I awoke in the morning to an otherwise empty hut,
but the warmth of the previous evening lingered, offsetting the chill in the
air. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat upright. A look around confirmed I
was alone; Renkou’s walking stick and hat were missing. Through the one window,
the thinnest lines of orange-red light entered. I rose and stretched; perhaps
it had been Renkou’s influence, or simply my own exhaustion, but I’d slept far
better than I had in a long time.
I emerged from the hut to find sparse groups of villagers here and there. Some stood in twos and threes, talking. Others traveled up and down the paths to handle whatever the morning had set for them. I, having no work to complete, inquired of one group where I might find Renkou, as well as the dwellings of the Istmemwa. Neither were pressing; I was not done wandering just yet.
The village took the shape of a great circle, apparent in the way the roads in either direction curved out of sight around the clumps of huts and stalls. In the dark, and under the welcome of the villagers, this had been less obvious. Now that I had the day and but my own company, I could observe more, and so I set off along one great, curving path I knew led back toward the center. I wanted to travel beyond it to see what lay elsewhere.
A beautiful place, Sik Nati. My sojourn brought me past numerous stalls; the tame yellows and browns of the huts were offset by the brilliant colors of mud-cloth on display- reds and whites and yellows. The smell of incense lingered in the air, along with music of various melodies. Young children ran up and down the street, shouting excitedly to one another and occasionally running into passerby; some of the older ones played games of Oware in the street. In this regard, it was not at all unlike my village.
I had expected that Sik Nati might be divided into sects according to the chajman, as color coordinated, organized as they had been in the central chamber. If there were any such arrangement, it lay unnoticed; all of the village seemed to blend together, and if color served as a measure of affiliation for groups other than the chajman, then those groups mixed rather freely. It made sense even for, or perhaps especially from, a chajmanistic perspective- unity above all else; the only source of pride, their sense of community. In this regard, it was quite unlike my village.
My travels brought me to a space where no huts stood, and beyond the edge of the village I saw a river. Vast and silent, it curved like the village, around the village, a blue-green serpent flowing at a modest pace, either end of which escaped my sight. It hugged the village at an elevation just below the central plateau that, as far as I could tell, held all of Sik Nati. From my vantage, I could see other plateaus, much smaller and none too distant, tall and narrow cliffs whose bases were submerged in the flow of the river.
Built on the landings of such cliffs, small huts, linked to one another by bridges. I could make out fishing nets draped over the railing. Also affixed to the railing of each, great kudu horns, and torches, unlit, but blackened from use. If there were villagers within, I did not see them. Before the pillars, the river lay relatively smooth and even; just past them, it dropped off a pair of small tiers, two short waterfalls, before continuing on its way.
I had never seen so great a river before, but as Sik Nati had proven time and again, the list of things I had not seen was rather large indeed. I followed the river as best I could whenever I could find it, my path weaving through the outermost streets of the village. The sun now rested just above the horizon, lighting the western sky ablaze with golden light- it sparkled most beautifully across the water. Along this particular stretch of the river, children had gathered. They piled small rocks upon the shore and began to skip these stones individually across the water. At their invitation, I took one such stone, and with a mighty heave, I…. sank it immediately. A bit embarrassed, I moved on.
More people filled the roads now; villagers and their pack animals hauling loads or setting off to work. I came to another stretch of open space in the huts, a place where great steps of stone led down to the river. Just beyond these steps, in the center of the river’s bend, I caught sight of a series of floodplains, overflowing with rice plants. They rose on tall, proud stalks from the water, their bent and golden heads amplified by the morning’s light. The Chaj-Dlo gathered on both shores, their blue and violet robes a lovely contrast to the green and gold that flowed ceaseless between their two groups. Many of them were seated, eyes closed; their breaths came and went as one, and as they meditated thus, I noticed the water came and went much the same. They hummed quietly at first, but the sound grew in magnitude, and the water began to recede. As it fell away, the raised plots of damp earth broke the surface, graced upon their edges by the trickling streams that flowed around them.
As the Chaj-Dlo completed their meditations, workers, both men and women, descended the stairs and moved into the riverbed with sickles and leather bags. I watched from my vantage at the top as they set to work cutting the stalks. As they did so, another group at the top of the stairs began to clear space, spreading out sheets of leather. One of them turned to me.
“Newcomer. We are gathering the rice. Would you like to help?”
I smiled.
