Koyo’s Daughter

Around the year 1700, in the beautiful green mountains of west-central Africa, a slave was born to the wealthy elder ya-Mitoumaza. He developed into a well-muscled “back” whose job was to build stone structures. Like all slaves he owned no name, but people called him Kamba Mbou – Rock Slave.

One day, on his way back from the quarry, he found a young woman lying beside the path with a broken ankle. She was startlingly beautiful, but he could be castrated for looking indecorously at a free woman, so he tried not to think about her velvet skin as he made a bamboo splint and offered to carry her back to her father’s compound.

“You’re very strong,” she said when he set her down to rest, her eyes appreciating every sinew. Slaves wore only identifying tattoos, so she had much to admire.

“This slave finds the honored lady a thousand times beautiful,” he said aloud, a shocking impropriety.

To his relief she was not offended. “I am Mika, daughter of Koyo. He buys me whatever I like. I shall ask him to buy you.”

“Perhaps he will give this slave freedom, honored lady,” Kamba-Mbou brazenly replied. He inwardly gasped. What was there about her that made him feel so unrestrained, as if his tattoos had suddenly vanished?

“Does your owner mistreat you?”

“No, honored lady, ya-Mitoumaza is generous and kind. This slave loves his master. But he thirsts to hold a spear in his hands like a real man.”

The walk to Koyo’s compound was long and the sun melted away formality. Mika made him laugh at her irreverent descriptions of the King of Sana who wanted her to become his forty-third wife; his heart went out to her when she wished plaintively that her father would sell her not to the wealthiest suitor but to the man who would treat her best. “The king has sons with gray hair, but he still marries a new wife every year even though he can no longer fill either her warmth or her womb.” Suddenly her eyes opened wide. “Your heart is kind and you are strong. I will marry you.”

Kamba-Mbou nearly dropped her. “Honored lady, this slave owns no property and can give your father no bride-price. From today forever this slave will keep you as a treasure in his heart, but please, do not think of more.”

“I will find a way. Besides,” she added impishly, “you wouldn’t dare use a rod on me.”

Kamba-Mbou smiled at her irrefutable logic, and promised he would request permission for them to marry.

The Senior Wife hooted. “A daughter of Koyo would no more marry a flap than a hyena.” She used the most vulgar term in the language for an uncircumcised male.

Undaunted, he appealed to the Elder, who sensed his profound purpose. “It is against the law for a slave to own a wife, but this I will promise you. If her father gives his permission, I will buy Mika as my pleasure and allow you to cohabit.” He cautioned Kamba-Mbou not to be too hopeful, however, since it was unlikely that the ambitious Koyo would sell one of his beautiful daughters as a mere concubine.

Meanwhile, Mika informed her father that she intended to marry Kamba-Mbou whether he approved or not. Koyo beat her with the Rod of Honor and ordered her to remain secluded in the House of Shame until she regained her senses. Weeks passed. After much haggling, he reached an agreement with the King’s ambassador, and Mika was summoned to demonstrate her acquiescence to the marriage by serving a ritual cup of palm wine. Instead, eyes blazing with defiance, she strode across the room and emptied the contents of the calabash over the ambassador’s head.

Scandal poured over Koyo like a monsoon rain, soaking him in humiliation. Koyo beat her with the Rod of Respect, the Rod of Honor, and the Rod of Obedience, but the damage had been done: there was no way he could redeem Mika’s reputation as an insolent, ungovernable woman. He got exactly two offers for her, one from a smirking Egyptian slave-trader, and the other – in the circumstances more than generous – as a pleasure to ya-Mitoumaza.

The Elder kept her for the obligatory minimum of nine days in his bedchamber, and said she could then cohabit with Kamba-Mbou. The Senior Wife considered the “marriage” between Mika and Kamba-Mbou an aberration. In her opinion the Elder had made a grave error in bringing Mika into the compound at all. Allowing a back to share a bed with a free woman would interfere with his duty to fill the wombs of the female slaves, make him difficult to discipline, and destroy morale among the other slaves. Allow such “marriage” to be consummated? Never!

She set him to work on a new House of Hospitality built with special stone from a quarry an exhausting four drum-stations distant, and doubled his breeding assignments. She forbade Mika to leave the women’s quarters except when selected as a pleasure to overnight guests – by coincidence, no doubt, every time the moon-beads in the Senior Wife’s possession indicated Mika’s womb could be filled. The young concubine’s first child, fathered on the bed of hospitality, was a boy who died within two weeks. The second was a sickly son who lived only a few months. The third was a healthy daughter.

Now, cunning as she was in circumventing her husband’s intentions, the Senior Wife was unaware that Mika and Kamba-Mbou had agreed to give all their daughters to the Elder as slaves, the only way they could begin to repay his generosity. On the other hand, the Elder was unaware that the Senior Wife had effectively prevented the cohabitation that he had authorized. Accordingly, on the ninth day, ya-Mitoumaza expected Mika and Kamba-Mbou to bring him their child for her tattooing. When instead, Mika appeared alone with the infant and requested the ceremony of Naming as if the child were free, he was greatly indignant.

