When the old gods die 



Ngai, who rules the universe from His golden throne atop the 
holy mountain Kirinyaga, which men now call Mount Kenya, created 
the Sun and the Moon, and declared that they should have equal 
domain over the Earth. 
     The Sun would bring warmth to the world, and all of Ngai's 
creatures would thrive and grow strong in the light. But even Ngai 
must sleep, and when He slept He ordered the Moon to watch over 
His creations. 
     But the Moon was duplicitous, and formed a secret alliance 
with the Lion and the Leopard and the Hyena, and many nights, 
while Ngai slept, it would turn only a part of its face to the 
Earth. At such times the predators would go forth to maim and kill 
and eat their fellow creatures. 
     Finally one man, a _mundumugu_ -- a witch doctor -- realized 
that the Moon had tricked Ngai, and he made up his mind to correct 
the problem. He might have appealed to Ngai, but he was a proud 
man, and so he took it upon himself to make certain that the flesh 
eaters would no longer have a partnership with the darkness. 
     He retired to his _boma_ and allowed no visitors. For nine 
days and nine nights he rolled his bones and arranged his charms 
and mixed his potions, and when he emerged on the morning of the 
tenth day, he was ready to do what must be done. 
     The Sun was overhead, and he knew that there could be no 
darkness as long as the Sun shone down upon the Earth. He uttered 
a mystic chant, and soon he was flying into the sky to confront 
the Sun. 
     "Halt!" he said. "Your brother the Moon is evil. You must 
remain where you are, lest Ngai's creatures continue to die." 
     "What is that to me?" responded the Sun. "I cannot shirk my 
duty simply because my brother shirks his." 
     The _mundumugu_ held up a hand. "I will not let you pass," he 
said. 
     But the Sun merely laughed, and proceeded on its path, and 
when it reached the _mundumugu_ it gobbled him up and spat out the 
ashes, for even the greatest _mundumugu_ cannot stay the Sun from 
its course. That story has been known to every _mundumugu_ since 
Ngai created Gikuyu, the first man. Of them all, only one ignored 
it. 
     I am that _mundumugu_. 
                          *   *   * 
     It is said that from the moment of birth, even of conception, 
every living thing has embarked upon an inevitable trajectory that 
culminates in its death. If this is true of all living things, and 
it seems to be, then it is also true of man. And if it is true of 
man, then it must be true of the gods who made man in their image. 
     Yet this knowledge does not lessen the pain of death. I had 
just come back from comforting Katuma, whose father, old Siboki, 
had finally died, not from disease or injury, but rather from the 
awful burden of his years. Siboki had been one of the original 
colonists on our terraformed world of Kirinyaga, a member of the 
Council of Elders, and though he had grown feeble in mind as well 
as body, I knew I would miss him as I missed few others. 
     As I walked back through the village, on the long, winding 
path by the river that eventually led to my own _boma_, I was very 
much aware of my own mortality. I was not that much younger than 
Siboki, and indeed was already an old man when we left Kenya and 
emigrated to Kirinyaga. I knew my death could not be too far away, 
and yet I hoped that it was, not from selfishness, but because 
Kirinyaga was not yet ready to do without me. The _mundumugu_ is 
more than a shaman who utters curses and creates spells; he is the 
repository of all the moral and civil laws, all the customs and 
traditions, of the Kikuyu people, and I was not convinced that 
Kirinyaga had yet produced a competent successor. 
     It is a harsh and lonely life, the life of a _mundumugu_. He 
is more feared than loved by the people he serves. This is not his 
fault, but rather the nature of his position. He must do what he 
knows to be right for his people, and that means he must sometimes 
make unpopular decisions. 
     How strange, then, that the decision that brought me down had 
nothing at all to do with my people. 
     I should have had a premonition about it, for no conversation 
is ever truly random. As I was walking past the scarecrows in the 
fields on the way to my _boma_, I came across Kimanti, the young 
son of Ngobe, driving two of his goats home from their morning's 
grazing. 
     "_Jambo_, Koriba," he greeted me, shading his eyes from the 
bright overhead sun. 
     "_Jambo_, Kimanti," I said. "I see that your father now 
allows you to tend to his goats. Soon the day will come that he 
puts you in charge of his cattle." 
     "Soon," he agreed, offering me a water gourd. "It is a warm 
day. Would you like something to drink?" 
     "That is very generous of you," I said, taking the gourd and 
holding it to my mouth. 
     "I have always been generous to you, have I not, Koriba?" he 
said. 
     "Yes, you have," I replied suspiciously, wondering what favor 
he was preparing to request. 
     "Then why do you allow my father's right arm to remain 
shriveled and useless?" he asked. "Why do you not cast a spell and 
make it like other men's arms?" 
     "It is not that simple, Kimanti," I said. "It is not I who 
shriveled your father's arm, but Ngai. He would not have done so 
without a purpose." 
     "What purpose is served by crippling my father?" asked 
Kimanti. 
     "If you wish, I shall sacrifice a goat and ask Ngai why He 
has allowed it," I said. 
     He considered my offer and then shook his head. "I do not 
care to hear Ngai's answer, for it will change nothing." He 
paused, lost in thought for a moment. "How long do you think Ngai 
will be our god?" 
     "Forever," I said, surprised at his question. 
     "That cannot be," he replied seriously. "Surely Ngai was not 
our god when He was just a _mtoto_. He must have killed the old 
gods when He was young and powerful. But He has been god for a 
long time now, and it is time someone killed Him. Maybe the new 
god will show more compassion toward my father." 
     "Ngai created the world," I said. "He created the Kikuyu and 
the Maasai and the Wakamba, and even the European, and He created 
the holy mountain Kirinyaga, for which our world is named. He has 
existed since time began, and He will exist until it ends." 
     Kimanti shook his head again. "If He has been here that long, 
He is ready to die. It is just a matter of who will kill Him." He 
paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps I myself will, when I am older and 
stronger." 
