericani. There is nothing to see until they remove the cloth.'

'Oh.'

w.a.n.gira looked around the clinic. There were four others in the ward. A white woman in a crisp white uniform rolled a trolley through the door to the first bed. She filled the patient's gla.s.s with fresh water.

'These white people ... did they punish you?'

'For what?'

'I don't know. They look like askaris.'

'They are the doctors. If it wasn't for their help I would be as you thought - without toes, or even legs.' He looked towards the nurse before speaking in a lowered voice. 'I tell you, Samson, these people are clever. We can learn much from them. When I finish at the Consolata mission school I will find work with the whites where I can learn more. Much more.'

w.a.n.gira knew that Johnstone, like he, had been offered a place in the mission's secondary school in Nyeri.

'Are you not continuing at school?' he asked.

'There is no money for books and pencils. My uncle said I must either work in his shamba or work for one of the settlers. But I don't want to work on a farm - not my uncle's, and not the white's.'

'What will you do?'

'I will go to Nairobi.'

It was such an implausible notion, w.a.n.gira smiled.

Johnstone became irate. 'You don't think I can?' he demanded. 'You stand there with that funny face and you think I can be nothing more than a shamba boy because I am taken to live with my father's brother? Well, one day you'll see - I will be a leader.'

w.a.n.gira felt awkward. At any other time he would have responded to the challenge posed by Johnstone's words and manner, but to argue with a boy in bed with bad toes seemed shameful.

He thought it best to leave, and said goodbye.

He was at the door of the ward when Johnstone called to him. 'Sam.'

w.a.n.gira waited, but Johnstone said nothing more.

He turned to go again.

'Sam,' Johnstone repeated. 'Come here.'

w.a.n.gira bristled, but again made concessions because of his injuries.

'I didn't thank you,' Johnstone mumbled.

It was the last thing w.a.n.gira expected from his mouth, and so he replied that it was nothing special.

'You might have been attacked by the hyena too,' Johnstone insisted. 'You were brave. Very brave.'

w.a.n.gira shuffled from one foot to the other, anxious to be gone.

'I ... I ...' he stammered in response.

'And you ... you saved my life.'

This was too much. w.a.n.gira couldn't believe his old enemy could talk that way.

Johnstone glared at him with the intensity that w.a.n.gira had learned to respect when meeting him in a contest.

'I can tell you this, Samson w.a.n.gira,' Johnstone said. 'I do not forget these things. When I am a leader of the Kikuyu - a great leader - I will not forget you. You and your funny face.'

CHAPTER 3.

1912.

w.a.n.gira felt different. He was in his fourteenth year and his life had suddenly changed.

He knew he looked different, and when alone he would occasionally study the change in his body to confirm it. Each time he did he fought to control the enormous pride that welled up within him. The instructions that he and his age-mates received before their circ.u.mcision warned against such behaviour. It was unseemly to be so vain.

Three years before, when his ears had been pierced, he was promoted from child to boy. The ceremony allowed him to be in the company of men, and he could be a witness to his father's business dealings, and therefore be the next generation's repository of the family's dealings with the community. At that time he felt reborn, but although it seemed an important step, his recent initiation to adulthood had eclipsed it.

At fourteen, w.a.n.gira was almost as tall as his father, who was himself tall for a Kikuyu. His body had broadened, his shoulders widened with musculature, and his voice had deepened. But that was not what made him feel different. He felt different because, following his initiation, he had become a man.

As had every other family of a boy being initiated on that same day, w.a.n.gira's family had prepared him well for his graduation. He had learned the dances, the songs, the heroic stories of his ancestors, the laws and customs of the Kikuyu tribe. He had learned how to hunt with his bow. He could find food and care for himself and would no longer need to rely on his parents for basic necessities.

He was ready to a.s.sume the responsibilities that came with his majority. He was not only a man, but a warrior and the defender of his people. If ever the family, the village or the tribe were threatened, it was his duty to take up arms and fight to the death to protect them. The thought of n.o.ble battle sent a surge of exhilaration through his tense young body.

