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Excerpt from Kintu by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

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Kintu by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi

Kintu

by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi
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  • May 2017, 446 pages
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* * *

The party was now on its fourth day of travel. They had stopped for the third break and changeover of tasks. The men refreshed with water and fruit they had collected along the way, while Nnondo briefed them on the remaining part of the day's journey. They were to watch out for anything bright-colored and slithering, especially monitor lizards and snakes.

Kintu took a swig from his gourd, the smoked flavor reminding him of home. He scanned the horizon for any dark cloud that would shield them from the sun but the sky was a sterile blue. He cut a slice of mango and ate: unripe but soft, it was tangy. Normally, mango was fruit for children but Kintu and his men were eating dried meat and roasted seeds. Meat was light in the stomach and it kept hunger away, but it was obstructive to bowel movement. Mango kept the stomach in motion.

After refreshing, the men stood up. Pacesetters at the head of the convoy took over the migguggu of Kintu's sheets of barkcloth, his regalia, skin robes, ceremonial wooden slippers and other personal effects. Others carried food—especially meats hunted on the way and dry-roasted, as they were soon coming to regions without game or fruits. They now walked in the middle of the retinue, while men who had been at the back took over pacesetting at the top of the convoy. The ones that had been carrying loads now took the rear. As they set off, Kintu ignored the nagging ache in his feet.

Soon the scenery gave way to huge cone-like hills covered in stone gravel. Rising off a flat plain, the hills were so close to each other that there were no valleys between them. The convoy walked around them through the narrow corridors. There was only a smattering of vegetation at this point. The hilltops were totally bare. The grass, only inches off the ground, was dewy, soft and wet, refreshing to the men's aching feet. For a while, the hills were a welcome distraction as they interrupted the horizon and kept Kintu's mind off the discouraging distance. But then a burning sensation—as if the air he breathed grated his nose—gripped him and tears came to his eyes. To ease the pain, Kintu held his nose and breathed through his mouth until they had left the hills behind.



Kintu married other women besides Nnakato. The women were brought to him as tributes: some from ambitious parents, others were daughters of fellow governors. His wives' homes were scattered all over the province for his convenience when he toured. The families, especially in far-flung regions of the province, were also a reminder to the local populace of his presence. Nnakato was in charge of the wives. When a bride arrived, she named and allocated her a role within the family—there were those good with children, creative ones who concentrated on crafts; those with a lucky hand in farming and who produced more food. When Kintu was away on kabaka's duties, Nnakato visited the wives, checking on the children and the state of the land they lived on. When the children were older, she rounded the age groups up and brought them to Mayirika for instruction. She also garnered, informally, local moods and major incidents, reporting back to Kintu. Nnakato made sure that the wives met and visited each other regularly. The children visited each mother to meet their siblings. But to Kintu, the women were a duty.

At the thought of his wives Kintu gnashed his teeth. He felt bound. He was a prize bull thrown into a herd of heifers. He was Ppookino: why did he have to mount every woman thrown at him? On the other hand, how could he not? He was a man, a seed dispenser. It was natural: he should enjoy it. For the ba kabaka, women brought to them were put away to entertain envoys, dignitaries and other guests. Unlike a kabaka, Kintu was not above culture. Women given to him had to become his wives. In any case, Nnakato was an effective head-wife. She put in place a roster: every wife would have a child at least once in three years, ideally, once in every two years.

From Kintu by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi. By arrangement with Transit Books. Copyright © Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi 2017. All rights reserved.

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