     "Perhaps," I agreed. "But before you do, let me tell you the 
story of the King of the Zebras." 
     "Is this story about Ngai or zebras?" he asked. 
     "Why don't you listen?" I said. "Then you can tell _me_ what 
it was about?" I gently lowered myself to the ground, and he 
squatted down next to me. 
     "There was a time," I began, "when zebras did not have 
stripes. They were as brown as the dried grasses on the savannah, 
as dull to the eye as the bole of the acacia tree. And because 
their color protected them, they were rarely taken by the lion and 
the leopard, who found it much easier to find and stalk the 
wildebeest and the topi and the impala. 
     "Then one day a son was born to the King of the Zebras -- but 
it was not a normal son, for it had no nostrils. The King of the 
Zebras was first saddened for his son, and then outraged that such 
a thing should be allowed. The more he dwelt upon it, the more 
angry he became. Finally he ascended the holy mountain, and came 
at last to the peak, where Ngai ruled the world from His golden 
throne. 
     "'Have you come to sing my praises?' asked Ngai. 
     "'No!' answered the King of the Zebras. 'I have come to tell 
you that you are a terrible god, and that I am here to kill you.' 
     "'What have I done to you that you should wish to kill me?' 
asked Ngai. 
     "'You gave me a son who has no nostrils, so he cannot sense 
when the lion and the leopard are approaching him, and because of 
that they will surely find and kill him when at last he leaves his 
mother's side. You have been a god too long, and you have 
forgotten how to be compassionate.' 
     "'Wait!' said Ngai, and suddenly there was such power in his 
voice that the King of the Zebras froze where he was. 'I will give 
your son nostrils, since that is what you want.' 
     "'Why were you so cruel in the first place?' demanded the 
King of the Zebras, his anger not fully assuaged. 
     "'Gods work in mysterious ways,' answered Ngai, 'and what 
seems cruel to you may actually be compassionate. Because you had 
been a good and noble king, I gave your son eyes that could see in 
the dark, that could see through bushes, that could even see 
around trees, so that he could never be surprised by the lion and 
the leopard, even should the wind's direction favor them. And 
because of this gift, he did not need his nostrils. I took them 
away so that he would not have to breathe in the dust that chokes 
his fellow zebras during the dry season. But now I have given him 
back his sense of smell, and taken away his special vision, 
because you have demanded it.' 
     "'Then you _did_ have a reason,' moaned the King of the 
Zebras. 'When did I become so foolish?' 
     "'The moment you thought you were greater than me,' answer 
Ngai, rising to His true height, which was taller than the clouds. 
'And to punish you for your audacity, I decree that from this 
moment forward you and all your kind shall no longer be brown like 
the dried grasses, but will be covered with black and white 
stripes that will attract the lion and the leopard from miles 
away. No matter where you go on the face of the world, you will 
never again be able to hide from them.' 
     "And so saying, Ngai waved a hand and every zebra in the 
world was suddenly covered with the same stripes you see today." 
     I stopped and stared at Kimanti. 
     "That is the end?" he asked. 
     "That is the end." 
     Kimanti stared at a millipede crawling in the dirt. 
     "The zebra was a baby, and could not explain to its father 
that it had special eyes," he said at last. "My father's arm has 
been shriveled for many long rains, and the only explanation he 
has received is that Ngai works in mysterious ways. He has been 
given no special senses to make up for it, for if he had been 
he would surely know about them by now." Kimanti looked at me 
thoughtfully. "It is an interesting story, Koriba, and I am sorry 
for the King of the Zebras, but I think a new god must come along 
and kill Ngai very soon." 
     There we sat, the wise old _mundumugu_ who had a parable for 
every problem, and the foolish young _kehee_ -- an uncircumsized 
boy -- who had no more knowledge of his world than a tadpole, in 
total opposition to each other. 
     Only a god with Ngai's sense of humor would have arranged for 
the _kehee_ to be right. 
                          *   *   * 
     It began when the ship crashed. 
     (There are those embittered men and women who would say it 
began the day Kirinyaga received its charter from the Eutopian 
Council, but they are wrong.) 
     Maintenance ships fly among the Utopian worlds, delivering 
goods to some, mail to others, services to a few. Only Kirinyaga 
has no traffic with Maintenance. They are permitted to observe us 
-- indeed, that is one of the conditions of our charter -- but 
they may not interfere, and since we have tried to create a Kikuyu 
Utopia, we have no interest in commerce with Europeans. 
     Still, Maintenance ships _have_ landed on Kirinyaga from time 
to time. One of the conditions of our charter is that if a citizen 
is unhappy with our world, he need only walk to that area known as 
Haven, and a Maintenance ship will pick him up and take him either 
to Earth or to another Eutopian world. Once a Maintenance ship 
landed to disgorge two immigrants, and very early in Kirinyaga's 
existence Maintenance sent a representative to interfere with our 
religious practices. 
     I don't know why the ship was so close to Kirinyaga to begin 
with. I had not ordered Maintenance to make any orbital 
adjustments lately, for the short rains were not due for another 
two months, and it was right that the days passed, hot and bright 
and unchanging. To the best of my knowledge, none of the villagers 
had made the pilgrimage to Haven, so no Maintenance ship should 
have been sent to Kirinyaga. But the fact remains that one moment 
the sky was clear and blue, and the next there was a streak of 
light plunging down to the surface of the planet. An explosion 
followed; though I could not see it, I could both hear it and see 
the results, for the cattle became very nervous and herds of 
impala and zebra bolted this way and that in panic. 
     It was about twenty minutes later that young Jinja, the son 
of Kichanta, ran up the hill to my _boma_. 
     "You must come, Koriba!" he said as he gasped for breath. 
     "What has happened?" I asked. 
     "A Maintenance ship has crashed!" he said. "The pilot is 
still alive!" 
     "Is he badly hurt?" 
     Jinja nodded. "Very badly. I think he may die soon." 
