The Crocodile of the Luswa River

 Mwelwa was somewhat reckless but adventurous as a child; he loved nothing more than to swim in the Luswa River despite his mother's warnings about the powerful waves that could carry him away. He thought he could handle anything that came his way. Whenever Mwelwa swam in the rivers near his village, he stretched his arms and looked up at the sky, the water lifting him to float, and gentle flow seemingly whispering secrets of the ancient times in his submerged ears.  

One day, while he played with the stones on the riverbank with his friends, his mother was washing clothes a short distance away. When they were tired from playing with the stones, they decided to go swimming; Mwelwa felt happy looking at the calm, gently flowing water and dived in. Then, he turned to his friends, urging them to join him. 

“Come on, you cowards. Let's see which of you can hold your breath underwater longer than I can,” he shouted across to his friends. 

He wiped the water from his face, but his smile faded when he saw the horror on their tiny faces, then he spotted his mother—her expression filled with terror as she screamed. He suddenly felt a sharp stabbing pain as enormous, sharp teeth sank into his shoulder. He opened his mouth to scream, but the force of the water sealed it, and he watched the sun turn muddy as his attacker dragged him down to the river’s floor. 

A chill run through his bones as the current took hold of him, with the creature thrashing him from side to side as he felt his strength ebbing. The violent motions finally ceased, and every movement became a struggle, his captured arm feeling numb. Pressure built in his stomach, spreading until it felt like his chest was on fire from the lack of air. Instinctively, he craved a breath, but he knew that taking one would mean drowning. Panic surged within him, and he began to flail wildly. 

Realising that the boy was still alive, the animal rolled on the river floor, turning him round and round with its tight, clenched teeth. Mwelwa could feel his life fading as he looked at the water turning red and knew it was his blood. He turned to look at his captor and saw its emptiness in its dark eyes; the soulless existence of a nature’s creature that did not care he was a little boy. At that moment, he sensed the crocodile's message resonating in his mind, as if a sage said, “I am the ruler of this river; you are at my mercy.”

  His gaze wandered to the gentle weeds swaying in the current and a school of fish gliding past, blissfully unaware of his plight. He looked up toward the surface which seemed so far away, a glimmer of light beyond his reach. His vision became blurry, but he still heard his mother’s scream. Her beautiful voice then turned into a nightmare because it was all he could hear despite what he was experiencing. He imagined her heartbreak. 

Quickly, he turned his face to his captor one last time and saw its large, dark eye staring back at him—cold and unyielding. Gathering all his courage, Mwelwa clenched his left fist and struck the crocodile’s eye with all his might. The creature thrashed in the water, creating swirling clouds of mud that obscured his vision, but he remained focused on its weakness. Mwelwa continued to throw repeated punches, even when the murky water swallowed him. 

He heard his mother scream once more, a sound filled with fear that echoed in his heart and mind. With a surge of adrenaline, he reached for the creature’s eye again, pushing his thumb deep into it. With a startled jerk, the crocodile released him, and Mwelwa felt himself floating toward the surface. When his head finally broke through the water, the first breath he took was sharp and searing, burning his throat and chest. He coughed violently, expelling the water that had invaded his lungs, desperate for air. 

The villagers, who had gathered on the riverbank, rushed to him, pulling him out of the water quickly before the creature came back for its second attempt to catch its prey. They cradled him and quickly carried him to the riverbank then rushed him to the traditional healer. They all waited to hear what the healer would say, whether the Sub-chief’s son would survive his ordeal. Days passed, Mwelwa’s young body constantly shaking in a feverish haze—drifting in and out of consciousness, seeming weak and vulnerable. Each day felt like a battle as he fought against the convulsions that had taken hold of him. 

When Ngo sat beside Mwelwa’s bed mat, he felt a wave of gratitude that his cousin, who was like a brother to him, was still alive. He gently wiped the cold sweat from Mwelwa’s forehead with a damp cloth, his heart heavy with concern. 

“You shouldn’t have dived into the water that day,” Ngo whispered, his voice trembling. 

Mwelwa, still weak and pale, shook his head slowly. With great effort, he responded in a laboured tone; 

“No! That crocodile shouldn’t have come into my waters. Now, I have a debt to collect.” 

Ngo smiled, feeling reassured that his cousin and closest friend would be alright even without him. On the morning of their departure, the Sub-chief escorted his brother and his nephew to their boat on the Mwambwa River. Chipu, who had gone with them, took Ngo to the side and reassured him. 

