The Unclosed Windows of the Past

Darius walked down the stairs of his hostel in a noticeable disturbed mood at about 8 am Saturday morning.

‘Good morning Darius,” his course mate Sylvester greeted him. “Going out to begin the weekend but why in such a mood, what’s up guy?”

“Hey Silver, morning?” replied Darius. “Let me show you something man, come on in,” beckoning Sylvester and they walked back into Darius’ room.

“Hi man, hear is a photograph of my late great grandfather and his two brothers in a tobacco garden,” said Darius, giving the photo to Sylvester.

“Hey guy. What a resemblance, triplets one would think,” chipped in Sylvester as he studied the old fashioned black-and-white photo.

“That is exactly what causes me sleepless nights,” replied Darius with his mood dropping lower. “That triplet issue you have observed, everybody else in that lineage has those features on the three brothers except all the descendants of my great grandfather. That man in the photo with the raised hoe.” Darius said these words with tears welling up in his eyes. “How I wish I could solve this mystery one day.”

“Man, never keep tossing and turning over this issue?” Sylvester advised. “The explanation could be that the genes of your great grandfather have remained recessive in you people. It might resurface in later generations.”

“You have gone to genetics,” Darius replied. “I will not disagree with you but my problem is why only recessive along the line of a particular woman, perhaps an unclosed window of the past? I think it will be resolved one day.”

Later in the afternoon, the two medical students went to Makerere University main campus to join their friends to bum around over the weekend.

“Darius, my uncle gave a call and asked me to meet him,” said David one of their friends. “I suggest we could walk down there together.”

“Where could that be?” asked Sylvester.

“He is down at Nankulabye,” he answered.

“I hope that means going to ‘NICODEMUS’.” Darius added.

“Exactly that,” answered David.

This generated a long laughter from all because Nicodemus is the most popular pork joint around there.

Back at home in Maracha, the father of Darius called Nduatre Charles and two of his male cousins paid a visit to their ageing aunt who was sick and admitted in Maracha Hospital. This lady called Drakuru was the oldest woman alive in the generation of Nduatre’s father and a real information box treasured by many.

“Good morning auntie, how was the night?” Nduatre greeted her.

“Hey, you are welcome the sons of my brothers.” She replied turning in her bed. “You have come to see the remains of the old woman. Thank you so much. But today I am much better than the last few days.” She then sat at the edge of the bed.

“Drakuru, I can see that you have greatly improved compared to the last time I was here.” Okuyo, Nduatre’s cousin complemented. “I pray that you improve, get discharged and we go home for our old stories.”

“That is everybody’s prayer,” said Amati, the son of the last born of the mother of Drakuru. “Like me, I just grew up listening to her stories and I love her stories. They are endless!”

“He.. he.. he.. he.. young man ,I never knew that,” she replied, laughing heartily and coughing.

The three men spent over an hour with their big auntie in the hospital. They kept reminding themselves of the days when they were young and doing plenty of work in the tobacco gardens of their fathers. They then got out of the hospital and walked slowly back home.

“You remember the other musungu called Paco, from Jamaica who was always taking photographs,” Okuyo reminded them. “For him he would stand in one place and take photographs, not like our village photographer.”

“Are you talking about Aloro?” Nduatre asked.

They all started laughing and imitating how that photographer would move forwards, backwards and sideways to focus and take a photo. They decided to visit a small village bar for some alcohol drink.

“Let us have one for the road before going back home,” Okuyo suggested.

“You are right,” Nduatre agreed with him. “We are not women to reach home this early.”

They then moved to the bar and took their seats under a mango tree in front of the bar where they had a clear view of the surroundings. Because it was still about 4pm, there were still very few revellers.

“Hey Andama, do you have Tyson Gin?” asked Nduatre.

“Plenty of it,” the bartender replied.

“Give me Cock Gin,” ordered Okuyo.

“And I will take Romis Wine,” said Amati.

They settled down to drink their favourite drinks and began telling stories.

“Last weekend, I visited Ocogoa in Ombadri,” said Amati. “As I was coming back, he accompanied me up to Ovujo and we sat down to have a drink at Gloria Pub.”

“You have started your usual stories full of lies.” Okuyo chipped in with a smile.

“Let him talk,” Nduatre put in. “If he is creative, what is wrong with that? Go on.”

“Yes, just as we settled down to drink, a man came and asked us a question in English which sent everybody laughing with tears.”

“What was the question?” Okuyo queried attentively. He knew something funny was in the offing.

“Let me say the words exactly as he said them,” Amati said. While the others were keenly expecting, words were not coming out. He shook his head and continued. “This is how he put the question:

‘Have you people seen my pork and its children passing here?’