     "I am an old man, and it would take me a very long time to 
walk to the pilot," I said. "It would be better for you to take 
three young men from the village and bring him back to me on a 
litter." 
     Jinja raced off while I went into my hut to see what I had 
that might ease the pilot's pain. There were some qat leaves, if 
he was strong enough to chew them, and a few ointments if he 
wasn't. I contacted Maintenance on my computer, and told them that 
I would apprise them of the man's condition after I examined him. 
     In years past, I would have sent my assistant to the river to 
bring back water which I would boil in preparation for washing out 
the pilot's wounds, but I no longer had an assistant, and the 
_mundumugu_ does not carry water, so I simply waited atop my hill, 
my gaze turned toward the direction of the crash. A grass fire had 
started, and a column of smoke rose from it. I saw Jinja and the 
others trotting across the savannah with the litter; I saw topi 
and impala and even buffalo race out of their way; and then I 
could not see them for almost ten minutes. When they once again 
came into view, they were walking, and it was obvious that they 
were carrying a man on the litter. 
     Before they reached my _boma_, however, Karenja came up the 
long, winding path from the village. 
     "_Jambo_, Koriba," he said. 
     "What are you doing here?" I asked. 
     "The whole village knows that a Maintenance ship has 
crashed," he replied. "I have never seen a European before. I came 
to see if his face is really as white as milk." 
     "You are doomed to be disappointed," I said. "We call them 
white, but in reality they are shades of pink and tan." 
     "Even so," he said, squatting down, "I have never seen one." 
     I shrugged. "As you will." 
     Jinja and the young men arrived a few minutes later with the 
litter. On it lay the twisted body of the pilot. His arms and legs 
were broken, and there was very little skin on him that was not 
burned. He had lost a lot of blood, and some still seeped through 
his wounds. He was unconscious, but breathing regularly. 
     "_Asante sana_," I said to the four young men. "Thank you. 
You have done well this day." 
     I had one of them fill my gourds with water. The other three 
bowed and began walking down the hill, while I went through my 
various ointments, choosing the one that would cause the least 
discomfort when placed on the burns. 
     Karenja watched in rapt fascination. Twice I had to rebuke 
him for touching the pilot's blond hair in wonderment. As the sun 
changed positions in the sky, I had him help me move the pilot 
into the shade. 
     Then, after I had tended to the pilot's wounds, I went into 
my hut, activated my computer, and contacted Maintenance again. I 
explained that the pilot was still alive, but that all of his 
limbs were broken, his body was covered with burns, and that he 
was in a coma and would probably die soon. 
     Their answer was that they had already dispatched a medic, 
who would arrive within half an hour, and they told me to have 
someone waiting at Haven to guide the medic to my _boma_. Since 
Karenja was still looking at the pilot, I ordered him to greet the 
ship and bring the medic to me. 
     The pilot did not stir for the next hour. At least, I do not 
think he did, but I dozed with my back against a tree for a few 
minutes, so I cannot be sure. What woke me was a woman's voice 
speaking a language I had not heard for many years. I got 
painfully to my feet just in time to greet the medic that 
Maintenance had sent. 
     "You must be Koriba," she said in English. "I have been 
trying to communicate with the gentleman who accompanied me, but I 
don't think he understood a word I said." 
     "I am Koriba," I said in English. 
     She extended her hand. "I am Doctor Joyce Witherspoon. May I 
see the patient?" 
     I led her over to where the pilot lay. 
     "Do you know his name?" I asked. "We could not find any 
identification." 
     "Samuel or Samuels, I'm not sure," she said, kneeling down 
next to him. "He's in a bad way." She gave him a perfunctory 
examination, lasting less than a minute. "We could do much more 
for him back at Base, but I hate to move him in this condition." 
     "I can have him moved to Haven within an hour," I said. "The 
sooner you have him in your hospital, the better." 
     She shook her head. "I think he'll have to remain here until 
he's a little stronger." 
     "I will have to consider it," I said. 
     "There's nothing to consider," she said. "In my medical 
opinion, he's too weak to move." She pointed to a piece of his 
shin bone that had broken through the skin of his leg. "I need to 
set most of the broken bones, and make sure there's no infection." 
     "You could do this at your hospital," I said. 
     "I can do it here at much less cost to the patient's 
remaining vitality," she said. "What's the problem, Koriba?" 
     "The problem, _Memsaab_ Witherspoon," I said, "is that 
Kirinyaga is a Kikuyu Utopia. This means a rejection of all things 
European, including your medicine." 
     "I'm not practicing it on any Kikuyu," she said. "I'm trying 
to save a Maintenance pilot who just happened to crash on your 
world." 
     I stared at the pilot for a long moment. "All right," I said 
at last. "That is a logical argument. You may minister to his 
wounds." 
     "Thank you," she said. 
     "But he must leave in three days' time," I said. "I will not 
risk contamination beyond that." 
     She looked at me as if she was about to argue, but said 
nothing. Instead, she opened the medical kit she had brought, and 
injected something -- a sedative, I assumed, or a pain killer, or 
a combination of the two -- into his arm. 
     "She is a witch!" said Karenja. "See how she punctures his 
skin with a metal thorn!" He stared at the pilot, fascinated. "Now 
he will surely die." 
     Joyce Witherspoon worked well into the night, cleansing the 
pilot's wounds, setting his broken bones, breaking his fever. I 
don't remember when I fell asleep, but when I woke up, shivering, 
in the cold morning air just after sunrise, she was sleeping and 
Karenja was gone. 
     I built a fire, then sat near it with my blanket wrapped 
around me, until the sun began warming the air. Joyce Witherspoon 
woke up shortly thereafter. 
     "Good morning," she said when she saw me sitting a short 
distance away from her. 
     "Good morning, _Memsaab_ Witherspoon," I replied. 
     "What time is it?" she asked. 
     "It is morning." 
     "I mean, what hour and minute is it?" 
