002 B.C: Ngyendo.



002 B.C: Ngyendo.
Kanyarushokye, 60, Ngyendo, Buhweju.
I’m only telling you this because I was not the only one present when it happened. Otherwise I wouldn’t have. I’ve heard stories about people who were never allowed to say what they saw or heard from the Bachwezi. But when this particular incident occurred, we were all there, about ten of us, and I remember us standing there and not saying a word, pretending nothing had happened. We were so scared of them!
Anyways, so we are constructing a road right? And we arrive at that difficult spot along Ngyendo hill. There had been so many accidents along that part and we wanted to enlarge the road. It’s quite steep; you’ve passed there, right? You know how the road is suspended on the side of the hill, the valley lying below it, deep and hollow. The place itself creeps some people out. But I wasn’t really terrified, I just knew if we enlarged the road a little bit, it would make the drivers a little more confident, and the accidents would reduce.
We started being suspicious after we planted trees on the side facing the valley and found them uprooted the next day. We tried for so long, and all we wanted was to cover the lower side with trees which could also help stop cars from rolling over into the valley. But morning after morning, we found the trees either uprooted or outright dry. Well, some of us thought it probably meant the soil was dry and we needed to water the trees. But there were gardens quite close by and they were flourishing.
Also, there were rumors that the owners of the land through which the road passed had not been compensated and so they wanted to stall us. We actually paid them a visit to make peace and they were insulted that we thought they had anything to do with it.
That’s how the rumors about the Bachwezi grew. But I didn’t want to believe them you know. The Bachwezi were not known to be harmful to non-wrong doers. They were known to simply punish the evil. What could they gain from the accidents that were happening at that spot? Why would they block us? It didn’t make any sense. And I was brought up to respect them, because I was told they were straight, you know? They were supposed to do right by us.
So there was this rock in the centre of the road, which was the biggest huddle for drivers. As they tried to avoid it, that’s how many of them had ended up rolling over to the valley. So we thought the easiest thing would be to break the rock and smooth the ground. We tried using tractors but they were unsuccessful. We hired those guys who work in stone quarries to blast it. They too failed. We tried so many things, and failed, and yet the rock looked so unintimidating that it just defeated our understanding.
Anyways, finally we got iron bars and decided to hammer them into the rock so that we could just take off the top part and level it with the road. It took us long but the iron bars went in. They kept going, and going, disappearing into the tiny rock. They didn’t come out from the other side, no. they just disappeared, psshhw!
And then one day, as we hammered one more iron bar into it, the rock opened. The top just released itself, as if it had been unlocked. And there, inside it, sat a shapely, beautiful woman weaving a basket. We froze. She looked up from her basket and looked at us with sad, appealing eyes.
“Why do you do this?” she said. “All this hammering, all this noise! Why don’t you leave us in peace?”
We stood there, watching her, willing ourselves to think but unable to, staring as the rock top slowly closed itself back in place. We must have stood there for hours, wanting to talk to each other about it but none of us dared to. We finally just got our tools and went back home.
I tell you from that day, I just didn’t understand what is wrong with these Bachwezi. I mean they have the whole freakin hill. Why do they choose to live in the middle of the road? Right? And they are invisible most of the time. If they wanted they could live anywhere in the world. But they just decide they want to live in the middle of the road? What’s up with that???

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

When the dead help with fiction.

The Lovely Ghosts Of Bagamoyo

YOU AND I