I tell you the laughter was beyond. People were wondering how meat could produce children.”

This generated endless laughter among the three brothers to the extent of attracting the attention of the bartender and other revellers.

As the men killed time, the number of revellers started increasing with the setting sun. There was some elderly woman who sat at the apron of the bar a few meters away from these brothers. Without them noticing, she kept observing them very keenly for all the time she had been there. Finally, she decided to talk to them.

“Good evening gentlemen,” she greeted them.

“Good evening Madame,” they replied in unison, looking attentively at the stranger.

“I am sorry for interfering with your nice stay. I am called Ozogoru from the clan of Mite Moro down there at Okokoro Trading Centre.” She introduced herself.

“Please Mama, don’t worry,” replied Nduatre.

“Fine,” she continued pointing at Nduatre. “ I think I know where you come from. Are you not the grandson of Dranimva in the clan of Lamila Pio next to us there?”

The men laughed heartily clapping their hands at what they considered to be a total mistaken identity. The distance between their village and the villages this woman was mentioning was over 20km. They even had never been to those villages and knew no one from there.

“Madame, we are from Buramali Clan just about 2km from here,” said Okuyo. “May be you saw someone else, not him.”

“I am sorry, but even unrelated people resemble,” she answered. “May be because all of us are created in the image of the Almighty God. But one day you will meet Dranimva’s son called Anguaku and you will think he is your father. Goodbye.” She then went off.

One thing the others did not realise was that when they were laughing, Nduatre was not. The issue of him not resembling anybody among his late grandfather and the brothers was not new in his ears. It had become so disturbing for him that he started asking questions about his lineage within himself.

 “I think let us pay this man and we get back home. It is already dark,” suggested Amati.

“It’s fine,” Okuyo agreed. “Andama, bring our bill we are leaving now.”

Nduatre’s cell phone rang and he stood up.

“Let me answer this call from my son in Makerere University,” Nduatre said as he moved aside.

“Is there no network here, why are you moving away?” Okuyo teased him.

The phone call was fairly long and the other two became a bit uneasy and started grumbling.

“Are Nduatre and his son planning to overthrow the government?” Amati asked. “The call is abnormally long.”

“You are right, but let them talk,” Okuyo added. “Remember they only meet twice in a year.”

“Darius was telling me about an old photograph of our grandfather,” Nduatre told them. “He was telling how the three brothers looked like triplets and how all of you resemble them except us the children of Afimani. The issue is disturbing him and remember just a few minutes ago that old woman also raised a similar concern. I know not what to do next. But he also told me that he is coming home for his end of semester recess very soon.” As he concluded, he was visibly disturbed.

“Why do you disturb yourself about the issue of resemblance?” Amati asked. “Last year when I was in Jinja, there came an Acholi woman who said I was the son of her sister who is married to a man in Pader District. Should that also disturb me? I even have no idea of where Pader is apart from knowing that it is a Ugandan District in the Acholi Sub-region. I think let us just go home.”

Drakuru then fell sick again and the situation looked a lot more precarious than before. She had been admitted twice and the doctors could not help her much. After the second discharge from hospital in a spell of three weeks, she was to be taken again but this time she refused anything to do with going to hospital.

“She has now rejected medical care, what shall we do?” Darius questioned.

“I am equally confused,” replied Drakuru’s son Nicholas. “Yesterday she reached a level of talking to unseen persons, mentioning the names of the dead until she was in a state of comma for nearly thirty minutes. For us we knew she had died, only to hear her complaining again aloud.”

At that moment, a lady came out from the room where the sick woman was with tears rolling down the face.

“What is it auntie?” Nicholas asked.

“I think she’s dead.” She replied. “Come and see for yourself.”

They briskly followed her into the hut. As soon as the two young men entered, the sick woman groaned, sat up and beckoned the two to come forward and they did.

“Go and call for me three people out there.” She said aloud. “Get for me Ocatre, Esuma and Ecabo quickly.”

The two young men got out, jumped onto two different motorcycles and rushed off to Drakuru’s ancestral home to bring the three mentioned brothers. Luckily enough, the trio had prepared and were just setting off to the same destination. They immediately sat on the motorcycles and shortly, they were with their ailing sister.

“My brothers, you are welcome,” said the sick woman. “My time has come, but I am failing to go because of a reason I know. I know it alone; others who knew have gone ahead of me.”

“My sister you tell us please,” pleaded Esuma.

“As you suffer in your pain, we also feel it.” Ocatre affirmed.

“Give three days for all the children of Okupariyo my grandfather to come home from where they are and take me home to my father’s grave.” The sick woman said firmly. “I will tell you what has blocked me from joining my ancestors in the presence of a priest. Thereafter, bury me next to my father.”