     "We do not have hours and minutes on Kirinyaga," I told her. 
"Only days." 
     "I should look at Mr. Samuels." 
     "He is still alive," I said. 
     "Of course he is," she replied. "But the poor man will need 
skin grafts, and he may lose that right leg. He'll be a long time 
recovering." She paused and looked around. "Uh...where do I wash 
up around here?" 
     "The river runs by the foot of my hill," I said. "Be sure you 
beat the water first, to frighten away the crocodiles." 
     "What kind of Utopia has crocodiles?" she asked with a smile. 
     "What Eden has no serpents?" I said. 
     She laughed and walked down the hill. I took a sip from my 
water gourd, then killed the fire and spread the ashes. One of the 
boys from the village came by to take my goats out to graze, and 
another brought firewood and took my gourds down to the river to 
fill them. 
     When Joyce Witherspoon returned from the river some twenty 
minutes later, she was not alone. With her was Kibo, the third and 
youngest wife of Koinnage, the paramount chief of the village, and 
in Kibo's arms was Katabo, her infant son. His left arm was 
swollen to twice it's size, and was badly miscolored. 
     "I found this woman laundering her clothes by the river," 
said Joyce Witherspoon, "and I noticed that her child had a badly 
infected arm. It looks like some kind of insect bite. I managed 
through sign language to convince her to follow me up here." 
     "Why did you not bring Katabo to me?" I asked Kibo in 
Swahili. 
     "Last time you charged me two goats, and he remained sick for 
many days, and Koinnage beat me for wasting the goats," she said, 
so terrified she had made me angry that she could not think of a 
lie. 
     Even as Kibo spoke, Joyce Witherspoon began approaching her 
and Katabo with a syringe in her hand. 
     "This is a broad-spectrum antibiotic," she explained to me. 
"It also contains a steroid that will prevent itching or any 
discomfort while the infection remains." 
     "Stop!" I said harshly in English. 
     "What's the matter?" 
     "You may not do this," I said. "You are here to minister to 
the pilot only." 
     "This is a baby, and it's suffering," she said. "It'll take 
me two seconds to give it a shot and cure it." 
     "I cannot permit it." 
     "What's the matter with you?" she demanded. "I read your 
biography. You may dress like a savage and sit in the dirt next to 
your fire, but you were educated at Cambridge and received your 
post-graduate degrees from Yale. Surely you know how easily I can 
end this child's suffering." 
     "That's not the point," I said. 
     "Then what _is_ the point?" 
     "You may not medicate this child. It seems like a blessing 
now -- but once before we accepted the Europeans' medicine, and 
then their religion, and their clothing, and their laws, and their 
customs, and eventually we ceased to be Kikuyu and became a new 
race, a race of black Europeans known only as Kenyans. We came to 
Kirinyaga to make sure that such a thing does not happen to us 
again." 
     "_He_ won't know why he feels better. You can credit it to 
your god or yourself for all I care." 
     I shook my head. "I appreciate your sentiment, but I cannot 
let you corrupt our Utopia." 
     "Look at him," she said, pointing to Katabo's swollen arm. 
"Is Kirinyaga a Utopia for _him_? Where is it written that Utopias 
must have sick and suffering children?" 
     "Nowhere." 
     "Well, then?" 
     "It is not written," I continued, "because the Kikuyu do not 
have a written language." 
     "Will you at least let the mother decide?" 
     "No," I said. 
     "Why not?" 
     "The mother will think only of her child," I answered. "I 
must think of an entire world." 
     "Perhaps her child is more important to her than your world 
is to you." 
     "She is incapable of making a reasoned decision," I said. 
"Only _I_ can foresee all the consequences." 
     Suddenly Kibo, who understood not a word of English, turned 
to me. 
     "Will the European witch make my little Katabo better?" she 
asked. "Why are you two arguing?" 
     "The European witch is here only for the European," I 
answered. "She has no power to help the Kikuyu." 
     "Can she not try?" asked Kibo. 
     "_I_ am your _mundumugu_," I said harshly. 
     "But look at the pilot," said Kibo, pointing to Samuels. 
"Yesterday he was all but dead. Today his skin is already healing, 
and his arms and legs are straight again." 
     "Her god is the god of the Europeans," I answered, "just as 
her magic is the magic of the Europeans. Her spells do not work on 
the Kikuyu." 
     Kibo fell silent, and clutched Katabo to her breast. 
     I turned to Joyce Witherspoon. "I apologize for speaking in 
Swahili, but Kibo knows no other language." 
     "It's all right," she said. "I had no difficulty following 
it." 
     "I thought you told me you only spoke English." 
     "Sometimes you needn't understand the words to translate. I 
believe you were saying, in essence, 'Thou shalt have no other 
gods before me.'" 
     The pilot moaned just then, and suddenly all of her attention 
was focused upon him. He was coming into a state of semi- 
consciousness, unfocused and unintelligible but no longer 
comatose, and she began administering medications into the tubes 
that were already attached to his arms and legs. Kibo watched in 
wonderment, but kept her distance. 
     I remained on my hill most of the morning. I offered to 
remove the curse from Katabo's arm and give him some soothing 
lotions, but Kibo refused, saying that Koinnage steadfastly 
refused to part with any more goats. 
     "I will not charge you this time," I said, for I wanted 
Koinnage on my side. I uttered a spell over the child, then 
treated his arm with a salve made from the pulped bark of the 
acacia tree. I ordered Kibo to return to her _shamba_ with him, 
and told her that the child's arm would return to normal within 
five days. 
     Finally it was time for me to go into the village to bless 
the scarecrows and give Leibo, who had lost her baby, ointment to 
ease the pain in her breasts. I would meet with Bakada, who had 
accepted the bride price for his daughter and wanted me to preside 
at the wedding, and finally I would join Koinnage and the Council 
of Elders as they discussed the weighty issues of the day. 
     As I walked down the long, winding path beside the river, I 
found myself thinking how much like the European's Garden of Eden 
this world looked. 
