the last ancestor

In rainy seasons, the stream between our home

and the primary school would scream

at night.

So loudly, so disturbingly:

that the old woman who lived behind the inland church

chanted incantations cursing the orgies in the stream.

On arriving at the accident river (named so

due to the souls that got swept away

during the first world war as men ran away

to avoid being whisked away to go and fight for

the queen of England);

the stream would go quiet, and villagers

would say

the river has closed.

Ndetema, the village loudest drinker

cursed the gods and took a long sip of

the kamba wine. He smoked the tobacco leaves

dried at the fireside,

and dared Mulungu to increase the waters.

we have never seen him since ever,

maybe he was eaten by the ghosts of Indian ocean.

then we always talked about the incredibly old woman

whose house overlooked the river of accident,

the many days she shared the bed with snakes looking

for a warmer shelter, in her zero roomed hut.

when she died the birds came for the burial,

and it was rumored snakes were there too.

in her hut hang thirteen maize combs,

her only possessions, her insurance for drought.

my grandpa knew of her death without anybody telling him.

said the woman was the last ancestor.