"Ch-chief died! He died!"
That's the last thing I'd care about. Ch-chief Markambze was a lunatic. Plus, I don't understand how my cousin Arshway feels remorse or despair. It makes no sense.
There've been times when the dead chief nearly made my family famished. I clearly remember when my family and I had to do duties near the garden. We had to harvest crops for a long time. And, I asked when we would eat. He starved us for two days ever since. I was put at guilt, and that was seriously unfair.
It's not a good outlook at all. He treats us like animals.
I look up into the clouded sky. My cousin tugs me back and forth, attempting to wake me completely while I rest underneath The SeeSee. It's basically a tree that's huge. We call it that because people have some tendency to say "SeeSee!" to the tree. It's not a bad name either.
The large tree also happens to be bent over slightly, which makes an odd curve. It makes it a comfy place to rest, ignoring the fact that splinters dive into my back. And, people sometimes like to climb on the SeeSee or play around it. Overall, in my opinion, the SeeSee brings our tribe, Nullaganse together.
All I want to do is stay underneath The SeeSee, daydream, or think. Because the sky's cloudy and I see no sun. The day is already telling me that things will not turn out great.
Anywho, Arshway yells,"We've t'head to a funeral also! It's mandatory to go!" No, no it's not. I don't think it's mandatory for disobeyers of the dead chief to come. They would stare at us, and when we hear his will, we will be put at guilt. Not needed when it's always him who did manic things.
In response to Arshway, I yell, "They wouldn't want me there anyway…" Immediately, his face starts tensing up. It looks like his face is going to explode soon. Seems like he doesn't give two damns.
"Char-Char, it wouldn't hurt to go 'tis funeral." It does hurt to go! Why head off to one's funeral when they tried killing you? Pushing that away, it's clear Arshway is trying his hardest to comfort me. "It's one time only and 'tis funeral means much…"
"Arsh, I… don't care… have you forgotten what Chief's done?"
"No, I didn't. But knowing so, there'll be a new chief and we act civil… they won't do the same?" My Arshway doesn't realize. We live beneath a dynasty in a forest. The chief is always the oldest child and passes it down to the next. It willn't change…
"They will do exactly what they did—," Before I can even finish, a holler rings in my ears.
"Arshway!" He nods. "Is Charlie awake?"
Arshway replies "No!" He made a big mistake doing that. Being honest to our one and only mother.
My mother, with no hesitation, comes out of the hut with a big, long stick. Her smile is drooping, her back is slouched, and her hair is wrapped around a tignon. She did not want to come out for a fact. She was likely in the middle of tidying herself for this pleasant funeral.
She speedwalks so fast to the SeeSee, because of me. She yells, "Charlie! You need to prepare for the chief's funeral! Put on your robe! And please do wash your face. You're green." When my mother says green, she seriously means I smell terrible.
My mom would do anything to get me moving. Pour water on me, hit me with a stick, saying that there's a wolf within the hut, talk about the imperfections on my face, that I definitely dislike. I wonder what she'll do tomorrow to get me on my feet.
But what kept her moving was her dedication to the Chief. Regardless of what the dead Chief did, she always views the good side and treats the terrible side with a pinch of dirt. She would also do whatever the Chief asked for, never thinking how sketchy some of his commands sounded.
One sketchy thing that I will never forget is my mother being asked to sleep with one of the royal members because he was cold. Why my mother though? That's weird, and they definitely could've asked a Namatry member to stand guard.
But what I wonder the most is why Arsh is telling Mom the truth for the first time. I feel like my eyes are squeezing because he's so loyal today. He and I were always buddies, not minding what's happening with our local world. Especially with the dead chief, I can care less about it, and I thought he'd be on the greener side of grass with me. Unless, of course, mother stops us in the dirt badly…
Or, it seriously has to do with him being randomly selected into the Namatry.
However, you need to look loyal. I'm assuming Arshway is practicing his loyalty on me because I do look deceiving to the other people in this village…
I stare at Arsh so I can try to silence him. Doesn't work, though. Instead, he… stands his ground. I bite my lips hard.
"You know what, I'll go…"
Arshway immediately smiles at me and says, "Finally!"
But I seriously don't want to head off to the funeral for this one man. He has no remorse.
I can also vividly remember Dead Chief sending Arshway out into the Forest at night because he sang during a ritual. He had to go and kill a wolf and bring it back before day rises. I was screaming and wailing the whole night, he had to do it. Mother tried to relax me, but nothing hurts more than having Arshway do extreme things like that.
Luckily, he came back before daybreak. Not with a dead wolf, but a wolf chasing him. Eventually, a guard from the Namatry shot the animal with his bow. Chief Markambze was mad, but he let it go.
