Riyoon's Rebirth, Chapter II - The Jeli's Tale

            I had not kept track of the time, and really, it did not matter. The sun had long set and only the fires about us broke the darkness. With the others, I moved about, shadows before the flame. In my ears, the thunder of my feet, and several other pairs upon the earth, riding the resonating tones of the drums. The pace quickened, and the rhythm altered; the shift of the music brought a ripple through those who danced, and drew near others who had previously watched.
            I found myself in the midst of a peculiar, double- sided wave as dancers retreated and onlookers pressed in. My confusion betrayed me, evident in the laughter of the villagers around me. Someone took my hands and drew me along with the others. The dancers had subdued themselves to a sort of rocking back and forth, and they were joined by the others in these motions.
            I understood the difference now; along with the drums, the peals and drones of plucked strings, high and low pitched. The lower notes swept me away in a wave of homesickness, for the melodies brought to mind the rababah harps of my homeland. This quickly fell to the shock of notes so pure, melodies so harmonies, things unlike anything I had ever heard previous.
            I could see them before the crowd now; a pair of musicians marching forward and a tall and thusfar silent man strode with them. Each of the musicians carried a gourd joined with a long net and beset by numerous strings. Between the flickering of the firelight and that of their fingers dancing across the lines, I could not hope to count them all. Now, the man lifted his voice. It warbled along with the music, and I could almost make out the words.
            Then a pair of women emerged from behind the singer, thrusting their bodies out from behind him at either side.  As they all marched forward in synchronized motion, their voices harmonized with one another. The drums laid down a beat that was carried further by the lower notes of the harps and the deep and mellow voice of the man. Higher still the voices of the women, weaving between the lifted notes of the instruments.
            This carried on for some time with them singing and dancing and playing, and we, the crowd moved with them, though not as much. They had taken position directly before the fire and we pooled in a semicircle around them. Among them, white and gray garb not unlike the chajman; among us, people of many shades, clothing in many hues. Some among the audience carried instruments of their own, but did not play them. Once such pair, a boy and a girl, caught my eye.  Perhaps it was the instrument between them, not unlike those of the performers- a long necked gourd, possessed of innumerable strings. Perhaps it was the way they looked at me. The girl watched me with a cool gaze, while the boy seemed more animated, excited.
            “Gather, gather,” The man shouted then, and behind him, the women continued their harmony with the music, though subdued for his words. “Tonight, we Nwaj-Oratè shall tell you tales.”

            The clamor of the crowd fell into a hush, and the music dimmed as well so that only the flickering fires and the low and resonating drum beat held sway over the silence.   Then:

            “This is a tale of Hwana the boastful.” As he spoke these words, the women began humming.

            “Do they have Jelis where you come from?” A whisper at my elbow. The boy I’d noticed earlier, still grinning the same foolish grin.
            “Jeli?” I asked.
            He looked surprised for a moment, but gestured to the group before us. “Storytellers!” The girl joined us then, and whispered fiercely to her companion.
            “Let her listen.”

