Sad news .... Wendy heard last night that her sister had died; it had been expected, but however much these things are anticipated, its still a shock and very upsetting. She knew it might happen while she was here, and isn't planning to go back for the funeral, which will be in about ten days or a fortnight.
(At that point, after starting blogging, the internet went off for over 48 hours ......)
To continue .........
We went to the mass in the chapel this
morning; I told Fr. Chuggy ?? about Wendy's sisters death, and we
prayed with and for her. I think it helped. (Despite him
referring to Wendy as Jennie all the time !)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After breakfast we had
planned to walk to Hippo Point to sit and watch the hippo's …. but
just as we were about to set off, we had a phone call …. Paul was
sending a man at 10 to collect the three of us to go to Kit Mikayi. This was,
naturally, an African 10 o'clock, but by 10.30 one George Omolo
turned up in a Mitsubishi to collect us. He was one of Pauls past
pupils and was also a carpenter.
So we headed out of town
westwards, where the road is now being turned into a dual carriageway
…. and I was saddened to see all the beautiful red-flowered
flamboyant trees in the avenue which I have known and loved for
nearly 50 years have gone in the name of progress. I could weep.
Why couldn't they at least have kept one side of the avenue and
widened the road on the other side of the road ? Plenty of waste
land …. it is very critical of me to say this but modernisation in
Africa often seems to sweep away what is there and what is good, and
what is working well.
All gone .......
I've noticed this same thing
in that African parents don't tell their children the old stories,
the oral history which is their heritage. These stories and legends
imply something primitive; they are not 'modern' and have no place in
the 21st century. Once gone …. oral history is gone for
ever.
So here is the story of
Ngeso and the first wife, and Kit Mikayi, and like most African stories it rambles on
a bit with other thoughts and observations.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Luo
people migrated down into
this area of East
Africa, near Lake Victoria,
in the sixteenth century
– archaeologists and historians
have found proof of
this. The origins of
the Luo have been
found in the southern
Sudan, along the Nile;
they are a Nilo-Hamitic
people, with language links
to other tribal groups,
such as the Luor
in north western Uganda.
Travelling along the Nile, probably as a nomadic group taking a few
generations of travel, they entered what is now Kenya in the area to
the west of Bondo, near Usenge and Ramogi Hill. Ramogi was the
first Luo to settle there, and linked to him was a man called Ngeso.
Ngeso travelled on, and
settled at what is now the area around Kit Mikayi. He built a house
just near the rocks because his first or number one wife wanted to
settle, and felt spiritually drawn to the rocks. The huge rock has split over
time into sections, named after her, and the sons. 'Kit' means
'rock', and 'Mikayi' means 'first wife. So Ngeso and his first wife
Mikayi, and subsequently the second wife, Nyachira, and four other
wives, and their children, grew into the population and people of
that area.
(Some of this was told to
us by an elderly Luo man at the site. He claimed to be a great,
great, many greats grandson of the first Ngeso, for that was his name
also !) He went on to tell us about the rituals around the rocks,
and the people who come there. When there is no rain, they climb
up through the cracks inside the rocks and pray there for rain.
They sacrifice a black sheep, a cockerel and a hen, the entrails of
which are flung into cracks in the rocks along with their prayers.
I queried why a black sheep (quite a rarity here)… remembering that
a black sheep in English often refers to a family member or a local
person who is in some way an outcast; the term 'black sheep' implying
something evil or bad, Ngeso said the same thing is true here, and
to the Luo a black sheep is somehow evil. But they found that when
these sacrifices were made, and prayers prayed, it rained the next
day !!
When a man took a wife
from outside the clan, or (rarely) from another tribal area, the
woman was taken inside the rock to a place where there is a
rudimentary altar, and made her promises there to her husbands
family. It is also a place where women go to ask for healing, and
where local 'healers' make charms and medicines for people. People
still go inside the rocks to sleep when they are ill, and they are
cured. There is a place where water often drips from the rock, and
this water is collected and used for its magical and healing
properties. There were groups of brightly clothed women there,
wearing robes, and I think they belonged to the Legio Maria, a sort
of semi-Christian sect …they congregate there with their children
to sing and pray.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
But as for us, it was quite
a climb and scramble up through the cracks in the rock to the top.
We were helped by Jonathan and Ngeso and Omolo, but to say it was
scary is an under-statement. I think I'm getting too old for such
exploits ! I've never liked climbing over rocks, usually sliding
along on my seat, and as for heights ...no, no, NO ! Wendy said
her husband and daughter will never believe she did it, but she's
made of strong stuff and I think it did her good to take her mind off
her sisters death. Listening to Ngeso (with his words translated for
us by Omolo) I was pleased to be able to understand about a third of
what he was saying, and felt if he had spoken much more slowly, I
would have understood more of the Dholuo.
Wendy on her way up hoping the boulder above her stays where it is !
People gathering for their rituals
Wendy trying to decide whether or not to jump down and praying Jonathan will catch her ....
Ngeso, the Luo story teller
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