Do you all want to hear a story?
"Grandma! Grandma! We want to!"
The children scurried over, eager for the mwanamke mwenye busara — the wise woman, the keeper of the tribe's memory.
Her manyoya ya ndege—the bird-feathers of honor—rustled as she shifted.
She was the Spirit Mother of the tribe.
They gathered around the fire, legs crossed, eyes wide. Even a few adults slid closer, pretending to supervise but waiting like children themselves.
"Hehehe," she chuckled, chewing slowly on her bitter kola.
"You young ones are too eager. A good story must never be rushed."
She waited, letting silence settle like dust. Then, when all were quiet, her eyes shone.
"In the beginning, there was nothing. The great silence. True nothingness.
Until the fire ignited."
Her voice dropped lower.
"A raging tempest… a cosmic inferno that devoured everything.
We called it Destruction."
The flames in the pit flickered — as if obeying her words.
"But destruction has a twin," she continued.
"When the fire danced, creation was born.
Nothing became everything."
Six primordial forces spun out of that fire:
Nature — mountains, seas, metals, storms.
The Cosmos — sun, moon, stars.
The Beasts — goats, birds, cattle, guardians of Nature.
The Spirits — keepers of knowledge, punishers of wickedness.
Humanity — wandering children, split from the fire itself.
"And the last…" she paused, staring at each child, "…was elfu mbaya."
The children shivered. Even the grown men blinked.
"Elfuuuu mbaya," they whispered.
"Yes," she nodded, "the Thousand Evil.
No form.
No mercy.
Anything he is… is wicked."
Lightning cracked across the sky, lighting her face in a sudden flash.
The children screamed.
"Maamaa!"
"Mamaaaa!"
They ran in every direction, diving into their mothers' arms.
Even some adults jumped.
"Ei! Children of nowadays…" Grandma scolded, shaking her head.
"During our time we DREAMT of slaying elfu mbaya!"
A small voice answered.
One child remained, standing alone on the sand.
"Oh," she smiled, "the brave one. The young hunter."
She beckoned him. "Come closer."
"You are the son of Kuwinda Tiger, eh?"
He nodded proudly.
"Your grandfather earned his name hunting beasts bigger than huts.
Your father even more.
And seeing you, little one… the name will not die."
She leaned in.
"As your reward, the legend says that—"
"That is enough, mwanamke mwenye busara," a deep voice interrupted.
The great Kuwinda Tiger himself stepped forward, his shadow stretching across the fire.
"Let the boy sleep."
"Baba please, let me hear the ending!"
"Eh! Go to bed," he growled—softly, but the boy knew the tone of a tiger.
Grandma laughed.
"Don't worry, wadogo. You will hear the ending another day."
The boy sulked but obeyed.
---
Night descended.
The air grew quiet and soft.
The wadogos slept in their mothers' arms.
The men took their posts, guarding the tribe.
The Spirit Mother watched over the men.
This was the way of the tribe.