Before you start reading this, you need to know that
this is the story of a tree. No, it is not a magical tree if that is what you
are thinking. It did however, have
everything magical about it. If by the end of it, you would want to see the
tree, I will show you where it once stood.
It was a large fig tree. The largest tree I have
ever seen in my entire life. It stood in the compound across from the gate.
Towering over all other trees in the compound and village as well. Need I
inform you that the village of Elukongo was once a forest? Farming activities
led to the felling of most of the trees. A large number still stand though. None
however was as marvelous as the fig tree that stood in Mr. Asonga’s compound.
The tree was so towering and looming. I say looming because its branches were
spread all over the compound like a magnificent umbrella. If it was a human
being, it would be a seven foot tall person with his arms spread above everyone
else’s head. It was green from January through to September, and then it would
shed its leaves for the rest of the year. Even so it was still quite beautiful.
Its branches were so numerous that it still gave shade without its leaves. It stood
across from the main get, on the right hand side of the house. All seeing and
all perceiving.
As a child, whenever I heard of the Mugumo tree, I
pictured that humongous tree towering over all the rest. Whenever I heard the
creation stories, I would imagine that God himself came to plant this
particular tree. That he laid out its large roots, artistically spreading them
so they acted as a make shift stage during functions. That he shaped the stem
to make its girth and height as imposing as ever. That he also carved a hollow
in it that would be home to several creatures over the years.
The tree housed a number of animals. The swarm of
bees was the longest residence of the tree and the most welcome. Their constant
buzzing during the day as they went to and fro the hive. The thing that
appealed most to me was that, no matter how many times we tried to smoke them
away, they came back. It was as though the tree would purge itself and summon
them back. They would return buzzing louder and longer than before. If one was
new to the area, they would not be mistaken for expecting to see a public
gathering when they heard the bees.
Then there were the monkeys. This set of animals
never got along with anything on the farm. Not the people, nor the dogs, nor
the bees. But they loved the tree. Its height and numerous branches provided a
perfect vantage point for them to spy on all the happenings below. If you tried
to hurl stones at them, they were certain not to reach the intended target. In
addition, the tree served as a perfect junction for the monkey hopping along
the canopies of all the trees that fenced the compound. The tree was their
perfect escape, before they were all hunted down and killed.
I am inclined to believe that the tree some how
helped in their demise. The monkey disrespected it, breaking brunches and
throwing them down at oblivious passers-by. In its revenge, numerous monkeys
slipped on its branches and fell to the capture or death at its roots. Before
their complete disappearance, they learnt to avoid that marvelous tree. In some
ways they revered it. They no longer broke its branches, nor did they disturb
those who sheltered in its shade. The tree on the other hand seemed to stand proud,
glad to have restored its dignity. Vehement to anyone that would want to harm
it.
A few years after that, it housed an owl. It was a
huge grey bird. The owl had its nest hidden between three branches that gave it
effective cover. This was ages before Harry Porter made owls appealing. The
people in Elukongo are a very superstition lot. The presence of an owl in the
tree that was also itself an item of superstition did not board well. The
belief that owls are harbingers of death bothered many of the residence.
However the recent experience with the monkeys was not to be soon forgotten.
After much debate, some young brave fellow took it upon himself to climb the
tree and vacate the owl.
“A broken leg I can deal with. Death on the other
hand I am not ready for.” The young man said
“You do not know what spirits possess that tree. Or
why the owl feels welcome with the bees. You will die either way if you climb
it.”
“I will take my chances.” The fellow replied
belligerently
I find it strange that no one bothered to consult us.
None of the immediate occupants of Mr. Asonga’s compound were bothered by the
owl. Perhaps it was the fact that we were only there for a few weeks a year.
But we were never as superstitious as the rest and thought of the owl to be an
amusing resident, big eyes, pouty face and all. The fellow who went up the tree
did not share our enthusiasm. He brought down its nest, with two small eggs in
it. He came down with a fractured leg
too. But his job was done, the indignant owl mourned for the night and flew of
to some distant place, parting with the tree for good.
The next set of residents was a group that I
despised greatly: eagles. There is a special bond that luhyas have with
chicken. However, eagles like to snatch up chicks before they can grow up into
hens and end up on a luhya’s plate. I loved the chicks; I would feed them under
the shade of that great tree. Sometimes I would watch them as they climbed to
drink water that had settled between the roots. Then, as though it was out of
spite, the eagles would swoop down, takes the healthiest of the chicks and fly
up into the tree. I hated them for that and the fact that they ate the chicks
with gluttonous glee.
Given the security of their nests, more eagles
flocked to the tree. After a while, I was convinced that our compound would be
the only one in all of western Kenya that would never have chicken. I however
find the story of how they came to migrate more entertaining. One of the eagles
unwittingly picked up a duckling instead of a chick. The mother duck flew
furiously after them climbed into the tree and took down all their nests. The eagles
seemed more startled than anything and took of. I was delighted by that.
I heard about a final resident, but who I never saw. A
python that was rather oversize. It had crawled into the hollow in the tree and
nestled there. Snakes are generally not welcome guests. More so if they can
make a meal of you. It was at this point that the tree was irreparably damaged.
A foolish man set the tree a blaze to force the snake out. The fire was put
out, and the snake was killed. But the tree was forever damaged.
The strangest
thing about the tree is how its health and my father’s were closely
intertwined. When Mr. Asonga’s health started to dwindle, so did the trees. It was
also strange how their lives seemed bound together. When you were bothered and
sat in the trees shade, some mystical wisdom would lend itself to you and solve
your problem. The kind of wisdom I found in my father. Perhaps it was just coincidence and I was
reading in to it. Perhaps it was not. However, in the same year Mr. Asonga was
laid to rest, three meters from where it stood, the tree too died. Now all that
is left of it are the memories of it.