He was confident of his ability to fight because he had become proficient with his weapons - his spear, dagger and shield - and itched for the chance to prove his abilities. Johnstone Kamau remained his main rival - the incident with the hyenas now long forgotten - but by means of an unspoken agreement, he and w.a.n.gira seldom competed directly. In the meantime, w.a.n.gira and his age-mates had perfected the military manoeuvres they would use to engage with the enemy. And if he were required to survive alone in the bush, or on bivouac, he could do so effectively.

The elders declared that since the newly initiated age-set were now completely recovered from their circ.u.mcisions, it was time for them to move on to the next phase of their graduation.

All thoughts of war, weapons and enemies were now gone. In their place was the all-consuming excitement of the other ent.i.tlements of manhood: the love games that he and his age-mates were now permitted, even encouraged, to play with the young women of the tribe.

The convalescence period for the inductees had been a testing one, made worse because they were required to know the rules and regulations governing s.e.xual relations. The images that these lessons brought to mind were a source of many painful and embarra.s.sing erections.

w.a.n.gira had moved into the bachelor, or thingira, hut with a group of some ten other initiates who had graduated to warriorhood with him. It was larger than the hut he had until recently shared with his mother, and it was the only place where he and his age-mates could engage in the limited s.e.x play allowed with any girl who wished to join them.

Now these rules would be put to the test. The young warriors would mix freely with the young women, they would talk, they would dance, they would choose one or more girlfriends and, in the thingira hut, they would learn the joys of s.e.x within the loose constraints of their tribal taboos.

The young warriors marched from the darkness into the firelight, their skin glistening with oil and ochre and their muscles chiselled into sharp relief by the light of the fire. Drums pounded a rhythm as old as the culture itself. When they were all a.s.sembled around the fire, a musician blew on a choro horn to announce the beginning of festivities, and the young men began to chant and dance.

Seated outside the circle of male dancers were the young women, wearing short rear skirts of softest leather and strings of beads hanging from their waists to cover their fronts. More beads decorated their hair, and beaded necklaces and flowers hung between their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Their bright eyes sparkled in the firelight and many hid shy smiles behind their cupped hands, for they would soon take to the circle and dance with their chosen one.

w.a.n.gira stood tallest among his brothers. His height was exaggerated by his towering black and white monkey-fur headdress, which was trimmed with red, white and yellow beadwork. His short calf-hide skirt revealed most of his long muscular thighs and the monkey-fur leggings, tied beneath his knees, flounced and danced with his every step. Beaded leather bandoleers crossed his chest and more beads hung from his neck. He had taken care with his hair, ensuring it was untangled and springy. The intricate white-ochre designs decorating his torso were finely drawn.

The pace of the drums increased, and with high kicks and exaggerated movements, w.a.n.gira demonstrated his physical abilities. Soon his body was running with perspiration. It glistened in the firelight.

As w.a.n.gira danced, he kept his eyes on the several girls he had selected as his favourites, any one of whom he would have been happy to have with him later in the night. It was considered a good strategy to gain the attention of as many of the young women as possible, yet there was one in particular he wanted more than anyone, but he knew she would be very popular with her long legs, her beautifully shaped b.r.e.a.s.t.s and appealing eyes.

The music changed, which was a signal for the young women to join their intended sweethearts. The more self-a.s.sured among the women edged towards their favourite warrior. w.a.n.gira was soon dancing with three, but Mothoni, the one he wanted most, was not among them. He found her at the edge of the circle, dancing with two young warriors. He kept his eye on her, and although he didn't see her look towards him, he thought she had him in her mind.

The music changed again, and this time it was the gothombacana - signalling that all dance partners must change. It was meant to ensure the less popular warriors had a chance to charm a girlfriend.

Before w.a.n.gira could make a move, another of his age-mates had moved to Mothoni. w.a.n.gira wanted to have her to himself and so he bided his time, dancing with several others until again the gothombacana began.

w.a.n.gira seized his opportunity. He slipped among the dancers and placed himself in front of the beautiful Mothoni. Her smile flashed in the firelight and a flock of birds fluttered in w.a.n.gira's chest.

Now he threw himself into the dance. His long hair bounced as he leaped and twisted, letting the drums carry him into a trancelike state, until he almost collapsed with exhaustion. Mothoni clung to his arm, and he led her from the dancers, from the drums and from the firelight to the surrounding darkness of the forest.