“You will be happy on Chilubi Island, and your brother Mwelwa will recover quickly,” he said.

Ngo nodded slowly and said; “Grandfather Chipu, do me a favour, please use your wisdom to take care of Mwelwa.” 

“Your brother will be fine. The scars may remain but he will forget that terrible day and move on,” Chipu said. 

But Ngo had other thoughts: “That's not true. He will seek vengeance until he gets it,” he said. 

Chipu stopped smiling at the realisation of Ngo’s words. 

As he bade farewell to his uncle, the Sub-chief, and prepared to leave for Chilubi Island with his father, Ngo felt a sense of relief. He got into the banana boat and began their long journey across the river channels. Chipu stood silently, watching father and son leave on the small wooden boat that was being peddled across the river. The Sub-chief stood beside him, looking on with sadness. 

“Mwelwa will be devastated without his brother,” the Sub-chief said. 

“You should ban Mwelwa from the river. Keep him out of the water until your men kill that crocodile. I hope you succeed because if you don't, Mwelwa will seek the beast himself,” Chipu suggested. 

The sub-chief appeared surprised and chuckled lightly. 

“My son is not that vengeful. Besides, he’s just a little boy. I can’t imagine him wanting to fight an animal four times his size.” 

Chipu leaned forward; his expression was rather grave. 

“Have you forgotten what Mwelwa always says about swimming in the river?” 

The Sub-chief nodded. 

“No, he says he feels calm and free when he’s in the water.” 

“Exactly,” Chipu replied, his voice steady. “Now, Kanabesa, imagine how a man feels when his freedom is taken away and defeated in a battle that leaves him with scars—both on his body and in his pride.” 

“Mwelwa is not a man; he is still just a boy,” the Subchief insisted, the concern expressed on his face. 

“True, but that boy was grabbed by the crocodile. By the time he escaped its jaws, he had to confront his fears that will shape him into a man,” Chipu stated firmly. 

The Sub-chief paused, taken aback by Chipu’s words. He considered the weight of the situation, knowing the crocodile that had attacked Mwelwa was fully grown and dangerous. A sense of dread settled in his heart as he realised the challenge ahead. 

“It will take time to hunt and kill that beast,” the sub-chief said contemplatively, his voice low. 

He silently hoped his men would capture and kill the crocodile before the next harvest celebrations, fearing what might happen if they didn’t. 

“Kill the crocodile quickly,” Chipu urged him, worry evident in his eyes, “otherwise, Mwelwa, your only son, will try to do it himself.” 

The villagers trembled in fear when they heard what had happened to Mwelwa. There was something dangerous lurking in the waters of the Luswa River, and according to the people who had seen it, the animal was huge. They had heard about crocodiles from people who had travelled out, but they did not imagine how big the animals were. As the animal terrorised the villagers who went close to the river, the frightening and ferocious animal gained a name. It was called ‘The Crocodile of Luswa River’. 

Three weeks after the attack, Mwelwa woke up feeling better. He got out of his wrap-cloth and stared at the healing wounds on his arm. He sneaked out of the village and walked down to the river in the early morning sun. He nervously found himself standing alone by the riverbank with his gaze fixed on the water’s glistening surface before him. The river appeared deceptively calm and peaceful from a distance, but Mwelwa knew better than to trust its tranquil facade. 

Seven days ago, as he lay sick in his mother’s hut, he had heard terrifying tales about other people who had fallen victim to the crocodile. His fears were further confirmed when two fishermen went missing and their lifeless remains were discovered two days later on a tiny mud-flat in the middle of the river. The gruesome discovery had sent shivers throughout the village, and Mwelwa understood the danger hidden beneath the seemingly calm waters. 

As he looked intently at the waters, he suddenly noticed a pair of beastly eyes glaring back at him from a small cluster of trees perched above the water’s edge. He quickly realised that the eyes belonged to the crocodile—the same reptile that had sunk its razor-sharp teeth deep into his flesh, leaving him writhing in agony. A chill ran down his spine at the very thought of it, but he summoned all his courage and loudly yelled; 

“You made the first mistake; you hurt me, and I strongly wish to return the favour.” 

The crocodile’s eyes remained fixated on the young boy, its pupils constricting in anticipation to strike at any moment should he approach any closer. 

“This is not your territory, Crocodile of Luswa River; it's mine!” Mwelwa exclaimed, determined to assert his dominance over the creature. 