I emerged from the hut to find sparse groups of villagers here and there. Some stood in twos and threes, talking. Others traveled up and down the paths to handle whatever the morning had set for them. I, having no work to complete, inquired of one group where I might find Renkou, as well as the dwellings of the Istmemwa. Neither were pressing; I was not done wandering just yet.
The village took the shape of a great circle, apparent in the way the roads in either direction curved out of sight around the clumps of huts and stalls. In the dark, and under the welcome of the villagers, this had been less obvious. Now that I had the day and but my own company, I could observe more, and so I set off along one great, curving path I knew led back toward the center. I wanted to travel beyond it to see what lay elsewhere.
A beautiful place, Sik Nati. My sojourn brought me past numerous stalls; the tame yellows and browns of the huts were offset by the brilliant colors of mud-cloth on display- reds and whites and yellows. The smell of incense lingered in the air, along with music of various melodies. Young children ran up and down the street, shouting excitedly to one another and occasionally running into passerby; some of the older ones played games of Oware in the street. In this regard, it was not at all unlike my village.
I had expected that Sik Nati might be divided into sects according to the chajman, as color coordinated, organized as they had been in the central chamber. If there were any such arrangement, it lay unnoticed; all of the village seemed to blend together, and if color served as a measure of affiliation for groups other than the chajman, then those groups mixed rather freely. It made sense even for, or perhaps especially from, a chajmanistic perspective- unity above all else; the only source of pride, their sense of community. In this regard, it was quite unlike my village.
My travels brought me to a space where no huts stood, and beyond the edge of the village I saw a river. Vast and silent, it curved like the village, around the village, a blue-green serpent flowing at a modest pace, either end of which escaped my sight. It hugged the village at an elevation just below the central plateau that, as far as I could tell, held all of Sik Nati. From my vantage, I could see other plateaus, much smaller and none too distant, tall and narrow cliffs whose bases were submerged in the flow of the river.
Built on the landings of such cliffs, small huts, linked to one another by bridges. I could make out fishing nets draped over the railing. Also affixed to the railing of each, great kudu horns, and torches, unlit, but blackened from use. If there were villagers within, I did not see them. Before the pillars, the river lay relatively smooth and even; just past them, it dropped off a pair of small tiers, two short waterfalls, before continuing on its way.
I had never seen so great a river before, but as Sik Nati had proven time and again, the list of things I had not seen was rather large indeed. I followed the river as best I could whenever I could find it, my path weaving through the outermost streets of the village. The sun now rested just above the horizon, lighting the western sky ablaze with golden light- it sparkled most beautifully across the water. Along this particular stretch of the river, children had gathered. They piled small rocks upon the shore and began to skip these stones individually across the water. At their invitation, I took one such stone, and with a mighty heave, I…. sank it immediately. A bit embarrassed, I moved on.
More people filled the roads now; villagers and their pack animals hauling loads or setting off to work. I came to another stretch of open space in the huts, a place where great steps of stone led down to the river. Just beyond these steps, in the center of the river’s bend, I caught sight of a series of floodplains, overflowing with rice plants. They rose on tall, proud stalks from the water, their bent and golden heads amplified by the morning’s light. The Chaj-Dlo gathered on both shores, their blue and violet robes a lovely contrast to the green and gold that flowed ceaseless between their two groups. Many of them were seated, eyes closed; their breaths came and went as one, and as they meditated thus, I noticed the water came and went much the same. They hummed quietly at first, but the sound grew in magnitude, and the water began to recede. As it fell away, the raised plots of damp earth broke the surface, graced upon their edges by the trickling streams that flowed around them.
As the Chaj-Dlo completed their meditations, workers, both men and women, descended the stairs and moved into the riverbed with sickles and leather bags. I watched from my vantage at the top as they set to work cutting the stalks. As they did so, another group at the top of the stairs began to clear space, spreading out sheets of leather. One of them turned to me.
“Newcomer. We are gathering the rice. Would you like to help?”
I smiled.
Outfitted
with a spare blade and satchel, I made my way down the stairs to join the
others in their cutting. My position had
deceived me; from such a vantage, the task appeared quite small. In the field
however, I met with a forest of stalks, many of which taller than I and the other
workers. I cut them as I had been taught, laid them out in piles behind me, and
continued onward- until I noticed the others did not. Instead, immediately
after they made their piles, the workers would cut again, separating head from
shaft. The former they would add to their satchels.
