Kotharian Lightning

From Rwandan Folklore

There was a certain woman of Ruanda, the wife of Kwisaba. Her husband went away to the wars, and was absent for many months. One day while she was all alone in the hut she was taken ill, and found herself too weak and wretched to get up and make a fire, which would have been done for her at once had anyone been present. She cried out, talking wildly in her despair, “Oh, what shall I do? If only I had someone to split the kindling wood and build the fire! I shall die of cold if no one comes! Oh, if some one would but come – if it were the very Thunder of heaven himself!”

So the woman spoke, scarcely knowing what she said, and presently a little cloud appeared in the sky. She could not see it, but very soon it spread, other clouds collected, till the sky was quite overcast; it grew dark as night inside the hut, and she heard thunder rumbling in the distance. Then there came a flash of lightning close by, and she saw the Thunder standing before her, in the likeness of a man, with a little bright axe in his hand. He fell to, and had split all the wood in a twinkling; then he built it up and lit it, just with a touch of his hand, as if his fingers had been torches. When the blaze leapt up he turned to the woman and said, “Now, O wife of Kwisaba, what will you give me?” She was quite paralyzed with fright, and could not utter a word. He gave her a little time to recover and then went on, “When your baby is born, if it is a girl, will you give her to me for a wife?” Trembling all over, the poor woman could only stammer out, “Yes!” and the Thunder vanished.

Not long after this a baby girl was born, who grew into a fine, healthy child, and was given the name of Miseke. When Kwisaba came home from the wars the women met him with the news that he had a little daughter, and he was delighted, partly, perhaps, with the thought of the cattle he would get as her bride-price when she was old enough to be married. But when his wife told him about the Thunder he looked very serious, and said, “When she grows older you must never on any account let her go outside the house, or we shall have the Thunder carrying her off.”

So as long as Miseke was quite little she was allowed to play out of doors with the other children, but the time came all too soon when she had to be shut up inside the hut. One day some of the other girls came running to Miseke’s mother in great excitement. “Miseke is dropping beads out of her mouth! We though she had put them in on purpose, but they come dropping out every time she laughs.” Sure enough the mother found that it was so, and not only did Miseke produce beads of the kinds most valued, but beautiful brass and copper bangles. Miseke’s father was greatly troubled when they told him of this. He said it must be the Thunder, who sent the beads in this extraordinary way as the presents which a man always sends to his betrothed while she is growing up. So Miseke had always to stay indoors and amuse herself as best she could – when she was not helping in the housework – by plaiting mats and making baskets. Sometimes her old playfellows came to see her, but they too did not care to be shut up for long in the dark stuffy hut.

One day, when Miseke was about fifteen, a number of the girls made up a party to go and dig Inkwa (white clay), and they thought it would be good fun to take Miseke along with them. They went to her mother’s hut and called her, but of course her parents would not hear of her going, and she had to stay at home. They tried again another day, but with no better sucess. Some time after this, however, Kwisaba and his wife both went to see to their garden, which was situated a long way off, so that they had to start at daybreak, leaving Miseke alone in the hut. Somehow the girls got to hear of this, and as they had already planned to go for Inkwa that day they went to fetch her. The temptation was too great, and she slipped out very quietly, and went with them to the watercourse where the white clay was to be found. So many people had gone there at different times for the same purpose that quite a large put had been dug out. The girls got into it and fell to work, laughing and chattering, when, suddenly, they became aware that it was growing dark, and, looking up, saw a great black cloud gathering overhead. And then, suddenly, they saw the figure of a man standing before them, and he called out in a great voice, “Where is Miseke, daughter of Kwisaba?” One girl came out of the hole and said, “I am not Miseke, daughter of Kwisaba. When Miseke laughs beads and bangles drop from her lips.” The Thunder said, “Well, then, laugh, and let me see.” She laughed and nothing happened. “No, I see you are not she.” So one another was questioned and sent on her way. Miseke herself came last, and tried to pass, repeating the same words that the others had said; but the Thunder insisted on her laughing, and a shower of beads fell on the ground. The Thunder caught her up and carried her off to the sky and married her.

Of course she was terribly frightened, but the Thunder proved a kind husband, and she settled down quite happily and, in due time, had three children, two boys and a girl. When the baby girl was a few weeks old Miseke told her husband that she would like to go home and see her parents. He not only consented, but provided her with cattle, beer, and carriers for her hammock, and sent her down to earth with this parting advice, “Keep to the high road; do not turn aside into any unfrequented bypath.” But, being unacquainted with the country, her carriers soon strayed from the main track.

After they had gone for some distance along the wrong road they found the path barred by a strange monster called an igikoko, a sort of ogre, who demanded something to eat. Miseke told the servants to give him the beer they were carrying: he drank all the pots dry in no time. Then he seized one of the carriers, then a second – in short, he devoured them all, as well as the cattle, till no one was left but Miseke and her children. The Ogre then demanded a child. Seeing no help for it, Miseke gave him the younger boy, and then, driven to extremity, the baby she was nursing, but while he was thus engaged she contrived to send off the elder boy, whispering to him to run till he came to a house, “If you see an old man sitting on the ash-heap in the front yard that will be your grandfather; if you see some young men shooting arrows at a mark they will be your uncles; the boys herding the cows are your cousins; and you will find your grandmother inside the hut. Tell them to come and help us.”

The boy set off, while his mother kept off the ogre as best she could. He arrived at his grandfather’s homestead, and told them what had happened, and they started at once, having first tied the bells on their hunting-dogs. The boy showed them the way as well as he could, but they nearly missed Miseke just at last; only she heard the dogs’ bells and called out. Then the young men rushed in and killed the ogre with their spears. Before he died he said, “If you cut off my big toe you will get back everything belonging to you.” They did so, and behold! Out came the carriers and the cattle, the servants and the children, none of them any the worse. Then, first making sure that the ogre was really dead, they set off for Miseke’s old home. Her parents were overjoyed to see her and the children, and the time passed all too quickly. At the end of a month she began to think she ought to return, and the old people sent out for cattle and all sorts of presents, as is the custom when a guest is going to leave. Everything was got together outside the village, and her brothers were ready to escort her, when they saw the clouds gathering, and, behold! All of a sudden Miseke, her children, her servants, her cattle, and her porters, with their loads, were all caught up into the air and disappeared. The family were struck dumb with amazement, and they never saw Miseke on earth again.

Sources:

Myths of the Bantu, Alice Werner, 1933