He's a murderer. I was six years old at the time, while Arshway was eight. So, I'd rather not head to Chief's death ceremony. He's not to be acknowledged, only hated.
And even eight years later, I hold that against him for as long as I live.
I agree to move. I walk through pairs of leaves to walk into our small hut a few hundred feet from the SeeSee. It's made from wrapped leaves tied around long wooden sticks. And the hut's not that wide. It's only ever used for resting and dressing.
I look at my robe on the dirt floor. It's partially covered in mud and is a little ripped. Luckily, there's enough green on the robe, which still shows. That's a blessing. I'd prefer to look more fancy, because wearing this thing isn't to be messed around with. But whatever.
I slip on my robe. We only get a new one every year, and that's to preserve the trees in our area. And that makes the robe too small sometimes.
If your robe is too small, you don't even get a replacement. They ask you to wrap yourself in a pair of leaves.
If you can fit it, though, it's required to be worn. If you don't wear that or the leaves, some strange thing would happen to you.
Like, I can vividly remember from months ago where some old man didn't wear his robe or leaves. He wore his regular outfit.
He was told to take off his clothes during the meeting. Soon enough, Chief Markambze yelled, "Nevel him!"
After he said it, it happened so fast before my eyes. He was spiked with a wooden club, with some big splints showing on the weapon. Plus, I can remember him pleading, "My robe was burned!"
They didn't listen. It wasn't satisfying to see either, and once again, "It's mandatory!" That word mandatory is an itch. Since nothing's mandatory without death at cost.
Life is a pain. Life is not joyful. Pain is the meaning of life. Someone's stupid to think not.
Imagine a world where everyone is equal. I solely support it, since there would be no pain if so.
I rush out of the little hut towards the river, so I can stare at my reflection. The river tells me immediately that I look like I'm about to die. I guess this is not one of those days where I look clean. Heavy bags are underneath my eyes, my hair is as messy as an orangutan's, and most of all, bugs are all over my face. I don't know why they land on me anyway. Is it because my skin is dark? I don't think they could tell the difference between dirt and skin.
By looking at myself, I rinse off my face with the river water. I can feel the dirt and bugs withering away, but some of my curls sink in. Nonetheless, it is quite soothing. I wish other things were as soothing as this. There's nothing else I can think of other than my mother or Arshway giving me a tight hug. And my face being cleaned, of course.
There's not much that happens within the Forest. Everyone is required to perform a duty to the chief. And the cycle repeats again and again.
Cycles are boring. It makes the days long. I don't like long days. I have to think about tragedies like me heading to Chief Markambze's funeral. I hate thinking about the chief. But now, my family is forcing me to think about it too.
I feel a shoulder tap and hear a, "Kibolita boy, why are you kneeling by the river?" I quickly turn around to see a little girl beside me. Her mother stands behind and tries to tug her daughter away from me. I've seen these faces before, but I don't know their names. Everyone knows my appearance and name, unfortunately. It's because I'm considered the most disloyal to the dead chief. That's where the word kibolita came from. It's not the nicest thing to be known for, since my mother always speaks to me about the complaints she receives from other villagers. They think spirits will punish me after my death. I figure the chief would face the consequences instead.
By all means I respond to the girl, "I-I need to wash my face in order to prepare for today's funeral." Immediately after, I lightly grinned to relieve whatever nervousness I had. Talking to little girls feel so weird. They're sometimes rude and if their mother or father is right behind them, best watch your words.
"Oh okay, kibolita boy, I hope you don't get hang—"
"Jahia!" her mother yells loudly. "You are not to say that to your fellow villager. That is very disrespectful. Apologize now."
"Sorry mamie, sorry kibolita boy."
I go over to hug the girl and say, "It's perfectly okay. See you two at the funerals in a few minutes…"
I turn around and stare at my reflection in the river. My head looks great for a solid second, then shakes aggressively. My face looks big and small in many different areas. I hear loud marching sounds coming from one side of the village. I turn and I see Namatry guards.
Each one of them wears shiny, black armor along with a bow on their left side.
The guards are powerful. That's because they're wealthy among the tribe. They're an honorable group who views our Forest territory from all ends.
If you were to be a Namatry guard, it's easy to guess you're at least sixteen. Arshway is about to be sixteen, so it's almost his chance to be a member. He could also watch what's beyond the Forest if he were chosen.
Everyone leaves their huts with the same robe. No matter the height, weight, face, or hair, the robe looked exactly alike on everyone within our tribe. Everyone marches past huts, pretending that they are ones with the Namatry too. People chatter on, but I'm silent. All I want to do is find my one and only cousin Arshway in the mix.