Split The Eye (2)

Split The Eye

By Clifford Oluoch

The anger and agitation in Kolo was clearly rising. She felt that she had the attention of the women, and that she had started something that had to be completed. The sound of the flowing river offered inspiration to Kolo. The waters, meandering round objects and hurdles, always found its way out of the forest to unknown destinations. The endless rustling of the leaves due to the morning breeze sent a message to the women that nature around would never bend to men’s rules.
Whatever words Kolo uttered in front of the women could not remain secret for long. In the village, word travelled fast, too fast at times. Whatever she said would either be the end of her life, or the beginning of another life. Now that she had started, she had to complete the task ahead. Kolo knew who would squeal, and her eyes moved around the group of women, settling finally on Nyangi. The two women briefly held their gaze, their thoughts communicating in silence. They shared a past and, probably now, a future. If handled in the right way, Nyangi could become an asset. If treated wrongly, she could turn out to be a liability. Kolo looked at her and understood how to play safely.
From behind, Nyangi cleared her voice, thus averting attention from Kolo to where she was. “What do you want us to do?” Nyangi asked her voice quite grave with concern that shocked those around her. She was that unpredictable. There was a moment’s silence as the two women’s eyes locked and Kolo instantly knew and strongly felt that Nyangi could be trusted. It was a gamble she was willing to take. Two can sometimes be better than one.
All eyes turned towards Nyangi, an erratic character who was capable of rubbing anyone the wrong way. All the women knew her too well
Kolo’s tirade went on. “Here come our men, worse than animals in beauty and also in intelligence. Our men beat their women day in and day out. Even the cowards who cannot capture any wild animals from their hunting expeditions come and vent all their frustration on their tired and over-worked wives.”
By now some women were shouting and urging Kolo to keep on exposing the ills of the men. It was the first time someone had gathered the courage to talk about the issue in public. And as it seemed now, it surely wasn’t going to be the last time. Women in the village were accustomed to blindly following orders and routines that governed their lives. The beatings were generally accepted as a way of life, and the deaths that resulted from the same were taken as bad luck. No one questioned orders. No one fought back. No one spoke neither in the dark nor in the open. Until today. Kolo had now given them a chance to speak and be heard.
“More! More! Give us more!” the women demanded while moving closer to Kolo the way chicks, on spotting the dreaded enemy called hawk, move closer to Mother Hen for protection. The cacophony was uncoordinated reaching an almost deafening crescendo. A few of the older women, notably Karo and Katos, watched admirably, their years’ experience playing to their advantage. They remained calm but happy at the events unfolding.
Kolo thrust harder. “More of us are going to die soon if nothing is done. More and more of us will forget how to walk straight, how to look beautiful, how to love ourselves. Most of us have even forgotten our real names and all we remember are the insulting and demeaning names that our men refer us with: idiots, imbeciles, useless, leeches, asses, cows, whatever. We cannot even tell the difference between a cough and name calling.”

The winds blew stronger and Otenga seemed to struggle against the oncoming current. The leaves rustled and the trees swayed strongly. Finally in an act of desperation to beat the wind’s strength, the precious and unique one streak red tailed feather was mysteriously blown off, detaching itself from its parent body. Otenga slowed in its flight and started screeching. It’s the first time that Kolo heard its shrill, a sharp and piercing sound.