Seeing such, I modified my technique, and as my satchel filled, I watched the workers and did as they did. Those who had remained on the stairs now stood in two lines; one of these lines accepted the full satchels, passing them up the stairs to the top, where the heads of the rice plants were deposited upon the leather sheets I had seen earlier. From there, the other line passed the empty bags back down to the workers in the field.
Working together in such a manner, the plots were cleared rather quickly. Afterwards, we cutters moved from the fields, and the Chaj-Peyi appeared, their green and browns just as vibrant as their brethren’s colors. They descended the steps between the throngs of workers on either side, each of their steps so firm, so solid that the ground trembled in response. At the shores of the river, they met with the Chaj-Dlo, and together, the two groups shared a breath—in, and out— and both groups put their heads together. From there, the Chaj-Peyi entered the riverbed and began to chant, their voices rising and falling in time with the movements of their feet. They scattered, marching about the now harvested plains, grinding what remained of the stalks into the rich mud.
As they moved, the soil folded over itself, smoothed, and folded again. The stalks broke apart and sunk into the fertile ground. Despite moving on loose earth, their footfalls came thunderous, resonating in a way that I felt as much as heard. It brought shivers to my being, but I was not frightened.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” One of the Chaj-Dlo asked me. Looking, I realized that like Renkou, this one was in-between. I dipped my head in respect and affirmation.
“This is the soil that supports us. The Peyi move the earth that sustains us. And now you, having contributed, are a part of that strength.”
The Chaj-Peyi finished their work and departed from the riverbed. Before the Chaj-Dlo, they paused once more with lowered heads, and with them, took deep breaths just as before. Then, they ascended the stairs in the same manner- marching, chanting. The Chaj-Dlo turned their attention to the river and began their meditations once more. They inhaled, and the streams at the edges of the riverbed began to cross the floodplain in trickles. They exhaled, and the river, complete, resumed its course in full splendor.
I returned my borrowed tools and went to observe the harvest. The rice would be damp for days still at a minimum. At the top of the stairs, some of the Chaj-Peyi had lingered to watch as the workers began to wrap the rice in the sheets for transport elsewhere. The workers lifted the completed bundles as soon as they became available, each with as much as any one could carry, and they set off. This surprised me; I had expected the aid of pack animals, but there were none to be found. Still, as each of the workers grabbed their burdens, I took my place among them and hefted what I could. The moment I did, smiles broke out among the Chaj-Peyi.
“The Le would approve of your actions,” one told me.
I shrugged as best I could. “I’m doing my part, just as everyone else.”
“You have the freedom to do whatever you wish here,” another explained. “And yet you pit your shoulder to the labor alongside our people. Such an expression on your part speaks well of your character.”
I smiled. “Thank you for your kind words, and your hospitality.”
If any still slept when we had started, they no longer did; as we traveled down the road circling the village, many people came out to watch us, to cheer us on. I understood then, at least in part, why we carried the rice. The further we travelled however, the more my bundles began to weigh on me. Perhaps I had taken too many. After all, I knew not how far we were to go. Still, my pride drove me forward. Beyond that, I didn’t want to let the village down. Who could I ask to carry my share? And how could I ask? I resigned myself to it.
Then, the Le appeared. Clad in their grays and whites, they joined us, running alongside the procession. They flitted and danced about us, weaving in and out, prancing, energetic. Their boundless enthusiasm was rather encouraging to watch, and I found myself smiling at their display. One of them, a little girl, broke from the rest and fell to skipping in time with my own steps. She peered at me with a curiosity that mirrored my own, and then smiled a little dimpled smile.
“The Soley would call this a moment of tempering for you,” she told me in a sweet voice.
“Tempering?” I asked.
She nodded, a bob that fell in time to dancing steps. “A trial. The sun nurtures all life, but its heat also bears down on us. The Soley acknowledge that this trial tempers us, and those who survive grow stronger still.”
I smiled at her. I could feel the truth in her words, for the sun held position high above, and I had begun to sweat; it certainly did not help with the bundles I carried.
“Don’t worry,” she told me then. “Even that which burns away lays a place for the resurgence of life!”
I found some heart in her words. “And what would the Le tell me?” I asked her.
She smiled at me so sweetly, and then whirled away without another word.
Seeing such, I modified my technique, and as my satchel filled, I watched the workers and did as they did. Those who had remained on the stairs now stood in two lines; one of these lines accepted the full satchels, passing them up the stairs to the top, where the heads of the rice plants were deposited upon the leather sheets I had seen earlier. From there, the other line passed the empty bags back down to the workers in the field.
