The Brothers Kayuma

The rain had come late on Saturday and stayed all through the night. The grass on the side of the path was making my trousers wet and I thought that it was good that I had put on the old pair and not my church trousers.

Ahead of me on the path, Boniface was walking with his hoe over one shoulder. The hoe had a long wooden handle that was worn smooth from daily use. It hung from Boniface's shoulder by a large rough-metal blade that was wedged through a hole in the fore end of the handle where the wood had been left with a greater girth. There was no wind in the trees and the humidity was oppressive, but Boniface walked casually and didn't appear to mind the morning sun that was already making the sweat bead on my forehead and trickle down my face at the temples. I tried to take a deep breath and didn't feel that I could pull the air as far down as I needed.

As we walked, we went deeper and deeper into the bush and there were no longer any houses along the path- only dense forest. The path we followed was only wide enough for walking and barely wide enough for that in some places. The dirt on the path was tightly packed and only became slick on the surface after the rain.

After some time, we came to a place where the trees had been cleared in a large circle. The massive hardwood logs had been piled in the center of the clearing. Boniface walked to the pile and let the hoe drop from his shoulder. "Before church, we cover three sides," said Boniface. "I will work hard and if I can cover the pile before night, we will set in fire. Charcoal will be very available, Nkambo." Grasping it with both hands, Boniface raised the hoe over his head and then drove the blade into the ground in front of his feet. Pulling back, he loosened a piece of sod about as big around as a basketball. He repeated this again and again and the slowly the firm ground around the pile of logs became a field of sod blocks that could easily be lifted. He swung the hoe with such a fluid motion, and with so little sweat, that it looked very simple. But I knew that when the hoe is in my hand, the motion is anything but fluid.

I stood there watching Boniface work and thought about how he had said that he would have to work hard to cover the logs that day. People were depending on his ability to swing the hoe with a fluid motion. I knew that he would work hard. His work ethic was something that I respected.

The house that Boniface lives in is thirty meters to the west of my house. It is made of mud bricks that were formed in a mold and then dried in the sun. The roof of the house is made of grass that was gathered during the dry season. I have never been inside of Boniface's house, but if you were to walk in and look up, I know what you would see. You would see dark hardwood poles running from the tops of the brick walls to the ridge on the roof with bamboo shoots that have been split in half and laid perpendicular to the poles. Grass is then layered over all. The roof leaks in the rain, and empty cement bags- from the Belgian road-construction camp near my house- have been strategically placed where the leaks are the worst.

Under his leaky roof, Boniface has a family of five children of his own and his wife's daughter from a previous relationship. This daughter is HIV positive and she has a new baby of her own. The father of that baby has contributed nothing to the family. The nine of them live in this mud brick house about the size of a big living room in the states. Another thirty-or-so meters to the west of Boniface's house is the house of his grandmother. Though she is in her eighties and strong for her age, things are becoming difficult for her. Now you must go right up to her kinzanza to greet her and those greetings must be said loudly. Boniface helps her to find nshima and relish so that she can eat every day.

Boniface finished through the ninth grade- a respectable education in the village- but has had very few opportunities since then.

Fifty meters to the north of my house is the house of Godfrey Kayuma. Godfrey is the older brother to Boniface and the eldest male in the village. The brothers are separated by about ten years, but I don't know exactly how old Godfrey is. When I ask him when he was born, he tells me 24 October 1964. It doesn't seem like an unreasonable date except that it is the exact date that Zambia gained independence from Britain. It's a date that's given by many people here when you ask when they were born. Many people have no idea when they were born in Zambia.

Godfrey was the first of the brothers to call me Nkambo- meaning grandson- and it has defined my family relationship with the whole village. For the past two years, I have been eating at least two meals a day with Godfrey's family. If there is something I need, I go to Godfrey. He makes sure my house is in good condition and makes sure I understand what's happening around me if I'm confused. The relationship designation is not given lightly. I am a part of their family and I am treated as such.

Because I am the grandson of Godfrey, I am also the grandson of Boniface and I have an appropriate relationship name with everyone else in the village. The last volunteer was Mwisho- meaning niece- and because of this, she couldn't walk freely into the Kayuma's houses. I'm Nkambo, so I can go anywhere if I want. I have been told that the relationship difference is because I'm man and the last volunteer was a woman. For a while I tried to argue that I saw no difference- that the gender's were equal in my culture- but started to feel that I was arguing against something that I couldn't understand from the outside and stopped.

When a large patch of ground around the pile of logs had been broken into liftable sod blocks, Boniface laid his hoe on the ground. He started piling the sod around the logs. The sod piled higher and higher and Boniface placed the blocks expertly so that no opening could be detected in the growing wall. "No air should reach the logs, Nkambo," he instructed. "If there is air, the logs will go to ash and you will lose the charcoal." I nodded and started to hand Boniface the sod blocks that were to far from the pile for him to reach without moving.

I know that Godfrey and Boniface aren't friends. They are not cruel to each other outright, but there is a tension that exists and they don't seem to enjoy each other's company. I think that most of it comes from the fact that Godfrey is the older. This means that Boniface shows respect to Godfrey and submits to his elder brother's wishes. Boniface calls Godfrey "The Big Man," and I have also taken to referring to Godfrey in this way when talking to Boniface.

As Boniface piled the sod he talked about "The Big Man" and problems that are happening in his house. Godfrey has nine children and they live in a house that's maybe twice as big as the house of Boniface. The house is made from baked bricks and has an iron roof. This means that Godfrey has the nicest house in the area. He works as a security guard at an electric transformer about five kilometers away. The transformer was put there by Zesco- the electric company in Zambia- about ten months ago. They are bringing electricity to my area, but it's coming very slowly and so far the transformer has just been a skeleton. Because of the job, Godfrey is often gone- sometimes all night- and his wife has suspicions. I also hear stories, but I do my best not to let these stories effect the way I view "The Big Man." His relationship means too much to me, and I could never fully understand what's going on in his family. It would be unfair to judge by my culture.

I continued handing Boniface sod blocks while I listened to his story. There had been a shouting match between Boniface and Godfrey's wife the day before. Boniface had punished Godfrey's son for breaking Boniface's axe and Godfrey's wife felt that he wasn't showing her or the son enough respect because Boniface is the younger brother. I listened and nodded. "Bankambo," I ventured, "can I ask you a question?"
"Please, Nkambo."
"I consider you and The Big Man my family, and I have seen that you work very hard and you are responsible for your family and others and..." I hesitated, not knowing how to say what I thought, "...and you don't seem to get very much respect."
Boniface looked down and I continued. "Why do you stay?"
Boniface didn't hesitate. "Because people- the old ones and the young ones- need me there."

As we walked back to the village to change for church, I thought about what Boniface had said. I thought about what life would be like for me when became too old to hear when people greet me. I wondered what it would be like for my parents. As I put on my church trousers, I couldn't help being greatful that I've had a chance to be a Kayuma.