I heard aunt whispering amidst the crying; “I wished your father had agreed.” She sobbed. My eyes were filled with tears, but I didn’t know why I was crying. Perhaps I was crying because 20 aunt was crying? What she told me shouldn’t have made me cry.
If Kato’s head had gone, it would come back. It would find Kato and fix itself, we would still run in that long trail of the banana plantations, we would meet Joe and
Katumba, probably we would still plan to go and steal the pawpaw from Mr. Mukasa’s plantation and eat in our backyard. When
I opened my eyes, tears fell down. I saw that Joe and Katumba were still standing along the road near our compound; they had not gone home since we came from school. Aunt continued crying. “I knew your dad was wrong, he should have allowed the piercing.” She explained that when she was in Kampala; she saw many posters warning parents to protect their children from the witches who hunt children for sacrifices.
The witches believed when a human is sacrificed, a big sum of money would be acquired to boost their business. I became confused with what aunt was talking about, that’s when she finally told me - Kato had been killed. My brain shut down after hearing that. I was seeing everybody as a distant mist. I tried to slide down from aunt,
I wanted to roll down and cry, but she held me tight. For two days, mummy and I didn’t say a word to each other.
I wanted to say something to break the silence which had descended on us like unexpected rains. I wanted to tell her that Uncle Tom had been giving us sweets whenever he came from Kampala, but I didn’t know how to say it. I wanted to confess to her about the time we followed the marks from Uncle Tom’s car tyres when we were coming from school.
However, no matter my desire to speak to her, I couldn’t break the silence between us. When I looked at her, I thought of the way she had slaughtered the chicken over Christmas. How when she had cut its neck, it still flew high in the air. How Kato and I laughed at it while blood was jetting from its severed neck
. I was almost laughing at that image again.
But when I thought that that same knife may have been used to slice through Kato’s neck, something came like strange wind and blocked my throat. I was breathless. Invisible hands were squeezing my throat so that tears could flow from my eyes and roll onto my cheeks
. When I cried, mummy screamed like she was mad. One day Joe and Katumba came to see me. Since Kato’s head went, I hadn’t played with them. I stayed with mummy most of the time watching her flowing tears as she cried silently. Only when aunt was around would she talk in a low voice. “Daddy said it was Uncle Tom who did it,” said Joe. “I don’t know,”
I said. “He might have given Kato some sweet for buying his head,” said Katumba. “Dad said police got him several times doing the same thing, but always he gets away. He told me not to respond when a stranger calls me.” “But Uncle Tom is not a stranger.” “
He is. He does not live in this village anymore, he only comes to hunt for small penises like yours to be taken to the witch.” “That is why he is rich?” “
Yes, he deals in children’s head and penises.” I thought about what the two boys said. God knows what they were talking about. I was seated listening to them. I pictured mummy’s face since the death of Kato, how she would bend over a bunch of matoke for hours before she could pick one and peel. “What if he gives us sweets again like last time, should we take them?” “Ha, you joke, your big head with the missing teeth will go and make money for somebody.
Even that penis you always play with, perhaps with all the testicles.” Katumba laughed. 21 Their words were unbearable. At the age of six, Katumba did not know when he was being insensitive. His words drove me away I couldn’t stay with them anymore.
I went to the plantation and sat near a cluster of banana trees, where we had all played since we were three with
Kato. We had imagined why bananas gave birth from their roots, why it does not germinate and why the tree is cut down once it bears fruit. I sat there wondering whether I would see Kato again, if the money his head would make would come to mummy as well.
Hearing Katumba and Joe faintly,
I started singing a song, which I have never known before. And the song didn’t come to my tongue in sound; it remained in my heart, song of a missing beloved brother! When I came back, I found the two boys were still talking. “Nakato, don’t cry, dad will bring some sweets today. I will give you some.” “I no longer eat sweet Joe,”
I said. “Uncle Tom will be caught and killed,” said Katumba. “I don’t care, that will not bring back Kato.” The two boys remained silent.
The wind stopped blowing the banana leaves. My heart was a public drum, beating loudly with longing. One nsenene leapt up before it went down again.
I remembered that day Katumba was plucking off the head of nsenenes with ease before putting them in the saucepan. Could Kato have turned into nsenene in Uncle Tom’s hands and then his head plucked off with ease or he could have changed into that chicken that we enjoyed on Christmas Day? In this plantation, do children sometimes change into
chicken or nsenene? “But why don’t they stop him?” asked Joe. I heard Katumba laughing before he said, “They will stop him one day if they get him.” “When is that one day, tom
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