An ambulance from Maracha Hospital took Drakuru to her ancestral home to wait for the gathering of her siblings and their descendants. Okupariyo’s whole family were then mobilised and soon, all those who were able to come were gathered to wait for the message.

On the fourth day, Father Denis Yosa, the parish priest of Oleba parish came and all was set for the confession of Drakuru. Since she had requested for a public confession and because the family was big, a bed was prepared for Drakuru under a mango tree next to the seat for the priest. She was then supported to take her position. Thereafter, the priest came and everybody stood up.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,” said the Father.

“Amen,” replied the congregation, as they made the sign of the cross.

“Father in Heaven, we are gathered here to listen to your message that you would like to reveal to us through your daughter Christine Drakuru. We ask you to take control of the situation as we listen. Send Your Holy Spirit to be with us and guide us through. I ask all this through Christ our Lord.”He ended.

“Amen,” replied the people.

“Christine, with the help of the Holy Spirit I now ask you to confess what you have called us for.” Father asked Drakuru to begin.

“All that I am going to say, I will do with the guidance of the Holy Spirit and in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,” she began as she made the sign of the cross. “Let me show you The Unclosed Windows of the Past today so that I am free to join those who have gone ahead of me in eternity in the name of my Lord Jesus Christ.” She said this with hands raised up.

“My grandfather was called Okupariyo and did not receive baptism in Christ.” Drakuru began her story. “He produced many children but I will limit myself to his three sons. I am going to begin from the tail. The third and last boy of my grandfather was Ariaka Polycarpo,” Drakuru went on. “For him he was baptized during his youth, he then got married and wedded in church at Ediofe Cathedral in Arua Town. I now ask all those children to come to my right hand.” They immediately responded.  

“The eldest son of my grandfather was called Angupale Gregorio.” Drakuru went on. “He was baptized at old age and this was my father. Let me ask all those who are along that line to come to my left. All the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren of Angupale please move to my left.” All the children of that family moved as they were asked to do.

“The second child of my grandfather was called Afimani.” Drakuru continued. “For him he refused to be baptized. He married three times. The first wife was Emvikia and two years down the road, no child. They could not continue. She went back to their home. The second wife was Buleru. Similarly for more than one year, no child. The relationship ended.” She paused a bit and stretched herself.

“Afimani married the third wife called Okudeyo.” She resumed. “In the fourth month of the second year, Okudeyo gave birth to a baby girl. By this time, I was already able to cook food. More than one year later, this lady gave birth to a second girl. My uncle was already a very happy man because he was now in the club of fathers for the second time after a long time. Traditionally our people treasured child birth more than anything else.” Drakuru paused a bit and looked a little uncomfortable. “All the children, grandchildren and the great grandchildren of Afimani move to the centre here. He was the middle child.” They all moved as directed.

 “Two weeks after the birth of the second girl,” Drakuru resumed, “Okudeyo’s mother visited her. She came with chicken, dry meat, groundnut paste, sugar and many other gifts for the new born baby. After the visitor had greeted all the people on the compound, Okudeyo ushered her into the house and they sat on stools right at the doorway and began talking ear to ear. Oblivious of the fact that I was actually inside the house and in the next room, they shared what I would call an enigma.”

At this point, Drakuru now raised her legs onto the bed. She got the bed sheet and covered herself from the her toes to the chest then continued.

“My dear family members of Okupariyo alive today and all the rest in generations to come, this is your history which you should live to tell your descendants. Now let me tell you the simple secret in the exact words I heard as a small girl. Okudeyo said this to her mother:

‘Mama, this husband of mine is infertile. When I was new here and realised that I was ready for conception, I pretended to go home. I sneaked to Dranimva of Lamila Pio that former boyfriend of mine. He took me to Arua and we slept together for a week. Then I came back pregnant.’

‘Eh...eh.. my daughter, is that true,’ the mother inquired.

‘Yes mama, the second time, I did the same and this is how I will continue with the rest. This is how we have agreed with Dranimva. I will make sure that my husband does not know. I will keep pleasing him with children who are not his.’

‘My daughter, you are very bright, but let no one, no one, no one, no one know about it.’ The mother confided in her.

‘Shh...shh...shh,’Okudeyo silenced her mother with hands on the lips.

At this point a goat came running and they thought it was a human being. Okudeyo left the mother, went into the inner room and found me. She was shocked to her bone marrows and later on made me swear not to talk to anybody about what I had heard, lest she would kill me. So my brothers and sisters of the house of Afimani, you don’t belong to Buramali but you belong to Dranimva of Lamila Pio. Father please anoint me for my final journey...."

She went silent and departed from the Earth.