“Tell me my dear womenfolk. For how long will we continue with this sham? For how long will we count the days before our ashes are entombed in the village calabash? For how long are we going to be treated worse than the cows and goats that our young boys tend? For how long, my dear sisters? For how long?” Kolo asked, her soothing voice seducing the womenfolk who were gathered around her and glued to her speech. Kolo knew each of them personally and privately. Some married to the village before her, some way after her. They knew each other well, the beating and all.
“No!” roared the women in unison, the determination and anger in the chorusing almost knocking leaves from the surrounding trees. The gushing water seems to agree with them, as it knocked wildly against the gigantic rocks around with passion and zeal. The winds seemed to concur as well, the draught almost becoming a gale of whirlwind around the forest.
Kolo smiled to herself. She knew she had their support and it was now clear that the women were unhappy. Kolo now moved in for the kill.
“Enough is enough!” she thundered, her voice rising a notch higher. “The sun rises on the men as well as the women. The rain also falls on both women and men. The air we breathe is the same, the ground we step on is the same, the water we drink is the same, and the things we see are the same! Yet our men claim to be better than us. They eat the most, they choose the sweetest things and their life is full of more comfort than ours.”
Kolo smiled again. “Even hens do not lay eggs throughout the day, cows do not produce milk the whole day. Yet women are expected to work the whole day.
“No!” boomed Kolo, the anger coming back like crashing waterfalls. She raised her right fist and shook it vehemently. “We shall not be pushed any further. Fists and kicks will not talk any longer. Shouts and screams will not intimidate us any further. The pyre will not cow us any more.” The torrent of words from her mouth shocked all around. Despite knowing Kolo very well, the women never for one day thought that she was capable of speaking so eloquently and passionately for so long on such a thorny issue.
“For the first time women will move things in the village.” Kolo paused. She looked into the eyes of each of the woman around, the old who had served the village faithfully for years; the young woman whose future was uncertain with all the violence. She understood their fears and dreams. As a young woman, she had spent all her life avoiding getting into trouble. She had even forgotten the finer things in life.
Kolo resumed her speech, this time slower and more of a whisper. “We will change the whole village. We will make men go down and beg. We shall rule!” There were gasps from the women, as Kolo seemed so convincing and reassuring despite the dangers of her words.
Karo maintained a constant intent look at Kolo. Karo regretted not doing this many moons back when the beatings were at the highest. She cleared her voice and as she spoke, the women could not but help in admiring the strength behind it. “Yes, we shall rule!” Karo simply and authoritatively seemed to pass the message to all the women. The power and conviction behind the voice told it all.
Kolo’s voice dropped to a whisper as the women moved even closer to hear what she was saying. “Today all you women have to decide what to do with our men. We either stay or continue suffering and dying or we leave and start afresh somewhere far. Choose,” she whispered hoarsely, the first part of her mission complete.
The arguments and exchanges started straight away, growing louder and angrier by the moment. The married women were pitted against the unmarried women, who did not seem to mind the current state of affairs.
“It’s a matter of time and you will be in the same spot as us,” one married woman was heard trying to convince her daughter that there was hardly any option but to leave.
The argument prolonged as Kolo looked around. There were his two co-wives trying hard to come to a decision. Being the chief’s wives, they bore the hardest of the beatings as the chief had to lead by example. There was Karo, the oldest woman in the group. She looked at Kolo and nodded at the chief’s wife, thus sending a message simple and direct. There was Mayira, one of her daughters, a young girl approaching a marriageable age, but without a happy future. Then there was Nyangi, the childless widow who was suspected of having poisoned her husband many seasons back. She was amongst the least liked people in the village, mainly because of her quarrelsome and meddlesome nature. Kolo did not trust her. And there were many more, all bound by one common enemy: beatings.
“So,” whispered Kolo, taking the silence from the women as approval for leaving, “we shall leave the village.” Her voice adapted a finality that left no room for negotiation or doubt. “Today evening all you women will pack your essential belongings. Tomorrow very early in the morning before the first cockcrow, get ready to leave. We shall go and start our own village. Those who have children will have to choose girls only. All boys must remain behind with their fathers, however difficult this might be. Any questions?” Kolo asked, her tone spelling finality.
There were many questions the women wanted to ask but for the moment it was sufficient that they had to move out first. The rest would be sorted out later. The women were on the move! They moved back to the village humming one of the victory songs that they always sang for the victorious men coming back from battles.

Otenga looked helplessly as the red feather was blown away. It attempted to follow it, but the current of air was far too strong sending the feather in all directions. Finally, Otenga, trying to beat the draught, moved from tree to tree, then swooped down before contently landing on a small molehill, the height of a fully-grown goat. The area was green with grass and a few wild fruits had dropped down.

…..to be continued.

(C) oluochcliff@yahoo.co.uk