     How was I to know that the serpent had already arrived? 
                          *   *   * 
     After I had tended to my chores in the village, I stopped at 
Ngobe's hut to share a gourd of _pombe_ with him. He asked about 
the pilot, for by now everyone in the village had heard about him, 
and I explained that the European's _mundumugu_ was curing him and 
would take him back to Maintenance headquarters in two more days. 
     "She must have powerful magic," he said, "for I am told that 
the man's body was badly broken." He paused. "It is too bad," he 
added wistfully, "that such magic will not work for the Kikuyu." 
     "My magic has always been sufficient," I said. 
     "True," he said uneasily. "But I remember the day when we 
brought Tabari's son back after the hyenas had attacked him and 
chewed off one of his legs. You eased his pain, but you could not 
save him. Perhaps the witch from Maintenance could have." 
     "The pilot had broken his legs, but they were not chewed 
off," I said defensively. "No one could have saved Tabari's son 
after the hyenas had finished with him." 
     "Perhaps you are right," he said. 
     My first inclination was to pounce on the word _"perhaps"_, 
but then I decided that he meant no insult by it, so I finished my 
_pombe_, cast the bones and read that he would have a successful 
harvest, and left his hut. 
     I stopped in the center of the village to recite a fable to 
the children, then went over to Koinnage's _shamba_ and entered 
his _boma_ for the daily meeting of the Council of Elders. Most of 
them were already there, grim-faced and silent. Finally Koinnage 
emerged from his hut and joined us. 
     "We have serious business to discuss today," he announced. 
"Perhaps the most serious we have _ever_ discussed," he added, 
staring straight at me. Suddenly he faced his wives' huts. "Kibo!" 
he shouted. "Come here!" 
     Kibo emerged from her hut and walked over to us, carrying 
little Katabo in her arms. 
     "You all saw my son's arm yesterday," said Koinnage. "It was 
swollen to twice it's normal size, and was the color of death." He 
took the child and held it above his head. "Now look at him!" he 
cried. 
     Katabo's arm was once again a healthy color, and almost all 
of the swelling had vanished. 
     "My medicine worked faster than I had anticipated," I said. 
     "This is not _your_ medicine at all!" he said accusingly. 
"This is the European witch's medicine!" 
     I looked at Kibo. "I ordered you to leave my _boma_ ahead of 
me!" I said sternly. 
     "You did not order me not to return," she said, her face 
fill with defiance as she stood next to Koinnage. "The witch 
pierced Katabo's arm with a metal thorn, and before I could climb 
back down your hill the swelling was already half gone." 
     "You disobeyed my command," I said ominously. 
     "I am the paramount chief, and I absolve her," interjected 
Koinnage. 
     "I am the _mundumugu_, and I do not!" I said, and suddenly 
Kibo's defiance was replaced by terror. 
     "We have more important things to discuss," snapped Koinnage. 
This startled me, for when I am angry, no one has the courage to 
confront or contradict me. 
     I pulled some luminscent powder, made from the ground-up 
bodies of night-stalking beetles, out of my pouch, held it on the 
palm of my hand, raised my hand to my mouth, and blew the power in 
Kibo's direction. She screamed in terror and fell writhing to the 
ground. 
     "What have you done to her?" demanded Koinnage. 
     _I have terrified her beyond your ability to comprehend, 
which is a just and fitting punishment for disobeying me,_ I 
thought. Aloud I said, "I have marked her spirit so that all the 
predators of the Other World can find it at night when she sleeps. 
If she swears never to disobey her _mundumugu_ again, if she shows 
proper contrition for disobeying me today, then I shall remove the 
markings before she goes to sleep this evening. If not..." I 
shrugged and let the threat hang in the air. 
     "Then perhaps the European witch will remove the markings," 
said Koinnage. 
     "Do you think the god of the Europeans is mightier than 
Ngai?" I demanded. 
     "I do not know," replied Koinnage. "But he healed my son's 
arm in moments, when Ngai would have taken days." 
     "For years you have told us to reject all things European," 
added Karenja, "yet I myself have seen the witch use her magic on 
the dying pilot, and I think it is stronger that _your_ magic." 
     "It is a magic for Europeans only," I said. 
     "This is not so," answered Koinnage. "For did the witch not 
offer it to Katabo? If she can halt the suffering of our sick and 
our injured faster than Ngai can, then we must consider accepting 
her offer." 
     "If you accept her offer," I said, "before long you will be 
asked to accept her god, and her science, and her clothing, and 
her customs." 
     "Her science is what created Kirinyaga and flew us here," 
said Ngobe. "How can it be bad if it made Kirinyaga possible?" 
     "It is not bad for the Europeans," I said, "because it is 
part of their culture. But we must never forget why we came to 
Kirinyaga in the first place: to create a Kikuyu world and re- 
estabish a Kikuyu culture." 
     "We must think seriously about this," said Koinnage. "For 
years we have believed that every facet of the Europeans' culture 
was evil, for we had no examples of it. But now that we see that 
even a female can cure our illness faster than Ngai can, it is 
time to reconsider." 
     "If her magic could have cured my withered arm when I was 
still a boy," added Ngobe, "why would that have been evil?" 
     "It would have been against the will of Ngai," I said. 
     "Does not Ngai rule the universe?" he asked. 
     "You know that He does," I replied. 
     "Then nothing that happens can be contrary to His wishes, 
and if she could have cured me, it would _not_ have been against 
Ngai's will." 
     I shook my head. "You do not understand." 
     "We are trying to understand," said Koinnage. "Enlighten us." 
     "The Europeans have many wonders, and these wonders will 
entice you, as they are doing right now...but if you accept one 
European thing, soon they will insist that you accept them all. 
Koinnage, their religion only allows a man to have one wife. Which 
two will you divorce?" 
     I turned to the others. "Ngobe, they will make Kimanti attend 
a school where he will learn to read and write. But since we do 
not have a written language, he will learn to write only in a 
European language, and the things and people he reads about and 
learns about will all be European." 
