I Am The Harvest

“Child, you need to find out who you are before you can come here again,”

Everyone in the surrounding villages believed Nekesa to be a witch. A girl born with eyes as blue as the sky and skin as light sun stones could not be normal in any way. Yet, no one could deny that she was the greatest Farmer any of them had ever known. Whether it was through witchcraft or skill, thanks to the food she grew the people of village became healthier and stronger every year. Even the sickly District Commissioner who many thought was a djinn, with his pale skin and green eyes, purchased all his vegetables from her because they made him feel more invigorated than the food he was used to. According to Grandmother, The DC and the Governor had been on a campaign for years to destroy what they called ʻindigenous plants consumed by the backward nativesʼ in favor of tea, kale and flowers because they made more money. Entire family gardens were uprooted to make space for cash crops, and as taxes rose, so did the number of starving families who couldnʼt afford to buy nor grow their own food. After the DC and Governor finally contracted malaria, it was only Nekesaʼs vegetables and herbs that successfully weaned them back to health, bringing an abrupt end to the campaign. They never talked about the campaign after that, and never really bothered to compensate any of the communities theyʼd destroyed. What had been a nightmare for many was treated as a minor oversight on their part. Grandmother seethed and cursed them whenever government officials came to their home to collect taxes.

Still, the villagers feared Nekesa from the moment theyʼd first seen her. It was when Grandmother took to her to the market for the first time when she was a little msichana. For the next couple of weeks people refused to buy anything from them, even when Grandmother had built herself a good reputation at the market for years. Up until Nekesaʼs undeniable talent emerged, Grandmother had been the best Farmer in the surrounding villages.
It wasnʼt until Grandmother unintentionally left Nekesa at home one day that people finally bought her greens again. That was the first and only time Grandmother hadnʼt chided Nekesa for oversleeping. Since that day, however, there was an unspoken agreement between them that Nekesa would tend to the shamba while Grandmother sold whatever she produced.

Today, Nekesa had overslept and woken to the sound of bellowing and bleating livestock. She jumped out of bed in fear and met her furious Grandmother by the door with brows furrowed into a knot on her forehead and arms akimbo, wielding a mwiko like a sword. Nekesa should have been up before sunrise to fetch water from the river, plough the shamba and let out the livestock to graze. Judging from her Grandmotherʼs silent and smoldering fury, the old woman had already done this herself.

Nekesa gave her a nervous smile as she darted between the old womanʼs legs just as she was about to whack her with the mwiko. Grandmother hurled unpleasantries at her as she ran. She smiled victoriously. The old woman was too old to run aer her and would be too tired to

punish her later in the day. Her Grandmother was a loving, caring woman, but she was strict. She considered laziness a vice in her household, and that rest was only afforded aer a good day of work.

As expected, Nekesa found half of the shamba neatly ploughed and watered, while the other half, filled with greens in need of attention, was untouched. Nekesa usually did the entire shamba by herself, but this was Grandmotherʼs ironic and spiteful way of teaching her responsibility. Nekesa felt the heat of shame creep up her neck – letting your elders do heavy manual labor was a sign of disrespect. She would have to work the entire day, not to mention make lunch and dinner, fetch water from the borehole and then collect firewood to make up for it. She was already tired just thinking about it. Grandmother always took care of the domestic chores. Nekesa sighed in exasperation but she only had herself to blame.

In her shamba, Nekesa grew Terere, Managu, Mrenda, Kunde, Nderema and Seveve of various growths and sizes that were the envy of other farmers. They were so lush and vibrant they seemed to glow. They sold so well at the Saturday market that people even paid Grandmother in advance. Even though mrenda was generally disliked due to its bitterness, Nekesa had found a way to make it taste better by cooking it with various other greens like terere. Together, both plants aided with headaches, digestive problems and relieved womenʼs monthly bleeding and restored energy and strength. Managu and Kunde were also beneficial for those ailing with anemia while Nderema revitalized pregnant women and young children. All these greens needed to be watered, pruned, weeded and fertilized. Aerwards, she would mother the seedling nursery and check on the fruit trees that demarcated their home. Naughty little vijanas were always climbing them to steal their mangoes and avocadoes.

Farming was Nekesaʼs pride and joy, and her secret mostly involved talking and singing to her plants. When she did, birds would also perch themselves on or around her to listen to her. This didnʼt particularly aid her reputation as a witch, but she had come to care less about what people thought of her. Grandmother had always urged Nekesa not to fear or worry about the villagers, for human beings always needed a scapegoat for their fear: “People will always fear what they donʼt understand. Donʼt worry about people who are dedicated to misunderstanding you.”