            “Before the times of the three great nations, all the people lived as part of one grand village,” the Jeli said. Behind him, the drums had all but ceased, each beat leading the next by several seconds of silence. The women whispered words so soft as to be indecipherable.  “Now this village was big, and it was beautiful, the corners of it stretching far across the plain.” The gasps from the audience brought a chuckle from the storyteller and he gazed out at us, milking the surprise.
            “See, this was the time when all people were as one,” he reminded them. As he continued speaking, the subdued instruments rose to life, a booming fanfare to back his words while the notes of the harp danced in and out and inbetween.“So all people came together and they shared all of their things. Because the people worked together, just as we do to this day in Sik Nati, life was easy. The harvests were bountiful, with many strong men and women to plant and collect them. Every night was a feast. Songs of heroes were sung throughout all the huts, and the people came together often to celebrate their blessings and give thanks to ingenuity, to wisdom, and to nature’s guidance and protection.”
            I looked around at the people gathered- past the excited face of the boy beside me, to the villagers whose expressions matched his. Warm smiles.
            “Despite all of these good things,” the Jeli went on, “There was one who simply could not be satisfied. His name was Hwana, and he decided that he would become the greatest man the village had ever known.”
            Here there came some murmurs of awe and amusement.
            “For Hwana, it was not enough to want for nothing. Plentiful food did not sate his hunger. Fresh and clean water did nothing for his thirst. The tales of the Jelis, the dances, the celebrations- these did not go far enough, for he longed to be as the heroes spoken of.”
            “Pay attention,” the girl said rather firmly to the boy.
            “Now, it is natural for one to be enthralled and amazed of the feats of our ancestors,” the Jeli explained. “Were they not such strong, wise souls, we would not have the bountiful society we do today.”
            “There you have it,” the boy whispered, rather proudly.
            “But heroes do not become such by seeking it. They do not do the perilous, the difficult, for the glory, nor the hope that they will be worshiped, revered someday.”
            The pair of them exchanged a pointed look, and watching them, I was not quite sure who had lost and who had won.
            “Hwana, however, had no great cause. He had no enemies to fight, nor resources to secure. He had no problems to mend, save for those in his own heart. And so, after the great festival celebrating the triumphs of Sundiata Keita, He decided that he absolutely had to capture such glory for himself.” The Jeli dropped his voice to hardly more than a whisper, backed by the voices of the women and the plucking of the harp; the drums fell to silence as he spoke next. “As fortune would have it, Hwana discovered his quest, for he had head tales of an even greater paradise.”
            A single, sharp drumbeat announced this fact, followed by complete silence on the part of the performers; hushed murmurs ran through the crowd.
            “Stories had been told of the great forming- how the elements came together, and with their union, everything was born,” the Jeli whispered. “Stories had been told of the perfection of that union, the very center of all creation. Untold riches, profound knowledge. Hwana knew if he could claim these things, he would be revered among the great village, and so he gathered his supplies, telling his friends that he would return to them as a god. Saying such, he set out to find this great treasure.”
            The drums adopted a sort of rolling gait, joined by the almost sour notes of the harps, and we traveled with Hwana as he journeyed the savanna.
            “Hwana traveled for several days and several nights, braving the savanna, the jungle and the desert,” the Jeli told us. “Though he thought himself well prepared, his passage did not come without cost. “
            A drumbeat, a sharp twang.
            “In the savanna, he was beset upon by a pride of lions. Thinking quickly, he scrambled up a tree and waited until they moved on.”
            Two beats, and a mellower note upon the harp.
            “When he traversed the jungle, the insects and the plants caused him to fall ill, which impeded his progress.”
            Another beat, and the women lifted their voices for a moment.
            “By the time he reached the desert, he had already used most of his supplies- whatever had not been stolen by the lions, nor lost in fever dreams. Crossing the sands took the last of his stores.”
            There came an air of concern from the audience, but also scoffs; I found myself torn. I myself had left with very little, with no destination in mind; however, my quest had not been one of glory, but necessity. Exile, painful though it was, was life, a free life. I looked around; here was a beautiful village with lively and gentle people. Perhaps, as Renkou had said, I could find home here. Then I looked to the boy and the girl, the latter who watched me, watching her. The boy paid us no mind, enthralled in the story. She turned her attention back to the Jeli, and I did too.
            “Hwana had reached his limit,” the storyteller informed us rather gravely. “He could walk no further under the sweltering sun, and even if he could, he’d come too far to turn back.” The Jeli shook his head mournfully. “Hwana fell to the dirt, oblivious in his hunger and thirst to the point where the blistering sands did not rouse him. He might have wept bitterly had he the tears; he would never realize his dream like this, and had he the energy, he would be furious. But all he could do was bake in the sun.”
            Only the drums played now. One beat, silence; one beat, silence. No one made a sound otherwise. The girl glanced pointedly to the boy at this point; he looked rather worried in response.
            “However, just as Hwana made his peace with death, his friends found him. Greater still, a larger number from the village. Scores of them upon camels and goats, come to find him. His friends pulled him from the desert sands and set him upon a goat. They covered his head and shoulders with a woven shroud and they gave to him a skin of water. All together, the people cast aside Hwana’s desires for riches and wealth, and they returned to their village and the prosperous and bountiful life that awaited them.”
            The Jeli smiled that warm smile, and drew out a reed as he eyed the gathered crowd. “The lone stick is easily broken.” Saying so, he snapped the rod in half, a rather audible sound. “But three? Or ten? Or twenty?” the other performers handed to him several sticks each, and the Jeli, accepting them and flexing with all his might, could do no work upon them. “Sticks in a bundle are unbreakable.”