     I walked among the Elders, offering an example to each. 
"Karenja, if you do a service for Tabari, you will expect a 
chicken or a goat or perhaps even a cow in return, depending on 
the nature of the service. But the Europeans will make him reward 
you with paper money, which you cannot eat, and which cannot 
reproduce and make a man rich." 
     On and on I went, until I had run through all the Elders, 
pointing out what they would lose if they allowed the Europeans a 
toehold in our society. 
     "All that is on the one hand," said Koinnage when I had 
finished. He held his other hand out, palm up. "On the other hand 
is an end to illness and suffering, which is no small achievement 
in itself. Koriba has said that if we let the Europeans in, they 
will force us to change our ways. _I_ say that some of our ways 
_need_ changing. If their god is a greater healer than Ngai, who 
is to say that he may not also bring better weather, or more 
fertile cattle, or richer soil?" 
     _"No!"_ I cried. "_You_ may all have forgotten why we came 
here, but _I_ have not. Our mandate was not to establish a 
European Utopia, but a Kikuyu one!" 
     "And _have_ we established it?" asked Karenja sardonically. 
     "We are coming closer every day," I told him. "_I_ am making 
it a reality." 
     "Do children suffer in Utopia?" persisted Karenja. "Do men 
grow up with withered arms? Do women die in childbirth? Do hyenas 
attack shepherds in Utopia?" 
     "It is a matter of balance," I said. "Unrestricted growth 
would eventually lead to unrestricted hunger. You have not seen 
what it has done on Earth, but _I_ have." 
     Finally it was old Jandara who spoke. 
     "Do people _think_ in a Utopia?" he asked me. 
     "Of course they do," I replied. 
     "If they think, are some of their thoughts new, just as some 
are old?" 
     "Yes." 
     "Then perhaps we should consider letting the witch tend to 
our illnesses and injuries," he said. "For if Ngai allows new 
thoughts in His Utopia, He must realize they will lead to change. 
And if change is not evil, then perhaps lack of change, such as we 
have striven for here, _is_ evil, or at least wrong." He got to 
his feet. "You may debate the merits of the question. As for 
myself, I have had pain in my joints for many years, and Ngai has 
not cured it. I am climbing Koriba's hill to see if the god of the 
Europeans can end my pain." 
     And with that, he walked past me and out of the _boma_. 
     I was prepared to argue my case all day and all night if 
necessary, but Koinnage turned his back on me -- on _me_, his 
_mundumugu_! -- and began carrying his son back to Kibo's hut. That 
signaled the end to the meeting, and each of the Elders got up and 
left without daring to look me in the face. 
                          *   *   * 
     There were more than a dozen villagers gathered at the foot 
of my hill when I arrived. I walked past them and soon reached my 
_boma_. 
     Jandara was still there. Joyce Witherspoon had given him an 
injection, and was handing him a small bottle of pills as I 
arrived. 
     "Who told you that you could treat the Kikuyu?" I demanded in 
English. 
     "I did not offer to treat them," she replied. "But I am a 
doctor, and I will not turn them away." 
     "Then _I_ will," I said. I turned and looked down at the 
villagers. "You may not come up here!" I said sternly. "Go back to 
your _shambas_." 
     The adults all looked uneasy but stood their ground, while 
one small boy began climbing up the hill. 
     "Your _mundumugu_ has forbidden you to climb this hill!" I 
said. "Ngai will punish you for your transgression!" 
     "The god of the Europeans is young and powerful," said the 
boy. "He will protect me from Ngai." 
     And now I saw that the boy was Kimanti. 
     "Stay back -- I warn you!" I shouted. 
     Kimanti hefted his wooden spear. "Ngai will not harm me," he 
said confidentally. "If He tries, I will kill him with _this_." 
     He walked right by me and approached Joyce Witherspoon. 
     "I have cut my foot on a rock," he said. "If your god will 
heal me, I will sacrifice a goat to thank him." 
     She did not understand a word he said, but when he showed her 
his foot she began treating it. 
     He walked back down the hill, unmolested by Ngai, and when he 
was both alive and healed the next morning, word went out to other 
villages and soon there was a seemingly endless line of the sick 
and the lame, all waiting to climb my hill and accept European 
cures for Kikuyu ills. 
     Once again I told them to disperse. This time they seemed not 
even to hear me. They simply remained in line, neither arguing 
back as Kimanti had, nor even acknowledging my presence, each of 
them waiting patiently until it was their turn to be treated by 
the European witch. 
                          *   *   * 
     I thought that when she left, things would go back to the way 
they had been, that the people would once again fear Ngai and show 
respect to their _mundumugu_ -- but this was not to be.  Oh, they 
went about their daily chores, they planted their crops and tended 
to their cattle...but they did not come to me with their problems 
as they always had done in the past. 
     At first I thought we had entered one of those rare periods 
in which no one in the village was ill or injured, but then one 
day I saw Shanaka walking out across the savannah. Since he rarely 
left his _shamba_, and _never_ left the village, I was curious 
about his destination and I decided to follow him. He walked due 
west for more than half an hour, until he reached the landing area 
at Haven. 
     "What is wrong?" I asked when I finally caught up with him. 
     He opened his mouth to reveal a serious abcess above one of 
his teeth. "I am in great pain," he said, "I have been unable to 
eat for three days." 
     "Why did you not come to me?" I asked. 
     "The god of the Europeans has defeated Ngai," answered 
Shanaka. "He will not help me." 
     "He will," I assured him. 
     Shanaka shook his head, then winced from the motion. "You are 
an old man, and Ngai is an old god, and both of you have lost your 
powers," he said unhappily. "I wish it were otherwise, but it is 
not." 
     "So you are deserting your wives and children because you 
have lost your faith in Ngai?" I demanded. 
     "No," he replied. "I will ask the Maintenance ship to take me 
to a European _mundumugu_, and when I am cured I will return 
home." 
