{"id":7,"date":"2017-04-05T11:15:06","date_gmt":"2017-04-05T16:15:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/?page_id=7"},"modified":"2017-05-16T21:52:32","modified_gmt":"2017-05-17T02:52:32","slug":"ellen-chilemba","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/ellen-chilemba\/","title":{"rendered":"Ellen Chilemba"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"FullSizeRender-7\"<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Goodnight Gerema<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Dorca did not know how she came to be. One day, air swung through her nostrils, her chest rose and she was awake. She found herself in a dim room, partially illuminated by a setting sun. Her body was cast on a grass-woven mat that was cushioned using layers of cow skin. She was dressed in a red shawl, in pain and fully starved. Her eyes swung around the room slowly deciphering that she was in a round hut assembled of bricks and tree branches plastered together with mud. <\/span><\/p>\n

She attempted to rise but quickly collapsed from the piercing pain in her upper back. She wobbled her limbs but with each shift, she discovered more pain. Everything hurt, but most unbearable was the twinge in her belly. The solution was a sweet aroma emanating from her left. \u00a0So she attempted to rise but failed and collapsed. Moments later, she rolled over and lay on her belly. She was like a Komodo dragon as she scuffled to bring her elbows and knees together; the throbbing in her back grew louder. <\/span><\/p>\n

Finally, she was able to crawl. The hut had a wooden door and a low-slung window. She crawled to the window and found a bowl of chicken stew, a bowl of rice and a calabash with water. She devoured the contents of the bowls as the pounding in her belly wilted then she flushed the water down her throat with drips escaping the corners of her mouth and falling onto her shawl. Energized, she rose to her feet and staggered to the door. The door was locked. She tried to force it, pounding on the wood while yelling to be let out but nobody came that day. <\/span><\/p>\n

*<\/span><\/p>\n

She watched the sun visit a hundred times, then the night would follow mimicking the manner sun. Each morning, she heard the first rooster then moments later, her hut would be clouded with smoke from neighboring kitchens. When the sun had risen, the window of the hut would open; hands appeared and delivered a clay basin with fresh water. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMoni, good morning,\u201d She would call out rushing from her mat to the window desperate to meet the gaze of the woman who delivered the water. The woman\u2019s eyes were glued to the ground. She was young, wearing a white head-wrap and a white shawl during every visit. <\/span><\/p>\n

Ignored by the woman, she would retreat to rinsing her body with the fresh water then she waited by the window for the children. The children came in clusters carrying little sacks and headed up the stone roads. In the first days, she waved at them anticipating more attention than that from the woman. <\/span>\u2028\u2028<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHello, please help me!\u201d She yelled. \u00a0\u201cHello, the door, it is locked can you open it?\u201d She demanded.<\/span><\/p>\n

But the children just stared back dully. Some would come closer to the window pointing at her in astonishment while others ran off giggling in their circles. Eventually, she would recoil to her mat and rest. Each day, she tested her memory, squinting her eyes as she drilled her mind on how she came to be <\/span>here<\/span><\/i>. Sadly, her oldest thought was awakening to facing this hut\u2019s ceiling. <\/span>\u2028\u2028<\/span><\/p>\n

Around midday, she sat by the window watching fishermen, butchers, farmers, and craftsmen roam the streets. They yelled out their daily merchandise and behind them women and men were dashing out of their homes following their desired hawker. She thought their language was strange but their manners familiar, they reminded her of a past place that had no face. She mimicked their words pasting the new language on her tongue as each day passed. <\/span>\u2028\u2028<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFish, flour, coconut!\u201d She would shout out her window, uncertain what the words meant but hoping one said, <\/span>help<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n

Past midday, the window of the hut reopened and another young woman wearing a white head-wrap and shawl emerged to replace her food and water. On some days, this woman brought chicken or beef stew, on other days she brought fried sardines with okra. She had mastered this woman\u2019s hands always waiting by the window each time the woman appeared. There were days she clasped her hands and begged for help, but the woman would quickly shrug away and ran off.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, I just need you to open the door!\u201d She would apologize as the woman scurried away.<\/span><\/p>\n

So it was on a day when neither of the women came, when the children did not walk by and when the traders did not sell that she finally had her visitor.<\/span><\/p>\n

*<\/span><\/p>\n

On this day, she spent the morning by the window pondering where everybody was. <\/span>It must be an important day with a big event. It must be a holiday. Or my time has finally come<\/span><\/i>\u2014<\/span> they want to kill me. <\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

