The chosen Key

“You must know that you carry the keys to this forest. The key is a human being not yet born, not yet conceived,” the old woman seated on a stool says after noisily blowing the thin tea she has been offered. She is holding a mug with her bony fingers, elbows resting on her thighs. The man and his wife watch her in disbelief. Perplexed, they had welcomed this alien creature earlier when she knocked at their door, walking in the rain when the red sun was setting as it formed a rainbow which ran across the sky touching two horizons like a bow. Never has such a strange natural phenomenon occurred in the Bustani forest. She gives a small shy smile revealing a perfect set of pearl teeth.

“Woman, you have the key in your loins. You are so pure and fresh from living and working in Bustani forest; a forest of a thousand rainbows at sunset, nights of fresh moonlight, and darkness one can touch. You breathe plenty of oxygen than all humans. Your mind is uncorrupted and freed from weird thoughts of survival. You wake up every morning with a mission to till the earth for food as you plant more trees where loggers have left their fingerprints. You are the chosen one”, she says turning to the man who is mystified by these tidings wishing that such praises were his.

“You have the seed to the key. You are the father of the guard who will make sure that this forest is untouched; that its virgin land is not cultivated and impoverished, or buildings planted by man for his own financial gains. This land is the living thing that breaths life in this country. Streams flow from her ice-capped mountain replenishing the earth, quenching the vegetation and humans’ throats and their animals and sadly, their industrial activities. Finally, these same streams form rivers, and these rivers meander forming deltas where human grow their food before they flow into the sea to manufacture more oxygen”, she sighs as if in pain and swallows her tea hard. They even hear it go down her throat which is tucked inside a hard-pressed wrinkled neck. She continues but this time with more gestures.  

“The rain my son…. the rain is made here…..here in this forest. We have to redeem her from the corrupt generations that are coming. I foresee a time when the world will not care. I see big concrete pipes where people live recklessly without caring about the earth that feeds them. No garden! No parks to rejuvenate their minds for greed will have pushed them to their limit. Pure ignorance will see them cut boughs while sitting on them …. if you know what I mean”, says she, looking at the man who is becoming unsettled by her prophecy.

She gives the man and wife time to ask her questions but they are so shaken and terrified but she understands. They are looking at her back and forth, at each other wondering where she came from. She is a skeleton resembling an old fig tree they have a few yards from their cottage. Her threadbare floral dress has seen many decades while its patterns disappear behind a layer of thick ochre. 

“What will the key do?” asks the woman realizing that she has a tale to tell in case this soothsayer is talking sense.

“She will be the ambassador of nature, a human rights activist and women advocate. She will stand against mighty kings and queens, wrestling with them in the forest, receiving significant injuries but she must not be bowed down. In courts, she will appear with facts and maps of the world clearly showing this green heritage zone but the prejudiced judges will dismiss her cases with costs to please their king. Nevertheless, she should not worry because she is the chosen key that will lock out these narcissists out.”

“She?!” asks the man disappointed by the gender of the key. The old woman chuckles loudly, irritating the man who puts his cup of tea down in protest. 

“Yes son! You heard me right. The key will be a woman and she will be more powerful than a thousand men put together. She will scream out loudest and her cries will be heard overseas. Which man can shout like her?” the old woman laughs again as if to mock him and moves her cold buttress-looking feet caked with brown ochre near the fire. The fire immediately turns them into gold upon which strong luminous flames are reflected. The golden feet fan the fire and flames dance wildly producing sparks that rest on both the man and his wife before bouncing back and disappearing into the hearth. They look at each other bewildered by this magic spell. She clears her throat and continues.

“She will be crowned like a princess and a guard of honor will be passed out in different corners of the world during her visits, meeting powerful men and women. Statues will be put up all over the world in her recognition but sadly, none will stand here until her ashes are sprinkled by the Bathi waterfalls.”

“What shall I call her?” asks the woman who has finally recovered from shock as if the sparks have taken her plight away.

“Call her anything my daughter. Name her according to our customs. Her names will have nothing to do with her role for she is the chosen key. She will eventually decide what names suit her in the international circles. And when she chooses it, no one will take it away from her because that will be her brand, her trademark ingrained in golden letters in this forest. She will be as hard as steel. Her eyes will sparkle like two diamonds resting perfectly on her ebony high cheekbones. She will radiate different smiles; of agony, of power, of humility, of joy, of happiness, of peace, and of love. She will wear green from head to toe and her garments will be made from cotton for she will shun any artificially made substance that spoils the environment”, says the old woman as she stops and sips more tea noisily. 