     "_I_ will cure you," I said. 
     He looked at me for a long moment. "There was a time when you 
could cure me," he said at last. "But that time has passed. I will 
go to the Europeans' _mundumugu_." 
     "If you do," I said sternly, "you may never call on me for 
help again." 
     He shrugged. "I never intend to," he said with neither 
bitterness nor rancor. 
                          *   *   * 
     Shanaka returned the next day, his mouth healed. 
     I stopped by his _boma_ to see how he was feeling, for I 
remained the _mundumugu_ whether he wanted my services or not, and 
as I walked through the fields of his _shamba_ I saw that he had 
two new scarecrows, gifts of the Europeans. The scarecrows had 
mechanical arms that flapped constantly, and they rotated so that 
they did not always face in one direction. 
     "_Jambo_, Koriba," he greeted me. Then, seeing that I was 
looking at his scarecrows, he added, "Are they not wonderful?" 
     "I will withhold judgment until I see how long they 
function," I said. "The more moving parts an object has, the more 
likely it is to break." 
     He looked at me, and I thought I detected a hint of pity in 
his expression. "They were created by the God of Maintenance," he 
said. "They will last forever." 
     "Or until their power packs are empty," I said, but he did 
not know what I meant, and so my sarcasm was lost on him. "How is 
your mouth?" 
     "It feels much better," he replied. "They pricked me with a 
magic thorn to end the pain, then cut away the evil spirits that 
had invaded my mouth." He paused. "They have very powerful gods, 
Koriba." 
     "You are back on Kirinyaga now," I said sternly. "Be careful 
how you blaspheme." 
     "I do not blaspheme," he said. "I speak the truth." 
     "And now you will want me to bless the Europeans' scarecrows, 
I suppose," I said with finely-wrought irony. 
     He shrugged. "If it makes you happy," he said. 
     "If it makes _me_ happy?" I repeated angrily. 
     "That's right," he said nonchalantly. "The scarecerows, being 
European, certainly do not _need_ your blessings, but if you will 
feel better..." 
     I had often wondered what might happen if for some reason the 
_mundumugu_ was no longer feared by the members of the village. I 
had never once considered what it might be like if he were merely 
tolerated. 
                          *   *   * 
     Still more villagers went to Maintenance's infirmary, and 
each came back with some gift from the Europeans: time-saving 
gadgets for the most part. Western gadgets. Culture-killing 
gadgets. 
     Again and again I went into the village and explained why 
such things must be rejected. Day after day I spoke to the Council 
of Elders, reminding them of why we had come to Kirinyaga -- but 
most of the original settlers were dead, and the next generation, 
those who had become our Elders, had no memories of Kenya. Indeed, 
those of them who spoke to the Maintenance staff came home 
thinking that Kenya, rather than Kirinyaga, was some kind of 
Utopia, in which everyone was well-fed and well-cared-for and no 
farm ever suffered from drought. 
     They were polite, they listened respectfully to me, and then 
they went right ahead with whatever they had been doing or 
discussing when I arrived. I reminded them of the many times I and 
I alone had saved them from themselves, but they seemed not to 
care; indeed, one or two of the Elders acted as if, far from 
keeping Kirinyaga pure, I had in some mysterious way been 
hindering its growth. 
     "Kirinyaga is not _supposed_ to grow!" I argued. "When you 
achieve a Utopia, you do not cast it aside and say, 'What changes 
can we make tomorrow?'" 
     "If you do not grow, you stagnate," answered Karenja. 
     "We can grow by expanding," I said. "We have an entire world 
to populate." 
     "That is not growing, but breeding," he repled. "You have 
done your job admirably, Koriba, for in the beginning we needed 
order and purpose above all else...but the time for your job is 
past. Now we have established ourselves here, and it is for _us_ 
to choose how we will live." 
     "We have _already_ chosen how to live!" I said angrily. "That 
is why we came here to begin with." 
     "I was just a _kehee_," said Karenja. "Nobody asked me. And I 
did not ask my son, who was born here." 
     "Kirinyaga was created for the purpose of becoming a Kikuyu 
Utopia," I said. "This purpose is even the basis of our charter. 
It cannot be changed." 
     "No one is suggesting that we don't want to live in a Utopia, 
Koriba," interjected Shanaka. "But the time has passed when you 
and you alone shall be the sole judge of what constitutes a 
Utopia." 
     "It is clearly defined." 
     "By _you_," said Shanaka. "Some of us have our own 
definitions of Utopia." 
     "You were one of the original founders of Kirinyaga," I said 
accusingly. "Why have you never spoken out before?" 
     "Many times I wanted to," admitted Karenja. "But always I was 
afraid." 
     "Afraid of what?" 
     "Of Ngai. Or you." 
     "They are much the same thing," said Karenja. 
     "But now that Ngai has lost His battle to the god of 
Maintence, I am no longer afraid to speak," continued Shanaka. 
"Why should I suffer with the pain in my teeth? How was it unholy 
or blasphemous for the European witches to cure me? Why should my 
wife, who is as old as I am and whose back is bent from years of 
carrying wood and water, continue to carry them where there are 
machines to carry things for her?" 
     "Why should you live on Kirinyaga at all, if that is the way 
you feel?" I asked bitterly. 
     "Because I have worked as hard to make Kirinyaga a home for 
the Kikuyu as you have!" he shot back. "And I see no reason to 
leave just because my definition of Utopia doesn't agree with 
yours. Why don't _you_ leave, Koriba?" 
     "Because I was charged with establishing our Utopia, and I 
have not yet completed my assignment," I said. "In fact, it is 
false Kikuyu like you who have made my work that much harder." 
     Shanaka got to his feet and looked around at the Elders. 
     "Am I a false Kikuyu because I want my grandson to read?" he 
demanded. "Or because I want to ease my wife's burden? Or because 
I do not wish to suffer physical pain that can easily be avoided?" 