He stood still when he watched the massive crocodile hiss and slowly submerge into the water. Although he felt a sense of fear creeping up, he also felt a jolt of confidence. He knew that he was not yet strong enough to face the new ruler of the river, but he was determined to grow taller and stronger. With fierce resolve burning inside him, he vowed to himself that one day he would return to claim the waters that rightfully belonged to him.

The attack on the little boy was the first of many that would follow. People presumed the crocodile arrived on the day it attacked Mwelwa, but what the villagers did not know was that, many nights before, it had migrated from the waters in the Lubemba Kingdom to the rivers on higher ground. It had marked its new territory that had many fish, and spent days watching the humans swim in the fresh waters. 

Passing the age of twenty, the crocodile had a fully developed tough skin composed of many plates and scales that blended with the waters’ surroundings, making it even more challenging for anyone to spot it. The crocodile’s eyes, ears, and nostrils were on top of the head, allowing it to see, hear, and breathe while being entirely hidden in the river water. Its elongated snout enabled it to move swiftly and silently with its massive, long, and powerful tail. 

The animal was a perfectly created, natural killing machine, whose form and patience helped catch the little boy. It had been watching the young lad swim in the waters daily, and seemed to swim faster than most of the fish. It had waited patiently to announce its presence, and on that day, it chose to attack. What it never expected was for the little boy to fight back and escape its powerful jaws. And after that day, the crocodile let no other prey elude it again. 

Having the perfect skill of adaptability to its prey, the little boy’s quick and intelligent movements helped prepare the crocodile for its next victim. One morning, a father and his son were getting the fish baskets they had placed in the river the day before. The crocodile had been seeing the dual for many days, and could easily predict the steps the man took to get his fishing baskets out. He would pull on the string to feel if it was heavy, and then reach out to get the basket out of the water. 

The sky above was dark with nimbus clouds, and as the fisherman reached for the last basket, the crocodile, lurking just beneath the surface, seized its opportunity. With lightning speed, its powerful jaws closed around the man’s torso, dragging him forcefully into the murky depths of the river. The son, horrified and helpless, watched in disbelief as his father disappeared beneath the churning water. The sky rumbled threatningly overhead, mirroring the turmoil and chaos unfolding on the river. 

The once familiar routine of fishing had turned into a harrowing struggle for survival. The boy’s shouts for help echoed unanswered across the deserted river. Suddenly, the crocodile resurfaced and dragged the man through the water, unconcerned by its violent display. 

“Ba Tata!” the little boy shouted while holding out his little hand for his father to grab. 

The severely injured man tried to fight the crocodile off, but then it sunk into the water and subdued him in a powerful twist. As the river’s surface turned calm again, a heavy downpour fell from the sky. It felt like the sky was shedding tears along with the little boy. The air was filled with the child’s mournful sounds. The rain continued to pour mercilessly, and the boy instinctively curled up in the middle of the boat. As soon as he heard the sound of thunder, his body tensed up in fear, and he huddled even closer to himself as if hoping to disappear from the world. When the second loud noise of thunder rang out, it brought back memories of his father’s passing. The shock of it all seemed to freeze his mind, leaving his eyes wide open in shock. 

Upon receiving news of the fisherman’s disappearance, the Sub-chief immediately dispatched a search party to find the missing man and his son. After several hours of searching, the party eventually discovered the young boy in the boat floating on the river, completely disoriented and unable to speak. Despite their best efforts to communicate with him, the boy remained completely silent, and it soon became clear that he had been traumatised by the events he had witnessed. 

As they continued searching the river, the party stumbled upon the fisherman’s remains tangled in some weeds near the riverbank. It was a tragic sight, and it soon became clear that the young boy had witnessed something truly horrific. Despite the tireless efforts of the villagers to bring back the boy’s voice, he remained mute for the rest of his life, haunted by the memory of the fateful day when the Crocodile of Luswa River unleashed its deadly attack on his father. 

The Crocodile of Luswa River had conquered its new territory and became the undisputed ruler. It had instilled fear not only in the river but also by the riverbanks and mud-flats. During the cold season, the crocodile would bask in the sun on a mud-flat, its jaws open to cool off if the sun got too hot. When the floods came, it would swim to the side and watch its prey from a safe distance, and as the years went by, it enjoyed a variety of food in its area, feasting on fish and wild animals, as well as domesticated animals and their hapless human owners who dared to venture too close to the water’s edge.