Working together in such a manner, the plots were cleared rather quickly. Afterwards, we cutters moved from the fields, and the Chaj-Peyi appeared, their green and browns just as vibrant as their brethren’s colors. They descended the steps between the throngs of workers on either side, each of their steps so firm, so solid that the ground trembled in response. At the shores of the river, they met with the Chaj-Dlo, and together, the two groups shared a breath—in, and out— and both groups put their heads together. From there, the Chaj-Peyi entered the riverbed and began to chant, their voices rising and falling in time with the movements of their feet. They scattered, marching about the now harvested plains, grinding what remained of the stalks into the rich mud.
As they moved, the soil folded over itself, smoothed, and folded again. The stalks broke apart and sunk into the fertile ground. Despite moving on loose earth, their footfalls came thunderous, resonating in a way that I felt as much as heard. It brought shivers to my being, but I was not frightened.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” One of the Chaj-Dlo asked me. Looking, I realized that like Renkou, this one was in-between. I dipped my head in respect and affirmation.
“This is the soil that supports us. The Peyi move the earth that sustains us. And now you, having contributed, are a part of that strength.”
The Chaj-Peyi finished their work and departed from the riverbed. Before the Chaj-Dlo, they paused once more with lowered heads, and with them, took deep breaths just as before. Then, they ascended the stairs in the same manner- marching, chanting. The Chaj-Dlo turned their attention to the river and began their meditations once more. They inhaled, and the streams at the edges of the riverbed began to cross the floodplain in trickles. They exhaled, and the river, complete, resumed its course in full splendor.
I returned my borrowed tools and went to observe the harvest. The rice would be damp for days still at a minimum. At the top of the stairs, some of the Chaj-Peyi had lingered to watch as the workers began to wrap the rice in the sheets for transport elsewhere. The workers lifted the completed bundles as soon as they became available, each with as much as any one could carry, and they set off. This surprised me; I had expected the aid of pack animals, but there were none to be found. Still, as each of the workers grabbed their burdens, I took my place among them and hefted what I could. The moment I did, smiles broke out among the Chaj-Peyi.
“The Le would approve of your actions,” one told me.
I shrugged as best I could. “I’m doing my part, just as everyone else.”
“You have the freedom to do whatever you wish here,” another explained. “And yet you pit your shoulder to the labor alongside our people. Such an expression on your part speaks well of your character.”
I smiled. “Thank you for your kind words, and your hospitality.”
If any still slept when we had started, they no longer did; as we traveled down the road circling the village, many people came out to watch us, to cheer us on. I understood then, at least in part, why we carried the rice. The further we travelled however, the more my bundles began to weigh on me. Perhaps I had taken too many. After all, I knew not how far we were to go. Still, my pride drove me forward. Beyond that, I didn’t want to let the village down. Who could I ask to carry my share? And how could I ask? I resigned myself to it.
Then, the Le appeared. Clad in their grays and whites, they joined us, running alongside the procession. They flitted and danced about us, weaving in and out, prancing, energetic. Their boundless enthusiasm was rather encouraging to watch, and I found myself smiling at their display. One of them, a little girl, broke from the rest and fell to skipping in time with my own steps. She peered at me with a curiosity that mirrored my own, and then smiled a little dimpled smile.
“The Soley would call this a moment of tempering for you,” she told me in a sweet voice.
“Tempering?” I asked.
She nodded, a bob that fell in time to dancing steps. “A trial. The sun nurtures all life, but its heat also bears down on us. The Soley acknowledge that this trial tempers us, and those who survive grow stronger still.”
I smiled at her. I could feel the truth in her words, for the sun held position high above, and I had begun to sweat; it certainly did not help with the bundles I carried.
“Don’t worry,” she told me then. “Even that which burns away lays a place for the resurgence of life!”
I found some heart in her words. “And what would the Le tell me?” I asked her.
She smiled at me so sweetly, and then whirled away without another word.
Then,
I felt it. The Le danced around us. A wind began to blow, somehow cool despite
the heat of the day. It swept across our brows and lifted our feet, carrying us
onward a little bit at a time. The worries that my burden might overwhelm me drifted
away on the phantom breeze. Looking at the others, I imagined it was the same
for them; they fearlessly undertook hard work, for they had the village to
cheer them on, the Chajman to support them.