“When will she begin her work?” asks the wife in a broken voice. 

“I cannot tell you everything but all I know is that she will grow just like any other girl; fetching water and firewood, going to school until a time when she will be taken by the international world. She will never be your daughter again for the world will be hers. She will also fight for humanity and equal rights for women. She will at one time enter the ruling chambers of this country but women….women whom she will have fought so hard to uplift, will let her down by not recognizing that she is their chosen liberating vessel from oppressive cultures”, she chuckles once more and continues.

“They were right when they said a prophet is never accepted in his own town, didn’t they? However, she will be destined for bigger tasks than a ruler of her country”, the woman says before a fit of endless cough engulfs her. When she regains her calmness, the man asks.

“Will there be no men?” her musical laughter provokes the man again forcing him to stand but some mysterious powers have paralyzed his legs. 

“Son, listen to the voice in your heart. Had you been by the burning bush listening to a thunderclap, you wouldn’t lift your hefty body. Instead, with awe and fear, you would supplicate. But because a filthy-looking old woman is talking to you, you protest and want to leave. Don’t you remember how fast you reacted when I said the key will be a woman? I must warn you because I am not of this world. I am a higher deity to be belittled like that”, she reprimands. In an instance her pupils turn into two live coals from which blue flames dance, forming two balls striking the man’s face catching him unaware terrifying him enough to scream as they disappear into his sockets.

“I am sorry mama…so sorry”, says the man, looking confused his hair turning into spikes, standing erect.

“The key will also be reminded of her place so many times during her struggles. Women then will be more than men for most men will have perished in the war during her youth”, she stops and takes another sip giving the man another opportunity. 

“War!” asks the man trembling. 

“Yes son. War will come and you must fight for this noble cause. You might not see all the stages of the key”, she says, taking another cup of tea that she has requested with gestures. 

“Freedom must be acquired first to free us from these oppressive rulers. Don’t they bother you when they demand your city entry permit? The city situated in your country whereby, by birthright, you should roam freely! Don’t you?”

“It does for sure. It so much does”, answers the man feeling more energetic. He sees injustice he never saw before; Segregation, oppression, slavery, injustice, and cruelty. He remembers how he was shoved by a guard a week before for not producing his permit on time. Furry overcomes him. The woman, contented by the awareness she has created in him continues.

“I have equipped and prepared you with bravely enough to become a centurion. You might not be there to witness many things but you will have accomplished your mission. I have to go”, she says and as she closes her eyes, cracks form around her as the hearth closes in, swallowing her leaving no trace of a fault line.

“Let’s go to sleep Asante. I don’t know whether what we have witnessed is true but if it is, it is time to make the prophecy come true”, says the man to his wife who is still awe-stricken and afraid to move from her three-legged stool. 

                                                       *******

“I have always told you about the old woman your late father and I saw but every time, you say that we saw nothing; that it was a psychological problem that might have emanated from isolation. She prophesied on the night you were conceived”, says Asante to her daughter Zahara when she pays her a hospital visit. Beside her are her two shaken grandchildren in their youth worried to see their mother bandaged face concealing her left eye and a sling that keeps her broken arm in place. 

“Mother”, she smiles. How can you tell when conception is taking place unless you are an embryos scientist? You took me to school and I became a scientist. I believe in facts. Apparitions and superstitions are not my things. I am so sorry mother for I always hurt your feelings whenever you bring out this topic”, says she. Before her mother answers, she gives her a hug, worried that her disturbed state of mind over her torture is repeatedly rewinding images in her brain. Over her shoulders, she whispers to her but loud enough to be heard by her children who are keenly listening to the prophecy being revealed to them for the first time. 