As soon as they were secured by the darkness, w.a.n.gira turned to Mothoni.

'w.a.n.gira, no,' she said, pushing his hand away from her protective skirt. 'You know it is forbidden to do those things.'

Mothoni was right: he did know it was forbidden to follow the raw urges of his body, but when he'd made his pledge in front of the elders, he had no idea it would be so hard to restrain himself.

'We must go to the thingira hut with the others,' she insisted.

But when they arrived at the bachelor's hut there were already six young men there including Johnstone Kamau, and four girls. w.a.n.gira inwardly groaned. Since there were fewer girls than boys, he would be unable to immediately take Mothoni to one of the bed s.p.a.ces. He ached for her, but had no choice but to await the time when the girls would choose their partner for the night. It was considered very poor manners to be possessive, and the girls were encouraged to show compa.s.sion towards the less fortunate boys who were unable to attract a partner of their own. The other four girls were appealing enough, but w.a.n.gira wanted Mothoni more than anyone else, and he felt sure that Mothoni only had eyes for him. He would try to be patient and enjoy the food and playful conversation until it was time.

Johnstone was the centre of the conversation. He held everyone's attention with his witty remarks and made the girls giggle with his s.m.u.tty jokes.

'The wise old baboon was talking to the lion one day,' Johnstone said, grinning. The girls leaned forwards, smiling in antic.i.p.ation. 'The old baboon told the lion about an old Kikuyu man who came to him to ask for help. He said the old man had four young wives and had difficulty keeping them satisfied. So the baboon told him to go out and kill a young impala. Oh, I see, said the lion. He was to kill the impala so he could eat the meat to make his p.e.n.i.s strong, the lion said. No, that is not right, the baboon said. Ah, then it must be that he should eat the heart to make his p.e.n.i.s strong, the lion said. No, that is not right, either, the baboon said. The lion scratched his head. Then it must be that he had to grind the horns to make a strong snuff to make his p.e.n.i.s strong, the lion said. No, that is not right, either, the baboon said. Then what? the lion asked. The baboon said, He had to take two small ribs from the impala and tie them to his p.e.n.i.s. That way his p.e.n.i.s would be strong all night long.

The girls laughed.

Eventually, one of the girls suggested it was time to tie the gra.s.s - a euphemism for choosing their partners for the night. w.a.n.gira held Mothoni's eyes with his as two of the girls chose their lovers, and when it came to Mothoni's turn, he smiled at her, and her at him, but she stood and took Johnstone's hand and led him from the fire to where they would make love all night.

w.a.n.gira stood transfixed until the remaining girl took his hand. He followed her to a sleeping s.p.a.ce where, in the soft light of a flickering lantern, she undressed him. She shyly removed her garland and necklaces, and arranged her skirt and ap.r.o.n in the manner required by the taboos so that her private parts were tucked safely away, and then drew him down to her.

The tribe's magician, the mondo mogo, sat in the semi-darkness of his hut, his face lost in the shadows cast by his smoking oil lamp.

w.a.n.gira felt no shame in coming to him for the love magic although the mondo mogo had expressed some surprise that one so young, so strong and so handsome would need it. But he said he would help w.a.n.gira provided he did not use it to seduce more than one woman.

w.a.n.gira could easily agree. In the days following his first night, when Mothoni had chosen another in his place, he'd found many girls happy to share his bed. He'd needed no special potion for them, and while he hadn't avoided Mothoni - they'd even spent time together away from the thingira hut - he had not invited her back. He was unsure if on the next occasion in the thingira hut she would want to choose him, and he didn't want to again be rejected.

w.a.n.gira still wanted Mothoni as much as ever. In fact, he could not keep his mind from her, nor from the image of her leading Johnstone Kamau away from the light of the fire. As he made love to the girl who had chosen him, he had wondered what Mothoni was doing to her chosen one. The thoughts haunted him.

'Take this,' the magician said. 'It is the root of the moti wa ombani - the tree of love. You must use it carefully and only in the manner I will describe.'

Two nights later, w.a.n.gira invited Mothoni to the thingira hut. This time he had the rea.s.surance of the piece of the moti wa ombani root sitting under his tongue.