     "No!" cried the Elders as one. 
     "Be very careful," I warned them. "For if _he_ is not a false 
Kikuyu, then you are calling _me_ one." 
     "No, Koriba," said Koinnage, rising to his feet. "You are not 
a false Kikuyu." He paused. "But you are a mistaken one. Your day 
-- and mine -- has passed. Perhaps, for a fleeting second, we did 
achieve Utopia -- but that second is gone, and the new moments and 
hours require new Utopias." Then Koinnage, who had looked at me 
with fear so many times in the past, suddenly looked at me with 
great compassion. "It was _our_ dream, Koriba, but it is not 
_theirs_ -- and if we still have some feeble handhold on today, 
tomorrow surely belongs to them." 
     "I will hear none of this!" I said. "You cannot redefine a 
Utopia as a matter of convenience. We moved here in order to be 
true to our faith and traditions, to avoid becoming what so many 
Kikuyu had become in Kenya. I will not let us become black 
Europeans!" 
     "We are becoming _something_," said Shanaka. "Perhaps just 
once there was an instant when you felt we were perfect Kikuyu -- 
but that instant has long since passed. To remain so, not one of 
us could have had a new thought, could have seen the world in a 
different way. We would have become the scarecrows you bless every 
morning." 
     I was silent for a very long time. Then, at last, I spoke. 
"This world breaks my heart," I said. "I tried so hard to mold it 
into what we had all wanted, and look at what it has become. What 
_you_ have become." 
     "You can direct change, Koriba," said Shanaka, "but you 
cannot prevent it, and that is why Kirinyaga will always break 
your heart." 
     "I must go to my _boma_ and think," I said. 
     "_Kwaheri_, Koriba," said Koinnage. _Good-bye_, Koriba. It 
had a sense of finality to it. 
                          *   *   * 
     I spent many days alone on my hill, looking across the 
winding river to the green savannah, and thinking. I had been 
betrayed by the people I had tried to lead, by the very world I 
had helped to create. I felt that I had surely displeased Ngai in 
some way, and that He would strike me dead. I was quite prepared 
to die, even willing...but I did not die, for the gods draw their 
strength from their worshippers, and Ngai was now so weak that He 
could not even kill a feeble old man like myself. 
     Eventually I decided to go down among my people one last 
time, to see if any of them had rejected the enticements of the 
Europeans and come back to the ways of the Kikuyu. 
     The path was lined with mechanical scarecrows. The only 
meaningful way to bless _them_ would be to renew their charges. I 
saw several women washing clothes by the river, but instead of 
pounding the fabrics with rocks, they were rubbing them on some 
artificial board that had obviously been made for the purpose. 
     Suddenly I heard a ringing noise behind me, and, startled, I 
jumped, lost my footing, and fell heavily against a thorn bush. 
When I was able to get my bearings, I saw that I had almost been 
run over by a bicycle. 
     "I am sorry, Koriba," said the rider, who turned out to be 
young Kimanti. "I thought you heard me coming." 
     He helped me gingerly to my feet. 
     "My ears have heard many things," I said. "The scream of the 
fish eagle, the bleat of the goat, the laugh of the hyena, the cry 
of the newborn baby. But they were never meant to hear artificial 
wheels going down a dirt hill." 
     "It is much faster and easier than walking," he replied. "Are 
you going anywhere in particular? I will be happy to give you a 
ride." 
     It was probably the bicycle that made up my mind. "Yes," I 
replied, "I am going somewhere, and no, I will not be taken on a 
bicycle." 
     "Then I will walk with you," he said. "Where are you going?" 
     "To Haven," I said. 
     "Ah," he said with a smile. "You, too, have business with 
Maintenance. Where do you hurt?" 
     I touched the left side of my chest. "I hurt _here_ -- and 
the only business I have with Maintenance is to get as far from 
the cause of that pain as I can." 
     "You are leaving Kirinyaga?" 
     "I am leaving what Kirinyaga has become," I answered. 
     "Where will you go?" he asked. "What will you do?" 
     "I will go elsewhere, and I will do other things," I said 
vaguely, for where _does_ an unemployed _mundumugu_ go? 
     "We will miss you, Koriba," said Kimanti. 
     "I doubt it." 
     "We will," he repeated with sincerity. "When we recite the 
history of Kirinyaga to our children, you will not be forgotten." 
He paused. "It is true that you were wrong, but you were 
necessary." 
     "Is that how I am to be remembered?" I asked. "As a necessary 
evil?" 
     "I did not call you evil, just wrong." 
     We walked the next few miles in silence, and at last we came 
to Haven. 
     "I will wait with you if you wish," said Kimanti. 
     "I would rather wait alone," I said. 
     He shrugged. "As you wish. _Kwaheri_, Koriba." 
     "_Kwaheri_," I replied. 
     After he left I looked around, studying the savannah and the 
river, the wildebeest and the zebras, the fish eagles and the 
marabou storks, trying to set them in my memory for all time to 
come. 
     "I am sorry, Ngai," I said at last. "I have done my best, but 
I have failed you." 
     The ship that would take me away from Kirinyaga forever 
suddenly came into view. 
     "You must view them with compassion, Ngai," I said as the 
ship approached the landing strip. "They are not the first of your 
people to be bewitched by the Europeans." 
     And it seemed, as the ship touched down, that a voice spoke 
into my ear and said, _You have been my most faithful servant, 
Koriba, and so I shall be guided by your counsel. Do you really 
wish me to view them with compassion?_ 
     I looked toward the village one last time, the village that 
had once feared and worshipped Ngai, and which had sold itself, 
like some prostitute, to the god of the Europeans. 
     "No," I said firmly. 
     "Are you speaking to me?" asked the pilot, and I realized 
that the hatch was open and waiting for me. 
     "No," I replied. 
     He looked around. "I don't see anyone else." 
     "He is very old and very tired," I said. "But he is Here." 
     I climbed into the ship and did not look back. 