The
Chaj-Le led us to a vast lifted circular plain of smooth and steady earth, a
space easily large enough for the burdens we carried. We gathered upon one edge
of the great plateau, and the Le danced away from us. Some of the workers
carefully set their bundles upon the ground and began to lay the leather sheets
out upon the earth while we watched. They finished, and the rest of us poured
our harvest upon the prepared space. As we spread the rice, the Chaj-Soley
approached us, their crimson garments so vibrant in the day’s heat. They stood
boldly at the edges of the plateau, watching us with ambivalent expressions.
Their attention, compared to that of the Chaj-Le, came as something of a shock. I wore a cold sweat under their watch; if the other workers felt so, it did not show. I worked as quickly and efficiently as able, taking care to spread what I had brought evenly. When I had finished, I moved away to stand with the other workers, and the Chaj-Soley took their places closer toward the harvest, all except for one. He was tall, thin, and certainly older than myself, but it was hard to say by how much. He appraised me, his face unreadable. Then:
“We appreciate your assistance today.”
“I’m glad to help,” I told him, and it was true. Though the work had wearied me some, it had also been invigorating, in an odd sort of way. Perhaps it was the belonging; the village had come together, moved together as one.
Behind us, the Chaj-Soley began to strut about the circle with a slow and measured pace. As they moved, they let out a chant in sequence, each member among them voicing a brief note with their stride, and then falling into silence as the chajman before them continued the cry.
“That is an honorable trait,” he informed me. “That sort of unity would no doubt bring comfort the Nanm. They seek the peace and balance of all things, a community with all things. A harmony with all things.”
I thought of Renkou then, somewhere in between. Warm, welcoming. I recalled Rive-Gide as well, and thought of the kindness I had felt in their presence. However, a different sort of warmth filled the air now; I returned my attention to the Chaj-Soley, who had accelerated in their motions. The steps came a half-beat faster, the chants a half-tone louder. The plateau seemed brighter than it had moments ago, and the air about it seemed to shimmer.
“Incredible,” I whispered.
The Chaj-Soley beside me followed my gaze, wordlessly.
Their attention, compared to that of the Chaj-Le, came as something of a shock. I wore a cold sweat under their watch; if the other workers felt so, it did not show. I worked as quickly and efficiently as able, taking care to spread what I had brought evenly. When I had finished, I moved away to stand with the other workers, and the Chaj-Soley took their places closer toward the harvest, all except for one. He was tall, thin, and certainly older than myself, but it was hard to say by how much. He appraised me, his face unreadable. Then:
“We appreciate your assistance today.”
“I’m glad to help,” I told him, and it was true. Though the work had wearied me some, it had also been invigorating, in an odd sort of way. Perhaps it was the belonging; the village had come together, moved together as one.
Behind us, the Chaj-Soley began to strut about the circle with a slow and measured pace. As they moved, they let out a chant in sequence, each member among them voicing a brief note with their stride, and then falling into silence as the chajman before them continued the cry.
“That is an honorable trait,” he informed me. “That sort of unity would no doubt bring comfort the Nanm. They seek the peace and balance of all things, a community with all things. A harmony with all things.”
I thought of Renkou then, somewhere in between. Warm, welcoming. I recalled Rive-Gide as well, and thought of the kindness I had felt in their presence. However, a different sort of warmth filled the air now; I returned my attention to the Chaj-Soley, who had accelerated in their motions. The steps came a half-beat faster, the chants a half-tone louder. The plateau seemed brighter than it had moments ago, and the air about it seemed to shimmer.
“Incredible,” I whispered.
The Chaj-Soley beside me followed my gaze, wordlessly.
***
“You have had quite the morning,” They told me, rather pleased.
I nodded, with a smile and flushed cheeks. “I did. I walked along the river and saw much of the village. I worked with the villagers during the harvest and watched the chajman preform rites.”
“In this village, we do what we can,” Renkou said. They flexed Their fingers on the head of Their stick. “This is greatly the work of the Dlo, for they see the best things in all of us and inspire all they meet to strive.”
Their words brought much to mind, a happiness and an excitement that all but overwhelmed me. The Le moved with an agile grace that I nearly envied, and the Soley with a strength I admired. I wanted the quiet wisdom of the Dlo, and stood in awe of the Peyi’s reverence. I loved the unity of the Nanm, and all of them together, a family reminiscent, and yet different from any I had ever had.
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