Abruptly, a great commotion gathered around her hut. Dorca ran to the window and peered out to meet a mass of people surrounding her home. This was a diverse crowd: women, men, and children clothed in shawls of different colors and different patterns. Some shawls were newer than others, some cleaner, some fancier, while some were torn and dirty. She heard numerous conversations she could not understand. She thought of it as colorful noise. <\/span><\/p>\n

The conversations grew louder. She imagined more people surrounding her. About an hour later, the conversations stopped. There was a large cheer then the people sang triumphantly. She heard drumming in tune with the singing. She watched through her window as the crowd around her home danced together, a step to the left and a step to the right, their hands following the direction of the feet. <\/span><\/p>\n

Then a loud horn blew. A silence followed. Her heart paused. It was time. <\/span><\/p>\n

She heard murmurs by her door and quickly tiptoed to the dark end of the hut. The door swung open and a woman appeared standing as a silhouette with the sun behind her.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSelam, Dorca!\u201d The woman called out. Slowly, she stepped into the hut, her way led by a wooden cane. Her hair was thick and white like cotton, and her skin was lined with age. She wore a red shawl. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cActually, I should say Moni,\u201d She added now speaking to her in a familiar tongue. <\/span><\/p>\n

She froze. She understood this woman and Dorca was indeed her name. She felt her heart swell, and her blood gushing as valves popped with fear.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMoni,\u201d Dorca stammered back. <\/span>I must be dreaming<\/span><\/i> she thought to herself.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhere am I?\u201d She added, although the question traveling her mind was <\/span>who am I<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou are southeast of the Nile, north from the Maasai, and near but not too near, the west of the mighty waters.\u201d The woman answered crouching to peek outside the window. She met packs of beaming faces that cheered after her gaze swung their way. She stared back at Dorca, caught her eyes then added pointing outside, \u201cDorca, you are with the great people of Metengo!\u201d<\/span>\u2028<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMetengo!\u201d Dorca exhaled recognizing the name.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Metengo,\u201d The woman nodded. \u201cTell me, what happened to your people? What happened in Gerema?\u201d She added stepping closer to Dorca.<\/span><\/p>\n

Gerema. Home. <\/span><\/i>Dorca\u2019s heart crammed and the pain in her back returned. Her eyes watered, her breathing peaked then sped- she was dizzy. <\/span><\/p>\n

Gerema Gerema Gerema <\/span><\/i>drummed heavily in her ear, spinning around her eyes, rolling across her brain. Everything was blurred.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou are starting to remember.\u201d The woman whispered as Dorca collapsed into the ground. <\/span>\u2028<\/span><\/p>\n

*<\/span><\/p>\n

She did not know how long she had slept but again air swept into her body, her chest rose and she was awake. Her surroundings had changed. She lay on a soft bed facing a ceramic ceiling in a large hall.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou won\u2019t faint again okay!\u201d The old woman she had last seen said pointing her cane in Dorca\u2019s face. She stood on Dorca\u2019s right, and on the left stood another woman in a robe embroiled with silver and gold figures. The woman in the robe nodded at a man behind her and he dashed away.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d Dorca mumbled. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou like to faint!\u201d The old woman responded. Though she spoke in broken Gerema her annoyance was fluent in the moment. Dorca studied this woman. She was small, thin and weak posing most of her weight onto the cane. She swayed back and forth as though she could not balance her head. She reeked of knowledge. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWise One, does she remember?\u201d The woman in the robe asked the old woman in their tongue. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDo you remember?\u201d The old woman asked Dorca in Gerema. Dorca lay quietly. The man returned, saluted the woman in the robe then placed a calabash of water by Dorca\u2019s bed. <\/span><\/p>\n

Dorca finally shook her head to respond, her eyes were deep and wide with an apology.<\/span><\/p>\n

The older woman frowned at Dorca then looked up to the woman in the robe, \u201cIt\u2019s time I help her remember.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt has to be soon. It has happened in Jaro, Kitu, Tswana and Magito too. We may be next!\u201d Responded the woman in the robe. She turned around and raised her hand. Two men in spears came before her, she turned back to Dorca and the old woman and added firmly, \u201cWe need to know everything we can.\u201d She swung around and marched away with the two men following her.<\/span><\/p>\n

