Chapter 7 – Interlude: The braai

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Mutondo was piling up logs on a small concrete slab. In the centre of the reed fence shaped like an arc of a circle surrounding Inyambo’s house, he was making a tower, placing them on top of one another, two by two.
Sayowa was helping her brother by fetching the round pieces of firewood in a tiny shed covered by a zinc sheet build between the fence and a tall umbrella acacia. She grabbed them with both hands at an extremity and dragged them walking backwards, leaving a trail in the sand. She would them drop them next to the slab and went to get more. She was seven years old then, the logs were over half her height.
Her mother and her sister were sited on a tree trunk laid on its side. They were facing Mutondo’s wooden structure and were cheering at both of them. Inyambo was presiding over the scene, comfortable in a green camping chair.
He was already quite old and had trouble expressing how happy he was to have a full side of his family gathered up. He was making a few awkward compliments to his daughter and his granddaughter: “Town has a good look on you my beauties, you’re all beautiful!”
It had been a year since they had left the island. Muhau was attending secondary school in Katima Mulilo, Lungowe had found a job as an English teacher in a school of the region. They would rarely come home, twice or three times a year. That was a good occasion to celebrate the reunion.
Mutondo had slaughtered one of his cows. He had sold the meat and kept a portion aside to make a braai with the whole family.
Sayowa did not like when animals were being killed. She would often play with them in the afternoon. But she liked braais, especially the preparation: organise the logs, make the fire, all that. And it meant that she would see her mother and her sister again and that they would bringer her things from town!
With each year passing, Muhau looked more like her mother. They were both smaller than Inyambo and Mutondo. The boys were tall and slim, the girls were short and curved. That evening, they were dressed the same: a colourful chitenge around the waist and a white tank top. They had the same face as Sayowa: big stretched out eyes, the position of their nose and mouth, the large forehead. But they were a bit cheekier, which gave roundness to their heads.
Sayowa, as she was growing up, seemed to be heading towards a physiognomy closer to the one of her grandfather than to the one of her mother: more fine, more slender. The years that would follow would confirm that tendency, when she would gain over fifteen centimetres in one summer.

Mutondo lit the fire. The flames first propagated from one twig to the next, in the centre of the wooden structure. They then ignited small dry branches, and larger ones. They kept on growing until they went licking the big logs which did not take so easily. After a few minutes only, the blaze was a metre high.
Heat was burning fingers when they got too close, light was dancing on faces, stressing their shadows. Only when all the wood would have transformed into coal could meat begin to cook. That was taking time, so discussions went on.
Lungowe was talking about her life at school, her career ambitions. She was about to apply for a head of department position, a necessary step before she could make principal.
Muhau described the exaltations of town. People there were so much more sophisticated, more fashionable, more cool! There, there was always life, animation, even at night.
– The excitement of town is something you get tired of, believe me, Inyambo said with an indulging smile.
– Oh, I could not come back to live here, there’s nothing to do! Muhau replied.
– For youngsters maybe. But you’ll see, one day you’ll come to an age upon which all you want is to see the stars at night. Can you see the stars in town?
– I don’t know, I’ll check when I get back.
Lungowe put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and threw a suggestive look at Inyambo.
– You’re right honey. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself in Katima. Unfortunately, nowadays you must be able to leave your family if you want to develop your future. And town is where it all happens.
Throughout that conversation, Mutondo was handling his fire, assisted by a long stick, moving logs strategically to optimise their combustion.
Sayowa had her eyes pointed upwards. She noticed that a large region of celestial sphere had vanished since the fire had started. The only stars remaining were at the periphery of the sky and their intensity had diminished. She spotted four points in particular which drew a kite.
– Muhau look there, she said showing the constellation. It’s the Southern Cross! Thanks to these stars we can always know where is south and find our way and we never get lost. Right Kuku?
Heads turned in the indicated direction, then towards Sayowa.
She gazed at those benevolent stares surrounding her. Her family. They were all adults, or close to it. She was the last one. The protégé.
– Grandpa, Muhau said, there is a song that says “we are all made of stars”. What does it mean?
– Well, I don’t know if that’s what they want to say in that song, but science tells us that at the origin of the universe, there were only light elements. Atoms of hydrogen and helium floating into space. Then, with time and gravity, those atoms came together and formed starts. The heavier the star, the stronger was the pressure at its centre and the hottest it was. It’s at the core of those stars, under immense pressures, that atoms could recombine in heavier elements, more complex. When the stars died, the atoms were ejected and formed planets, and then life. So the atoms that make up your body were created in the heart of stars.
Only the crackling of the flames accompanied that tirade. When Inyambo started to explain something, they would listen.
Everyone took a moment to take in what had just been told. Muhau’s eyebrows were frowned.
– This is all too complicated. I don’t like that scientific stuff, it is not spiritual! I wanted a spiritual explanation.
– Maybe it means that we are all beautiful and shinning inside, like a star, Lundowe suggested.
– Yes, maybe, something like that.
Inyambo shrugged.
– As you prefer beautiful.