She rubbed her fingers on a big Managu leaf and began to whistle a melody. A tinkerbird caught her rhythm and joined with a whistle of its own. Nekesa chuckled as she continued to fondly pet her plants.
“Nekesa, Nekesa,” a whispery voice suddenly called out to her, “Nekesa, Nekesa, my daughter you are so beautiful and strong.” Startled, Nekesa looked up and around her. She saw the distant figure of her hunched back Grandmother sweeping the patio of their hut, lost in her own thoughts. She shook her head. As a small msichana she thought she could hear her plants speak and ask her for things like chicken bones and cow manure. Grandmother had dismissed her experiences as the wanton imaginings of a child. As she grew older, theyʼd

stopped talking to her but she had continued the conversations. She told them stories, praised them and in turn they grew bigger and leafier.

She must have imagined the voice but then she heard it again, this time from the ground. It came from the Managu. She lied its leaves to find a small silver snake with red eyes looking up at her. Its scales gleamed and shone in the light. It was beautiful. Awed, she watched it open its mouth and speak to her: “Nekesa, Nekesa, come close my daughter.”

She wasnʼt afraid, and she looked at the little snake with a childish curiosity. It was so short for a snake, barely the size of her forearm and with a head too big for its body. It looked like a living rungu. Without thinking, she reached out her finger and screamed in shock when the snake suddenly bit her. As she screamed and convulsed on the ground, only gurgles and chortles came out of her mouth as her body transformed into stone. She heard fast and heavy footsteps rushing towards her as everything turned black.

She opened her eyes and found herself lying in shallow waters. The sky had turned black with blue, red and purple clouds. There was no sun and yet she could see. She was surrounded by big, thick barked monkey bread trees with networks of branches that seemed to stretch into endlessness. One-eyed monkeys and mandrills were hanging from the leafless branches while three-eyed crows looked at her quizzically. A giant imbongo with magnicifent antlers held an omnipresence around her. Wherever she looked, she saw the majestic waterbuck that was indifferent to her. Where was she? One of the birds with a crack in its beak flew towards her and Nekesa covered her face in fear it would peck out her eyes.

“Look at this girl!” the bird spat. “You think youʼre protecting yourself from me? What descendant of mine canʼt respect her elder?”
Nekesa peeked out to look at the creature without dropping her arms. Another bird came fluttering towards her. A monkey with no teeth and tongue laughed.

“Maybe we called her here too soon,” another bird said. “She is as timid as a mouse.”
“This is what we get for soiling our ancestry. She is pathetic,” the first bird said. Several monkeys laughed and jeered at the comment. A faceless mandrill appeared out of thin air and drank from the pool she was sitting on. She was incredulous at the sight before her. She must have gone mad.

When Nekesa finally found her voice she tried to speak but only water poured out her mouth. The birds flapped their wings and the monkeys cackled as if it were the funniest thing.
“Here, my dear, you speak with your spirit and not your tongue. Do you know your spirit?” the first bird asked her in a stern voice. The voice was oddly familiar but she couldnʼt place it.

She was shocked and scared, but screaming only made it worse.

“Child, you need to find out who you are before you can come here again,” the first bird said, exasperatedly. The other birds, monkeys and mandrills were still laughing. The faceless mandrill raised his hand and everything went quiet. In a deep, somber voice it said:
“I offer you this wisdom, my child. You were named aer the harvest for you are a daughter of the earth. The land will always feel at home with you, but, like a firm tree you need to stretch your roots to find your stability. Itʼs good to be grounded, but it even better to grow.”

When the mandrill finished speaking, the first bird flapped its massive wings and the water beneath her began to rise. As the world around her became smaller, she saw a phantasmagoric human face behind the wings: it was an old bald woman with a permanent scowl and serious eyes like her Grandmother.

Nekesa opened her eyes to Grandmotherʼs wet face. Her eyes were red so she must have been crying for a long time. Nekesa felt as fresh and clear headed as day, which is why Grandmother was startled when she rose up easily from her bed.

“Grandmother, Iʼm sorry I worried you and I think we need to talk, but first, will you come with me?” Grandmother wiped her eyes and caressed Nekesaʼs beautiful face.

Nekesa took Grandmotherʼs wrinkly dry arm and together they walked towards the monkey bread tree, also called a Baobab. It was at the bottom of the large hill behind their hut, a hill bedecked by giant rocks that appeared to grow out of the ground. Sunlight fell like a sheet upon the hill, making the rocks as shiny as bald heads.

Nekesa proceeded to tell Grandmother about what she saw and what she was told. Grandmother was at first surprised but grew somber by the minute.

“Our ancestors come to us when they think we are stuck in a moment. I urge you to think about the wisdom you received,” she finally said in a small, dry voice.

Nekesa felt apprehensive. She gripped her Grandmotherʼs hands even tighter as she looked up at the hill. She took a deep breath and savored the smell of nature, of her home and Grandmother. Her legs wanted to run past that hill, through those rocks, past the valley and into the end of the world, no matter how infinite. .