There were many young people in the hut that night, and w.a.n.gira was generous with his attention and his compliments to all the girls present, but he paid special attention to Mothoni, who looked more beautiful than ever with her beaded hair and embroidered leather skirt.

When the time came, Mothoni chose w.a.n.gira.

In the seclusion of the sleeping s.p.a.ce, behind the calf-skin curtain, Mothoni removed her upper garment. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were as perfect as he'd imagined, and his body responded as she untied his cloak and let it fall to the ground. She drew him down onto the bed pallet, and when he pressed her body to his, she entwined her legs with his. The feel of her small tight b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest was sublime.

w.a.n.gira's climax was like none he'd experienced before, but he knew that had Mothoni chosen him on that first night, when she was the centre of all his l.u.s.t and love, it would have been better. And he knew in his heart that he must never again let a woman control him as he'd let Mothoni do.

The tension between the Kikuyu and the Maasai, which was never far from erupting into a fight over territory, became widespread along the frontiers of Kikuyuland.

The northern Maasai swept like a black storm through the Nyundarua ranges, raiding livestock and stealing women. w.a.n.gira heard a rumour that the Maasai had been forced from their northern homelands by the British, who wanted to give their land to white settlers, and had lost most of their livestock during the forced march to the southern reserve. Large numbers of these displaced people refused to make the treacherous journey and preferred to fight the Kikuyu for a stake in their territory.

The Maasai cause won no sympathy from the Kikuyu, who had fought territorial wars with the Maasai for centuries. w.a.n.gira and his brother warriors went on long bivouacs into the disputed areas and, with neighbouring tribes, engaged the invaders in combat.

w.a.n.gira enjoyed his new life as a soldier. He visited many different places far from his village. He met other Kikuyu tribes, many of whom had slightly different customs, grew slightly different crops, or had slightly different ways of doing the many routine tasks of village life. He'd previously a.s.sumed there was but one way to do these things, and was fascinated each time he discovered a new one, spending as much time as he could learning about it.

The months of war greatly suited him. He was skilled in combat and enjoyed the excitement of the battle. He and his brothers didn't win every encounter, and w.a.n.gira had his share of minor wounds, but there was never a time when he felt incapable of defending himself. His skills and his confidence grew.

He and his fellow warriors were always given a joyous welcome when they camped near a Kikuyu village on their way to the next skirmish. Under the disruptive settings of war, many of the tribal taboos were forgotten and the local women seemed particularly attracted to the exotic visitors. There was seldom a night when w.a.n.gira needed more than the warm body of an obliging young maiden to keep the chill mountain air at bay. On extended camps, when he and his warriors remained stationed at one camp for prolonged periods, w.a.n.gira sometimes permitted a particularly attentive girl to be his temporary wife. She would feed him and spoil him with pleasures, but importantly, he always remained in control.

Moving on to the next battlefield offered a convenient means of severing any emotional attachments the young woman might entertain.

CHAPTER 4.

1916.

The intermittent bloodshed that had been the MaasaiaKikuyu wars of 1912 came to an abrupt end when the British sent soldiers to enforce the peace. w.a.n.gira and his fellow warriors resumed their lives helping their fathers increase the family's holdings in land and livestock.

w.a.n.gira's father set him to work clearing the bush for a new plot. He'd been gone since early morning when a group of children came running to him from the village. Breathlessly, they told him that a white man and six others had come to Igobu demanding to speak with the chief, who had sent them to find w.a.n.gira and the other men working outside the village.

By the time w.a.n.gira arrived, a great crowd had gathered. The women had even come from their food gardens to witness this unusual event. Many stood in tight groups at the edge of the clearing used for village meetings. Others, less confident, huddled behind the nearest huts, braving only occasional glances at the strangers. Small children peeped from behind their mothers' legs.

The leader was a white man wearing an enormous brimmed hat. He had a large, drooping, black moustache and steel-grey eyes that were never at rest. When w.a.n.gira arrived to stand by the chief the white man's eyes squinted at him in thought.

Five Wakamba men, judging by their looks, carried very heavy loads, which the last of them - a big Swahili man from the coast - told them to take down from their backs. The men were obviously relieved to do so, but the Swahili gave the order in such a threatening manner that none of them showed any sign of grat.i.tude.