“My Lord!”

King Uripo of Uripo was deep in thought when he heard his chief advisor calling out to him. He scratched the ground with his staff and scowled. He wanted peace.

No, he needed peace. He’d come to this secluded spot for many reasons—none of them included being disturbed by Saga. He had made it clear he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.  The king took two steps to the right effectively hiding his body behind a baobab trunk. It was better cover than the thorn bushes nearby.

He stood still and listened. If Saga couldn’t find him he would have to leave. For a time all was quiet and King Uripo allowed himself to breathe a little easier. Saga’s black robe and beads made it impossible for him to move quietly.

“My Lord, there you are!”

The king jumped. When he turned he found Saga standing next to him. His jaw clenched in frustration.

“Did I not ask for privacy?” King Uripo spoke through gritted teeth.

“I was told but I knew that order didn’t apply to me,” Saga replied. “Especially today of all days.”

King Uripo closed his eyes and struggled not to shout. Finally he threw his hands up in the air with a great sigh. It was better than taking Saga’s skinny neck in hand and squeezing the life out of him. It would be easy enough given that Saga was reed thin, his skin shriveled up like a dry prune.

“What makes today special?”

If Saga heard the mocking tone in the king’s voice he chose to ignore it.

“The birthing of your heir, of course. It is as certain as the sun rises from the east and sets in the west,” said Saga his chief advisor and healer. “All the signs point to a male offspring.”

King Uripo had done this eighteen times and each time had been as disappointing as the last. His hopes dashed to pieces with the cries of each newborn. Even now with the possibility that with another baby’s cries his hope would be squashed again, hope still refused to be snuffed out.

Hope was a funny thing, thought King Uripo. It could not be smothered even under increasingly depressing odds. It just refused to die. He was fifty-five years old well past his prime and  not getting any younger. During the course of his life, he’d married five women in the hope that each new wife would give him a son. They had all failed. It was twenty-two years since he’d married for the first time and in all those years he’d produced eighteen female offspring.

What a calamity!

He was Uripo, King of the lands south of the great Black River. His lands were very rich, the largest in Alkebulan extending all the way to the Sea in the south and bordered by The Sands in the west. His grazing lands were prime, the wildlife surrounding him abundant. His people never lacked and had been prosperous since time immemorial. As far as he knew his was the richest kingdom. He had many children but because they were girls none of them could ascend the throne or inherit his wealth.

Why oh why, he lamented, had the Creator struck him in such a manner. Did he not rule his lands with justice and treat his neighbors with fairness?  Surely the Creator and the ancestors would answer his fervent prayers this time.

“Forgive me Saga if I cannot give heed to your words. You have said the same words to me too many times over the last twenty years,” he said harshly.

 “But my Lord—”

“Stop. I do not wish to hear anymore,” King Uripo hissed. His words were a reflection of the bitterness within. “Was it not you Saga who raised my hopes too many times to count? You who foretold a great and legendary son and yet here we are today.”

“My lord…”

“Where is the son you promised me, Saga?” King Uripo demanded.

“He is coming, my king,” Saga sputtered in shock.  “The bones don’t lie.”

“Then perhaps it is you who lied!”  

Saga’s mouth opened and closed. He looked thoroughly affronted. It was unthinkable that anyone would doubt the ancestors. “I would never lie to you, my king!”

“Leave me now Saga,” Uripo ordered. “Perhaps we will have this conversation again at another birthing but for now I have had enough.”  With a swish of his black robes Saga left King Uripo under the baobab. King Uripo could hear Saga muttering to himself even after he lost sight of his shiny bald patch.

The birth of a child was a common thing. It was as common as the birthing of a calf. This was true in any other household except King Uripo’s. From the moment Mutsa’s labor began, the news would have spilled over from his household into Zambezia village. His people would be talking. Eighteen children and no male offspring in sight. 

‘Do you think this time it will be a boy?’ the women would gossip at the well and the men would discuss it over a calabash of beer. His personal troubles fodder for gossip mongers.

All of them were laughing at him behind his back! 

Though his father’s line would not die out his brother Dzukwa was more than capable of taking over the kingship. Uripo would continue to thrive even if he died today. But he wanted to be remembered by the generations to come. 

Ah, but to have a son!

Saga’s little interruption had broken his peace and Uripo decided to go back to his compound. He took a seat on an old anthill where he could observe the activity in his compound without being seen.

The child would come soon.

 

But the afternoon quickly passed and dusk turned to dawn and still the child did not come. The women slinked out of Mutsa’s hut, heads bent while their faces were cast in sad lines. With a sinking spirit, King Uripo watched this sorry display. He didn’t have to be a midwife to know that when delivery was delayed the mother and child were not likely to survive. 

Even the dogs seemed to pick up on the sad atmosphere as their barks were more than a little subdued. King Uripo continued to watch all this with a heavy heart. His wives and daughters came in and quickly fled into their own huts. They were certain Mutsa was going to lose her life. 

No one dared to approach him. 

Mutsa was Uripo’s third wife and his favorite. Like his other wives she was exceptionally beautiful. What set her apart was the beauty that glowed from within her soul. She had a sweet and gentle nature that appealed to him at a basic level. Her home was a place of peace and he loved her like no other.