Charcoal ready, Mutondo took a large grill and balanced it on two big stones in order to cook the meat.
The smell of grilled beef, mixed with smoke, shut the conversations down. All were lurking over the cooking by the weak glow of the incandescent coal. Drops of fat sweated out and made the ember crackle, lighting tiny short-lived flames.
Mutondo flipped each piece, tested the cooking with a knife and announced:
– It’s ready.
With a fork, he placed each steak on a plate. The plate was passed from one hand to the next and everyone picked their share. Inyambo first, then Lungowe and finally the kids.
They ate with their hands, throwing the bones over the fence for dogs, before they went for seconds.
When the meat was over, Mutondo grilled some maize.
When those were devoured, he placed new logs on the ember and restated the fire. Discussions started again in the small family, until late in the night.

Lungowe and Muhau were the first to go to bed, in Inyambo’s hut. Inyambo, Mutondo and Sayowa remained in silence, observing the last of the flames dying.
Mutondo announced he was going to bed as well and Sayowa stood up to do the same.
– Sayowa, stay here a moment, Inyambo said.
– Okay Kuku.
She sat back on the trunk, Mutondo disappeared into the night.
– Come, let’s walk.
Sayowa helped her grandfather up, flexing her knees under the weight of the tall man. They exited the enclosure of reed and walked slowly through the village. Inyambo’s speed was limited by his age, Sayowa’s by the size of her legs.
The stars were back, thousands, millions, billions even. The Milky Way was visible, a big white trace from one side of the sky to the other.
They walked in silence. Only the insects of the night, the frogs of the river, and their steps in the sand could be heard. They passed the baobab and continued until the bank of the river. They stopped in an area isolated from everything, although still technically part of the village.
Inyambo sat on a rock, helped by Sayowa who was holding his arm. He had a small laugh.
– Only a few steps and I’m already tired!
Sayowa sat cross-legged, right on the sand.
The stars’ reflections glittered in the waves.
– Kuku, is it true what you said? That we are made from stuff that comes from the stars?
– If we want to believe the scientists, yes. What do you think?
– Well... actually I didn’t really understand, atoms and all that.
– You’re still little, you’ll learn physics at school one day. But what do you think about what your sister said? Do you think my explanation was not spiritual enough?
– Well... what’s the difference between science and spiritual stuff?
– Good question, is there one? Some people think that rational explanations take away from the beauty of things. But to understand that all the elements that make you (he pocked her with his finger) were created in the heart of stars, I find it as much poetic as it is fascinating. Anyway, you have time until you can make up your mind about all that.
Sayowa meditated over those words for a moment.
– You’re smart Kuku!
– I don’t know if I’m smart. Let’s say I know things.
She was not sure she understood the nuance.
– How do you know everything?
He had a loud laugh that echoed in the silence.
– I don’t know everything! Nobody knows everything! It’s important that you understand that. For me, let’s say I learn from my mistakes. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes, that’s how you move forward in life. Learn from your mistakes, grow from them, here is a good lesson!
Learn from your mistakes. Grow from them. Sayowa engraved those words into her mind, alongside every other lesson from her grandfather.
– There will be times in your life when all will seem like you are about to make a mistake, when everyone will tell you that you are about to make a mistake. Those will be the most important moments. You will have to have the courage to make the decision that you think you have make, even if you can’t express it. It is not because you don’t know how to express something that you don’t know why you do it.
Inyambo’s lessons were not always clear, but Sayowa still tried to keep them in a corner of her memory, with the hope that they would one day make sense.
Silence was for Inyambo a signal that we had become too abstract for his young granddaughter.
– It is late, let’s go to bed.
They crossed the village again, enjoying the almost absolute calm of the night, until their respective homes.

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Thomas Botte19 décembre 2019