“It is true my child. I am not out of my mind. You will overcome this because foreign powers will be behind you soon. There will be demonstrations everywhere demanding your release. You shall be set free and you will continue with your Kijani Movement. You will be a great woman because you have the key that locks the gates of Bustani forest. You are scaring the leaders right now and even after you win these battles, they will not recognize you but you shouldn’t worry because you are a child of the world. Your statues will mushroom everywhere in every garden of every state that you shall pay a visit after your detractors are defeated. Think my daughter. Think. Think, and ask yourself why as a woman you won a scholarship to study in a world never travelled by any woman of your time. Customs overlooked the woman’s place. Why?” says Zahara’s mother while still stuck in her embrace.

“Time’s up!” shouts the military hospital matron who is stalking the family to eavesdrop but very frustrated not to have heard a word. Hell-bent to deny them more time, she separates their union. And as soon as they realize this, they all quickly embrace in a group, crying. Soon, they are escorted out of Gerezani hospital gate with high walls trimmed with laser wires.

“What you said was strange. Did you see anything like that grandma? Was it an apparition? Walk us through this please”, the eldest grandchild asks once they are out of sight.

“It is true my child. Before your mother was born, this happened and I was skeptical until she started her Kijani movement of planting trees and creating awareness of environmental degradation and human rights. When she was almost beaten to death last month, I knew that I had a duty to encourage her that she is going through a phase in her journey to victory and enthronement. She will be a great woman when she comes out of this muddled situation. Like furnace fire that purifies gold, she will capture the world and leave indelible marks. States all over the world will curve her statues during her lifetime and thereafter, but it will not be until she is gone that they will curve one on the garden that she is being tortured for. She is the chosen one, carrying the key to the environment protection of this paradise.”

They finally get to her grandson’s car where she narrates all the happenings of the prophecy night from the beautiful sunset to the disappearance of the old woman. They take her to their home for an overnight stay but the following morning she blatantly reminds them matter-of-factly. 

“I cannot stand this chaotic well lit noisy city for another night where pollution from industries and cars and corruption and humans and injustice dominates the air. I must go where nightingale sings as the moonlight shines her light to light the night. I have to go where the ground is as soft as wool, where the naked feet walk the walk; where stillness attracts apparitions foretelling stories happening now, where Bathi waterfalls form a thousand rainbows when the red sun sets behind Mount Motomoto across the Bustani forest, sending animals out for hunting.” 

“Let me take you to bed grandma where you can rest before your journey this afternoon”, says the younger grandchild who leads her to a bedroom overlooking a park where urban birds are chirping. She peers out of the window and is fascinated by the vastness of the Jiji park her daughter is fighting to save. She cannot even see its horizon. Mesmerized by what she sees, her heart melts and a radiant smile like Zahara’s brightens her face. Facing her grandchild, she sheds tears of joy. 

“So this is what your mama is fighting for? The prophecy is being fulfilled before my own eyes. I wish your grandpa lived to see all this but they killed him during the liberation struggles which set us free from the bondage of colonialism. He was a warrior who fought for the common good, just like your mother is doing now. Take me home now my son. It’s time to go.” 

                                            **********

“Mama, do you remember that day in the hospital when grandma said that you would become a queen? I wish she was here to see all this. Look mama how the world has made you a victor after overcoming trials and tribulations. Look, mama. Look. Just like grandma said, the world has already crowned you with her highest medal that no woman has ever held in this continent, the Nobel Peace Prize. Look mama the authority you are about to receive now…….”. 

“Shh! son, science is based on facts. Science liberates you from ignorance. Let's listen to what The Secretary General of the United Nation has to say.”

 “Professor Zahara Baraka, I declare you the ‘Umoja wa Mataifa’ ambassador of peace with a specific focus on environmental and climate change”, declares Peter Rocks. The two children embrace their mother before she steps out to receive and sign the declaration. In this sweet embrace with the audience cheering in high spirits, the daughter looks at the mother in the eye, tearing and says, “Mama, statues will follow you wherever you go. I believe in the prophecy now!”

“This cannot be scientifically proved, my daughter. Nothing like that happened. I did it. I worked so hard for it. How I wish I could have had more time with the two of you my children when you were growing up!”

“Don’t worry mama. You were meant for the world. Leaders like you are shared, mama. Go mama go. Go get your crown”, says her daughter followed by thunderclaps from the audience and a standing ovation as she walks down the aisle, her eyes sparkling on her ebony face. Her rosebud lips form different smiles as they get captured by cameras clicking like powerful machine guns held by photojournalists drawn from all over the world.