A heavy silence overshadowed the compound as one day turned to two and then into three.

On the third day, dark clouds arrived from the south and it began to rain; the first of the season. Warned by the rumble of thunder, families abandoned their daily labors and hurriedly escaped into their huts as the rain tumbled down from the dark skies in earnest. 

Uripo moved to the semi-protection of Mutsa’s overhanging thatch. 

The great baobab tree that stood at the center of the village was struck by lightning. To King Uripo it seemed to be an ill omen as he watched the sparks light up the darkness.

Renegade raindrops dripped from the thatch to land on the lion pelt adorning his shoulders, but he paid them no heed. Weary beyond words, he sat there too heartsick to move.

There would be no heir and no love in his future.

 

***

 

Inside Mutsa’s hut, only Gogo Mangwana the midwife remained with her. The rest of the women had gone back to their homes. There was nothing more they could do.

A fire blazed hotly in the fire pit. Mutsa groaned as a fresh wave of pain rippled over her lower abdomen. The midwife sat huddled close to the fire. Her encouraging words had ceased long ago. Mutsa knew that the old woman had lost all hope. She had seen the resignation in her bleak eyes as the labor refused to progress. Surely, she was about to die and her child with her, 

For three days the pains had come and gone leaving her exhausted and the old midwife baffled. But as night fell once more, something different began to happen. The pains became constant and would not let up.  

Her groaning roused Gogo Mangwana from her reverie. Her eyes sparkled with fresh hope.

“Let me see,” she said with more excitement than she had shown in the last few hours. As she examined her patient she suddenly cackled with delighted laughter.

“The great lion’s beard!” she exclaimed.

“What is it?” asked Mutsa in breathless terror. “What is happening?”

Gogo Mangwana, the old midwife, had been so sure no one could save the mother and child. She had done everything within her power to help them, but to no avail up until now. 

Even Saga the chief healer, had come and gone, baffled like she was. The will of the Creator would come to pass he had said when he had finally left the hut. It seemed like the Creator and the ancestors had heard their prayers because the baby was now on its way out. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Mutsa, racked by increasing waves of agonizing pain, was vaguely aware of the midwife crouched at her feet. She gripped the blankets each time the pain reached a peak and then she breathed out with relief as it eased a little. 

“Please, you have to tell me,” she pleaded with the old woman between desperate gasps for air. 

Her brown eyes were pools of torment as she waited for the woman to tell her what was happening. She held back a scream as another wave of pain crested. She had already borne three children and giving birth to them hadn’t been this difficult. She didn’t even know if her baby would live at this point.

Instead of answering her, Gogo Mangwana said,“I need you to bear down very hard.”

Mutsa did not need to be told twice. She would have done anything to get rid of the pain. Mustering all the strength she could give she pushed as hard as she could. 

The last powerful contractions gripped her as every muscle tightened to expel the baby from her womb. It took every bit of her remaining strength, but the child finally slid out into the midwife’s waiting arms. 

A lusty wail filled the hut and Mutsa gave a cry of gladness. Tired, but filled with happiness, Mutsa fell back onto the blankets as the tears of thanksgiving spilled from her eyes. 

Her child was alive!

Gogo Mangwana turned the wet child towards the light so that she could see it more clearly. “By the great lion’s beard. It’s a boy!” she exclaimed joyously. “He is a bit small, but that will soon change,” she cackled in her high pitched voice. “My dear, it almost killed you, but you have made a prince for Uripo. Our king finally has a son!”

Mutsa felt more pains but assumed it was the afterbirth. But the pain didn’t lessen. It was as if she was having the baby all over again.

“Gogo, something is happening.”

Gogo Mangwana carefully cleaned the child and wrapped him in a soft sheep blanket and laid him next to his mother. Her old hands trembled. She couldn’t wait to share the good news. 

“Let me see,” Gogo Mangwana said. 

The afterbirth did not normally cause such pain as it passed out of the body.

“What’s going on?” asked Mutsa in alarm. Was she going to die now after the baby was delivered?

The midwife ignored her patient’s query as she quickly moved to Mutsa’s knees. Sometimes women died in childbirth and she was suddenly afraid Mutsa would meet the same fate. The birth had been a long and difficult one and there was a high possibility of complications developing. There was always the danger of a woman bleeding out or becoming infected after extensive tearing. But the boy was small and Gogo Mangwana was certain there had been no tearing.

 Kneeling between Mutsa’s thighs the midwife gasped out loud at the sight which met her eyes. Two tiny feet were just emerging as a second child made its entry into the world.

“What is it?” gasped Mutsa anxiously as she felt her body begin the painful process to expel its burden again.

“It’s another baby,” Gogo Mangwana answered. “You must bear down once more.”

A few moments later a squirming baby landed in Gogo Mangwana’s arms. Gogo Mangwana held it up to the light. Too exhausted to lift her head, Mutsa stared at it with dawning horror.

“By the great lion’s beard, it’s another boy!” Gogo Mangwana exclaimed marveling at the strange turn of events.

Mutsa’s back bowed, shoulders shaking as she gave in to racking sobs no longer joyous.

 

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