The Legend of Wanda Wambulwa Wakharara and Cherita Namalwa Siakama

All the nine villages around Marobo and Luuya knew about them. They had heard about them and seen their deeds since they were a boy and his girlfriend to today when they are a grandmother and grandfather to a whole clan. From Luuya to Mabanga and Nalondo to Kabuchai and Bokoli to Khachonge, Sitila to Ngalasia and the entire Luuya-Bwake Location, everybody talked about them. Cherita Namalwa and Wanda Wambulwa khwa Nabai aka Lutilo aka Khabukulu. Who didn't know about them? They were a couple like no other in the entire Bukusu region-South Bukusu, East Bukusu, North Bukusu, West Bukusu and Central Bukusu. 

Looking at them in their old age, you would not see any flashes of the characters you hear in legends about them. They looked innocent and too holy for such epic activities. Many of the times, mzee was barely audible enough even to somebody standing or seated two metres away, especially whenever he addressed the matriarch, whom we fondly referred to as Njeri because of her enterprising nature and as the short form of her name. 

Mzee rarely spoke about this history, which we relished so much. Only Kukhu Njeri brought up the topic, often, whenever she felt a pain in her fibula or tibia. She would always start, "Your grandfather almost killed me. That man you see there pretending to be dozing under that avocado tree, he almost killed me." In such occasions, mzee would only say "Uwaa!" as if it were a strange story even to him. That was usually in case he heard what she was saying. 

"He would beat me as if he were beating ye mulurimba (a trapped wild animal)."

"Why would he have to beat you up that violently?" we would ask with a view to prompting her to tell us more. 

"He was usually very strict. He would climb a tree to gaze at me as I went to the river to fetch water. Then I would have to explain why I greeted the man in a red shirt and the other one wearing a god-father. No explanation was ever good enough to convince him. Phthoo," she would curse. 

"Kwani what was wrong with greeting people along the way?" my cousin Naliaka would ask.

"To me, there was absolutely no harm in greeting people but your grandfather would have none of that. He believed that it is very easy to seduce a woman and turn her away from her husband and so he took precaution. But he also found me." she would say braggingly. 

"One day, I went to the river to fetch water but it did not occur to me that he was comfortably perched on the highest point of Kumukhuyu watching my every step. He always did that and the whole village knew about this behaviour. He would only come down when he was sure that I was almost reaching home." She would stop to clear her throat before resuming her narration. 

"Why would he have to come down when you were nearing home?" I would interject. 

"It was only then that he would be sure that I would talk to no other person. Besides, he never wanted me to know that he had climbed a tree to carry out his espionage."

"You were telling us a story about a particular day," my sister Nanjala would urge her to continue.

"So, when I got home, he asked me why I had taken ten minutes talking to the mukasa..."

"Mulosi you really like adding both sugar and salt to that story. It's always different whenever you retell it," the old man would cut in.

"Cheyo," she would dismiss him, "I was saying that he interrupted my response just as he has done now only that then, he spoke with his palm. He hit me directly in my eyes. Being the Cherita that you know up to today, I never took it sitting down. I retaliated with the same amount of energy but mine caught his nose. I then left the house as fast as Wanakhamuna. But he was never a quitter. So, he pursued me. "

"But Mulosi you can really run, " mzee interrupted again.

"So you wanted me to just sit there and watch as you skin me alive?"

"That day, he threw everything he found in his way at me. But we still ran. My home, Luuya Village, was separated from Marobo by a river. So down the slope, we went. The path winded its way through a lot of thickets but they could not hinder me even an inch from running away from that beast you see there because I knew very well that he would kill me if he caught me. Insulting him alone was like killing somebody. So you can imagine what hitting him in the face meant. Having used that path to the river an uncountable number of times had helped me know how to easily hide behind a tree or a thicket whenever he hurled his staff at me. Once in a while he would pick a stone from the ground and hurl it at me, but I would expertly duck to avoid injury. As I ran for my dear life, I reminisced the good times we had had in our youth. I didn't imagine that the Lutilo I had danced with intimately was the same person running after me with his staff raised in the air, baying for my blood. In those days, he was a good man. All the girls loved him and I counted myself lucky to marry him. During the dances, he would come with a comb to occasionally work on his hair whenever he thought some silly girl had tampered with it. He was always the smartest boy in the dance. As a rule, no girl was allowed to touch him with her bare hands. One was required to use a clean handkerchief to touch him. His khaki pair of shorts was the most fashionable in all the nine villages. His navy blue shirt that ran all the way to the knees was equally admirable. It had a pocket on the left side of his chest and another one on his right. His green stockings always pulled up to the knees and safari boot-like shoes made him look like the police officers of those days. Wanda son of Makinia Nabai Luso and Wambulwa Wakharara! If only I had not seen his parents!" she would pause to reprimand one of my cousins who farted. "Stupid. May your buttocks swell and germinate like a maize seed."

"Kukhu forget about these stupid people and continue with the story," we would beg.

"So, I ran fast as I could. We came to the river. I wanted to reduce my speed and use the bridge but looking behind me, I saw him approaching as swiftly as our cow Kharobo does when coming back home in the evenings. Briskly, I approximated the width of the river--it was about ten metres. I would not die without a fight, I thought. He was now about twenty metres away. That was when I took the risk that you have always heard people talk about. I moved a few yards behind then jumped to the other side to the disbelief of my pursuer. The stretch from Marobo village to River Chwele was about eight hundred metres,but we had not stopped anywhere.I still managed to gather enough energy to jump across that river. I thought I was safe. So I stopped facing him across the river, where he stood aghast looking back at me. He smiled sheepishly, making me too sure of my victory. 

"Mwanamke jinga," he said.

"wewe bhile bhile," I answered back.

"Malaya"

"Wewe bhile bhile."

We traded insults for close to ten minutes.

Wanda was not an ordinary man. He would not stand insults from a woman. So, when he had taken enough of my abuses, he also jumped across the river as if it were just an ordinary thing. I had imagined that he would give up and let me walk up the slope to my village. He was never the type to quit easily. He chased me up the slope. My home was about six hundred metres from the river, but we ran like professional athletes at the Olympics. 

I wanted to give in to the fatigue I was now feeling but had I done that, I would not have lived to see you my grandchildren and tell you this story. So I ran on. There was siyotelo in my home. So, many people had gathered there drinking busaa. Some outside and some in almost every house on the compound. I did not stop at any point. I passed by all the people having their drinks outside the main house and entered the house like a bullet. I only apologized to my father's agemates for breaking their siphons into pieces later. He had such guts. He had chased me up to our very own doorstep. My brother Wanyama took the staff that was nearest to him and chased him back. Once Wanda was across the river, Wanyama came back to ask me what had happened. 

He arrived back home around twenty minutes later but found me in the same spot he had left me. I was sweating profusely as if someone had poured a whole basin of water on my head. All my clothes were wet. I was panting like a frog. I held my hands on my mother's nungo and my sweat dripped into the hearth below me. I wondered what would have happened had he caught me. Wanda Omukinyikeu. The son of Bayundo. Nakoba Nalioli"

She would always end the story with that phrase for which our clan is known. All Bukusu clans have phrases other than the names of their clans that both identify and praise them.