“Was this child not called forth by my rock-slave? Is a favor I conceived in kindness to be repaid by defiance and disrespect? Speak, Mika, or the tattoo-man will have double work today.”

Explanations drenched with many tears finally revealed the truth, and the Elder graciously apologized to his concubine for the Senior Wife’s “misunderstanding.” The next day ya-Mitoumaza’s Rod of Obedience, which had mildewed from disuse, shone with unaccustomed luster, and the Senior Wife was confined for nearly a week with an “intestinal” ailment.

Thus, after four years of frustration, Mika and Kamba-Mbou were allowed to leave their beds of duty and lie together. They were warmed with happiness, but the air around them was filled with insults. The Senior Wife called Mika “that she-flap.” Junior Wives threw mud on her laundry. Little children chanted “zi-mbou, zi-mbou” – wife of a slave. Mika didn’t care. She was at last expecting a child by the man she loved.

Kamba-Mbou wept when they handed their beautiful nine-day-old daughter to the Elder. Two more daughters were born to them and twice more, in accordance with their agreement, they gave them up. After the birth of a stillborn son they were blessed with a sturdy little boy whom the Elder named Limoboto, patience rewarded, but to mock him, everyone called him “zi-mbou” like his mother.

“Make them jealous of your name,” Mika advised her son, and he swallowed her words with his whole heart. People began to notice him when he bloodied champion wrestlers, and his spear-throwing was so exceptional that ya-Mitoumaza arranged for him to undergo military training reserved for sons of nobility. Legally, his concubine’s children were considered his, so the Council of Elders could only roll their eyes.

At Final Initiation the son of Mika and Kamba-Mbou pointedly took ownership of the name Zimbou and ignored the stir he caused; he was busy redesigning the war-spear to improve its stability, revamping the system of military communication, and rising rapidly to battalion commander. He was such a charismatic leader that warriors clamored to serve under him. Fathers of eligible young women, quick to forget his humble origins, solicited offers of marriage. The ever-generous Elder quietly bought him a bride from an excellent family, and Zimbou became a respected member of society.

About this time bleached slavers from across the sea grew bold and extended their raids from the coast to the mountains, stealing strong youths and healthy women and carrying them away in chains. The people were outraged. “We are the mighty Bakou, the Conquerors. Do we do nothing to drive these criminals from our territory?” Zimbou organized a party of elite warriors known as The Fearless. They freed captives, burned camps, and sank ships. They killed most of the bleached men, but a few were brought back as war-captives. The Chief had them relieved of their manly parts, confined them in bamboo cages, and set them in the middle of the market to be mocked by everyone. Word traveled fast that slavers were not welcome in the mountains, and peace returned.

Several years later, however, a surprise foray succeeded in capturing more than a dozen young people, including a new bride of Zimbou and a newly-initiated son of the Chief, a youth so intelligent and popular that he was already considered a leading candidate to succeed his aging father. The people were in an uproar, and General Zimbou, who took the raid as a personal affront, vowed to bring the captives back. Not only did he succeed, but stories of his daring thrilled the hearts of everyone.

The Chief and Elders appointed Zimbou as Keeper of the Royal War-Spear and awarded him the title Ko – the great – which by law could be conferred only once in three generations. The Chief offered him six magnificent ivory tusks and three pregnant slaves, but Zimbou-Ko respectfully declined.

“Most noble lord, only one thing I lack. I implore you, most noble lord, grant freedom to my father.”

The Chief took the Spear of the People in his right hand and solemnly tapped it three times. Kamba-Mbou, coughing and feverish, was brought before the Council where the knife-man drew a drop of blood and declared him circumcised. A frail ya-Mitoumaza himself insisted on placing the Cloak of Manhood on his shoulders.

“What name will you own, honored sir?” the Chief inquired.

“This sl—no, I,” he said firmly, smiling at the word coming from his mouth, “wish to own, most noble lord, the name Tou-Mbou, freedom for a slave.”

“Welcome, Tou-Mbou, to the Assembly of Citizens!”

General Zimbou-Ko, supreme commander of the army, knelt before the former slave and presented him an intricately carved ceremonial spear. “This humble gift is for the man I am proud to call my honored father.”

Tou-Mbou’s fingers touched the exquisite spear, turning it over and over in his hands, fearful his heart would burst with happiness. “Thank you, my pride, my son,” he said with tightening throat.

Mika, now zi-Tou-Mbou, respecting the custom, prostrated and presented her husband with the Nine Sacred Rods. “My honored lord.”

Tears streamed down his face while he searched for his voice, hidden under the thousands of flowers of happiness she had planted in his soul. After several tries he was able to squeeze out a single word: “Mika.” It was the first time he had been allowed to call her by her name.

When he passed into shadow two weeks later, clutching the spear in his hand, he was mourned in a way befitting the father of a great general of a powerful army. Tou-Mbou was buried on the east slope of the Mount of the Tortoise, overlooking the field where his grandsons practiced spear-throwing. In the distance his beloved Mika lived out her days at the compound of her son, her mother’s tears of pride outshone only by her widow’s tears of sorrow.