Dorca and the old woman were left alone in the hall.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is Chikumbutso. The Metengo call me Wise One.\u201d The woman introduced herself sitting on Dorca\u2019s bedside. She grabbed Dorca\u2019s right hand and continued, \u201cAnd you are Dorca of Gerema. Your people called you, Princess. You are the only living heir to what was Gerema.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

Dorca listened. She whispered <\/span>okay<\/span><\/i> when Wise One described how Metengo traders traveled south to trade for rice. She shivered as Wise One reported that the tradesmen found the kingdom of Gerema sprinkled with blood and burnt to the ground. Tearfully, she nodded as Wise One parted that they found her body unconscious near the community hall. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou were piled among the dead. Do you remember any of it?\u201d Wise One asked eagerly as she continued and unveiled how the traders brought Dorca to Metengo seeking a reward because she was of royal blood. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe queen invited me from the great forests to come give you more life,\u201d Wise One rose from the bed and tottered in circles with her cane. \u201cI fed you soft porridge, I fed you many seeds and many leaves, I knew you would live,\u201d Wise One added with her voice light with pride.<\/span><\/p>\n

Dorca felt hollow.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSome wanted you killed but I convinced the queen to preserve you for the future knowledge of Metengo.\u201d Her hoarse voice barely echoed in the hall. \u201cNow that you are awake, I need you to prove your value.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do I do?\u201d Dorca whispered uncertainly. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTake this and chew,\u201d Wise One responded handing over a wrapped banana leaf. <\/span><\/p>\n

Dorca rose and opened the leaf. It was packed with chopped roots of different shades and sizes. Dorca looked up at Wise One doubtfully. <\/span>\u2028\u2028<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cEat them!\u201d Wise One commanded.<\/span><\/p>\n

The roots were bitter stinging half her tongue. <\/span>Just swallow <\/span><\/i>She encouraged herself as she absorbed the small chunks. <\/span><\/p>\n

They waited quietly and soon Dorca started to <\/span>see<\/span><\/i>. <\/span>\u2028<\/span><\/p>\n

She was Dorca Her face hidden in a scarf as she snuck out of the palace for a day at the market Today she blended in with the commoners hiding in one of her caretaker\u2019s dresses She jogged down to the town hall her feet picking dust they rarely saw Today was the big trial Two tradesmen had travelled west and bought rifles breaking the law that forbade militarization Dorca was excited bothering her father to unveil how the men would be punished Each day she fished her mother\u2019s mind for an opinion Her parents dismissed her They told her not to concern herself with such matters They told her the elders would decide what was right She had to see for herself So here she was lost in the large crowd of viewers outside the community hall She stood listening to a couple next to her argue over what the elders should decide She was dreamy imagining her future love Would they fight over the what the elders\u2019 should decide Suddenly it blew A gunshot coming from the palace Then several more also from the palace Then another one from the town gates Then several more from the town gates Then another one from the farmlands Shots were exploding from all directions The people started to scamper uncertain of which direction to head The shots were closing in There were many screams then a man crashed into Dorca who stood frozen uncertain of where to run She fell to the ground She tried to rise but a running woman thumped her down A child stepped over her A racing man whacked her down Again a woman stepped over her More people ran over her Pain surrounded her body Hundreds stepped over Dorca mislabeling her for dead The shots were flying above her Bodies collapsed beside her She could not rise She was dizzy A white gunmen threw a bleeding body over her She felt the man die above her She heard his heart decline There was smoke around her Her world was woozy Gerema was on fire Her eyes shut Gerema fell asleep<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

Listen to another of Ellen’s stories “Market Day,” which she read at the launch party of the print edition of The Blackstick Review<\/em>.\u00a0Story begins at 1:00<\/p>\n

\n

\"ScreenEllen Chilemba<\/b> is a serial social entrepreneur. She is the founder and director at Tiwale, a community based organization that supports women in Malawi through providing economic and education opportunities. She is a Global Changemaker, a Forbes\u2019 Africa 30 Under 30, a Glamour College Woman of the Year, a Mount Holyoke College senior, a DJ, an artist, and a gardener with a big, fat, green thumb. She recently started writing and can’t stop.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Goodnight Gerema Dorca did not know how she came to be. One day, air swung through her nostrils, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":85,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-7","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/85"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7"}],"version-history":[{"count":16,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":271,"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7\/revisions\/271"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/commons.mtholyoke.edu\/blackstickreview2017\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}