            After the conclusion of the tale, there came a great feast, followed by another bout of music and dancing. After eating, I was content to watch the celebration.
            “What did you think?” the boy asked me.
            I smiled. “We don’t tell stories like that where I come from.”
            “Pity,” said the girl.
            “We tell them better.” The boy made a face.
            “Lapli!” the girl rebuked. It did not seem to stifle his enthusiasm much.
            I eyed their instruments again. “So you two are Jelis as well?”
            “None better!” the boy exclaimed. He extended a hand to me, then quickly withdrew it and bowed his head some instead. “Lapli Toudenkou!”
            I dipped my head in turn. “Riyoon.”
            “Toujou Kouran,” the girl said simply. “We’re descendants of the five families.”
            “Five families?” I asked.
            “The five Jeli families,” Lapli clarified. “Any true Jeli can trace their lineage back for generations.”
            I looked at them more closely now; they weren’t much younger than I was, and the both of them wore shades of blue. “And which of the families do you two hail from?”
            “Istmemwa!” Lapli beamed. “The greatest of the five.”
            “If you are filled with pride, Lapli, you will have no room for wisdom,” Toujou chided.
            The boy gave her a sour look. “Well it’s true!”
            “Brother and sister, then,” I said.
            Neither denied it. In fact, the matching frowns removed any doubt.
            Renkou chuckled. “I see you are making friends.” For an elder, They moved rather swiftly and silently when They wanted to, and the look on the siblings’ faces suggested they thought the same. “Have you given any thought to where you will lay your head tonight?”
            “She can stay with us,” Lapli piped up. “We have plenty of room!”
            “She can stay where she wishes,” Toujou amended. “Though we do have the space.”
            “We have a spare cot as well,” Renkou told me. “It is yours to decide.”

            In the end, I went with Renkou; already They had shown me so much hospitality, and though I knew there would be no objection, I did not want to impose upon the Istmemwa so suddenly.  As the night’s celebration moved closer to its end, I said my goodbyes to the siblings and departed with Renkou.
            They led me to a place not terribly far from the center of the village, where a cluster of modest huts stood. Each had been constructed in much the same manner as the Vwa’s chamber- rammed earth covered with reed thatching. As They opened the door, I was not sure what to expect. It was simply furnished; a cot simply made from a pile of crushed and worn reeds with a hide thrown over it, a bar overhead which held a spare hat and garment. A table which held a small assortment of wooden dishes. In the center of the chamber, a firepit had been dug, though it showed no signs of recent use. Tucked away in an alcove, a chamberpot; across from the first cot, a second, pleasantly made up.
            “This is home,” Renkou said simply. “You are welcome to it.”
            “I shall sleep here then.” I bowed graciously.

            I took to the spare cot, and though it had been a long day, I found my mind buzzed with thoughts of all the things I had seen. I wondered and worried about Hwana, and journeys and paradise. I wondered about Jelis and their strange instruments, and more specifically, Toujou and Lapli, and their families. These thoughts, along with those of Sik Nati, and then my Ngarobah, would not rest.
            Then, I felt a familiar warmth filling the small chamber, and my heart and head began to settle.
            “All things in their time and place, Riyoon-Trezò.”