Tumia

“What will you do with my attention if I give it to you? What words are you going to speak?” Charlotte thought to herself. He was a big man. African Height. Big body and muscles. It seemed like the universe just brought big men into her life. She had grown up in a world of men. She knew little about women. She looked at him intently and stared into his eyes. He never looked at her while speaking. But when she spoke, he would look at her and smile. He had a very beautiful smile. Somehow it sounded like everything he said seemed rehearsed. Like he had been waiting for this moment. But the words he spoke, just made her hate him. For a man his size, that was improper language. She wondered, what had prompted him to talk that way? Her beauty had been both a curse and a blessing in her life. It seemed like it attracted all the kind of people she had no intention of attracting. Charlotte had come to visit her hometown for the first time in fifteen years. She had gotten lost a couple of times, but eventually, she found her way. Her grandmother looked the same. She hadn’t changed a bit. It is like she didn’t age. Trust me, she had hit almost 100 years. No one actually knew her real age. At the time of her birth, there were no records to indicate your time of birth, there were only seasons. And her grandmother had been born during the season of the big rain. Her grandmother had always told her stories about her time. She loved them. The way she described her society to her. It made her wish to have been born at that time. When men were men and women were women.

“krrr! Krrr!” he looked at his phone. From his look, charlotte could tell that it was important. He needed to pick it. Charlotte thanked the heavens for the phone call because she was wondering how to leave him. He mumbled something and charlotte left. She had visited the town during market day, and she was amazed at how buzzing with activity the town was. It was where the farmers met to exchange their goods. Considering how the world had changed, the place looked the same. A few things had changed, but it was as she remembered when she was little. It was time to go back home now. She hated how hard it was to please her. She found a fault at everything. When she got home, she found grandma lighting the fire. It was almost 7pm. Although electricity had made its way to the village, the fire was still a part of the community. It was a symbol. It connected the people. She helped her grandmother with the fire, and she cooked some meat. Her father had insistently told her, that her grandmother loved meat. She loved meat! So, she had gotten her meat on her way. Lucky for her, she also was an expert on meat. She knew how to tenderize it. Charlottes tribal name was Tumia. She hated it. She never used that name anywhere. It meant “the silent one” to her that sounded like weakness. She couldn’t imagine a world where she couldn’t use her voice. One of the reasons she had actually taken the trip, was because of that name. She had decided to ask her grandmother about the origin of the name. To her, it felt like it had a meaning in her journey of life like it impacted her life somehow. It held a sign. Her grandmother’s kitchen was small. It was made of pieces of iron sheets that had long since turned black because of the soot. The kitchen was rather small, but somehow, everyone seemed to fit in it. It also had a tiny window that overlooked the garden. The fireplace was at the center. It was made up of three rocks. The firewood had been placed directly at the top so as to dry. Charlotte and her grandmother sat there both staring at the fire. It was during the season of the big rain. Therefore, it was rather cold. But the fire made them warm. Charlotte and her grandmother were the only ones in the kitchen. Charlotte threw in some more firewood and felt attracted by the warmth and glow of the fire. She remembered how she had loved to watch it when she was young. Her grandmother was warming her hands too. Right there and then at that moment, she asked the question that forever changed her life.

“Grandmother let me ask you, what does the name Tumia mean?” her grandmother looked at her and smiled. The fire only made the smile look even more radiant.

“A long long time ago, when the whole tribe was in harmony with nature, there lived a man, who was a great chief of the tribe. Everyone respected him. He had brought honor upon men. During those days, having a daughter as a first-born child was considered a symbol of prosperity. The chief had gotten a very beautiful bride and together, they bore a child, her name was Getha it meant, the harvester. The whole tribe had been very happy. Getha grew up to be a beautiful woman. She made her whole community proud. The only problem was, Getha spoke a language that no one understood. Not even her mother. The chief had been very concerned, that he sought out to fast for nine seasons in the mountain so as to understand what her daughter was saying. When the chief came back, they could communicate. And a new language was formed. A language that only the chief and her daughter spoke. When the time came for Getha to get married, every tribe in the community sent their proposals. Every great chief wanted Getha as their daughter-in-law. Word started going around, that there were talks of strange men infiltrating the community. Men with peeled skin and clothes like butterflies. The community was safe. The country prided itself on its strong defense. Everyone who tried to enter the community that was not of the tribe met instant death. One day, a strange man came to the community. Everyone was shocked, how he had gotten into the village without anyone noticing. His skin was peeled like they said, and he had clothes that looked like a butterfly. All the warriors in the village were at his neck with spears within seconds. But immediately, the strange man shouted

“I’m a visitor!” everyone in the tribe looked at each other confused. The warriors looked at each other and nodded their heads in confusion. Getha came running shouting. Only her father understood what she was saying. She told her father, to stop the warriors from killing him. The man was only a messenger. The chief immediately ordered the warriors to back down. Getha was the only person who understood the strange man’s language. She didn’t know how, but they communicated. George, as she later came to learn of his name, was from a land far away. Where everyone had peeled skin. Far away beyond the ocean. Getha had never heard of the ocean. The chief grew concerned over how close Getha and George became each day they spent together. The chief had to make an important decision. The tribe was growing impatient with him. He had accepted a stranger into the tribe. The secrets of the tribe would be known. One night, when the moon was out, the chief made the hardest decision of his life. He chased Getha away from home. He told George that he can have Getha as a wife and he should forever protect her. She was to continue the lineage of the tribe with him. Getha couldn’t understand why her father would do that. He gave them a few supplies of food, and off they went. The next morning in the village, rumors spread that Getha had been kidnapped by the man with the peeled skin, others said that she had run away, but only the chief knew. No one ever spoke of her again. Her name was forgotten. Getha had become a past memory.” Grandmother paused and looked outside the window. It was raining heavily. They would soon need to go to bed.

“What happened to Getha?” charlotte asked her grandmother. She had been hooked to the story.

“George took Getha to his land and took care of her like the chief had asked. They got married in Georges wedding traditions and they bore many children. Getha had never spoken again. Some say that she only spoke to her husband. But among other people, no one ever heard her voice again. The villagers, George’s people, they called her Tumia. Meaning the silent one. It was a name of favor for a woman. It meant a woman hides secrets. A woman protects her family by being quiet.!” Charlotte heaved a sigh and looked at her grandma. Her grandma was still smiling.

“Are we related to Getha?” charlotte asked her grandmother. Her grandmother laughed.

“Let’s clean up the kitchen and go to bed, it is getting late.” Her grandmother told her. Charlotte felt offended that she had ignored her question. But she took it as a sign of suspense. They put out the fire and carried the food to the big house. It was so muddy outside. The rain tapped the roof heavily. Charlotte had even forgotten that it was raining. Once they got to the big house, in grandmas’ bedroom. Charlotte looked at it. It looked smaller than she remembered. When she was young it was the biggest bedroom in the world. She had loved sleeping in grandmas’ bed because it was always warm.

“Tumia, pass me my medicine, over by the lamp”. Her grandmother ushered for her. As she took the medicine from the lampstand, she saw a small photograph lying at the table. The photograph was old. Black and white. It had a very beautiful woman, who looked to be in her youth, she looked to be 16 years. She was smiling. You could see the life in her eyes. It looked like she was staring directly at you. As if you could feel the life, she felt when that photograph was taken. Charlotte took the photograph and the medicine. Once her grandma had taken her medicine. Charlotte showed her the photograph and asked her who the woman in the photograph was.

Grandmother smiled and told her “Tumia, that is Getha, Your great grandmother!”