The Rain Came – A Luo Legend from Kenya
(adapted from the story by Grace Ogot)
The chief was still far from the gate when his
daughter Oganda saw him returning from the medicine man.
She ran to meet him. Breathlessly she asked her father, “What
is the news, great chief? Everyone in the village is anxiously
waiting to hear when it will rain.” Labongo, the chief of the Luo
tribe, held out his hands but he did not say a word.
Disappointed by his reaction, Oganda ran to tell the tribe of her
father’s return.
The atmosphere in the village was tense and
confused. Over the last months, they had all watched their
chief get thinner and thinner as the people kept pestering him:
“Our cattle lie dying in the fields. Soon it will be our children.
Tell us what we can do to save our lives, great chief.” So
Labongo had prayed daily to the Almighty through the
ancestors to deliver them from their distress.
Instead of calling the tribe together, Labongo went
into his own hut to contemplate what to do. It was no longer a
question of being chief of hunger-stricken people that weighed
on his heart. It was the life of his only daughter, Oganda that
was a stake. When Oganda had come to meet him, he had
seen the glittering chain shining around her waist. Now he
thought, “It is Oganda, Oganda my daughter who must die so
young. “ Labongo burst into tears, but a chief must not weep.
He loved his people, the Luo, but what were the Luo for him
without Oganda? Her birth had brought a new life into
Labongo’s world and he ruled better than he could ever
remember. How would the spirit of the village survive without
his beautiful daughter? “There are so many daughters. Why
choose this one? She is all I have.” Labongo spoke as if the
ancestors were there in the hut and he could see them face to
face. Perhaps they were there, reminding him of the promises
he made the day he was enthroned. He had said, “I will lay
down my life and the lives of my family to save the tribe.”
Although Labongo had four wives and nineteen sons,
he had only one daughter. He had named her Oganda which
means “beans” because her skin was very fair. Although some
of Labongo’s wives were jealous of her beauty, they knew it
would only be a matter of time before she married and went to
live in the village of her husband.
Never in his life had he been faced with such an
impossible decision. Refusing to yield to the medicine man’s
request would mean sacrificing the whole tribe, putting the
interests of the individual about those of the village. More than
that – it would mean disobeying the ancestors, and perhaps
even wiping the Luo people from the earth. On the other hand,
to let Oganda die as a ransom for the people would
permanently cripple Labongo spiritually. He would never be
the same chief again.
The words of Ndithi, the medicine man, still echoed in
his ears. “Podho, the ancestor of the Luo, appeared to me in a
dream last night. He demanded that a young maiden who has
not known a man must die so the country will have rain. While
Podho spoke to me, I saw a young woman standing by the
lake with her arms raised above her head. Her skin was as fair
as a young deer in the wilderness. Her tall slender figure
stood like a lonely reed at the river bank. She wore a gold ring
in her ear and a glittering brass chain around her waist. Out of
all the young women in the land, we have chosen this one. Let
her offer herself as a sacrifice to the lake monster. And on that
day the rains will come.”
Outside there was a strange stillness in the air. The
scorching noon day sun had forced all the people to retire to
their huts. Labongo removed the large eagle head that hung
on his shoulders. He went to the drum and beat it soundly to
gather the tribe. He sent Oganda to wait in her grandmother’s
hut.
Tears choked the chief’s voice as he told the people,
“One who we love and treasure must die. Oganda is to die.”
Labongo’s voice was so faint that he could hardly hear himself.
“The ancestors have chosen her to be offered as a sacrifice to
the lake monster in order than we may have rain.”
The villagers were completely stunned. As a confused
murmur broke out, Oganda’s mother fainted and was carried to
her hut. But the other people rejoiced. They danced around
chanting, “Oganda is the lucky one to die for the people. If it is
to save the people, let Oganda go.”
Meanwhile, in her grandmother’s hut, Oganda
wondered what the whole tribe was discussing about her that
she was not permitted to hear. “It must be marriage,” she
concluded. It was an acceptable custom for the family to
discuss a daughter’s future marriage behind her back. She
smiled as she thought of several young men who she knew
wanted to marry her. Oganda fingered the glittering chain and
thought of Osinda, who had given her the chain many years
before. She heard her heart pounding as she thought of him.
She whispered, “Let it be you they are discussing, Osinda the
lovely one, Osinda the kind one. Come now and take me
away.”
Oganda was deep in thought when she saw her
grandmother in the doorway. “You frightened me, Grandma,”
Oganda laughed. “Tell me, is it my marriage you were
discussing?”
Outside the hut, the people were chanting and
dancing. Oganda finally could hear what they were chanting:
“It is to save the people; it is to give us rain. Let Oganda go.
She will die for her people, for her ancestors.”
She could not believe what she was hearing. Oganda
suddenly felt panicky like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat.
She leapt like a wild tiger though the door, knocking her
grandmother to the ground. There outside the door, stood her
father Labongo in mourning garments. He took his daughter’s
hand and led her to her mother’s hut. For a long time Oganda
and her parents sat in darkness. It was no good speaking. In
the past they had been like three cooking stones, sharing their
burdens. Taking Oganda away from them would leave two
worthless stones which would not hold a cooking pot.
News that the chief’s beautiful daughter was to be
sacrificed to bring rain spread across the land like wind. All
her relatives thought it a great honor to be selected by the
spirits to die, in order that the tribe might live. “Oganda’s name
will always remain a living name among us,” they boasted.
Oganda sat close to her mother, crying quietly. All
these years she had thought she understood her people, but
now she discovered she was a stranger among them. If they
loved her like they professed, why were they not making any
attempt to save her? As her friends began to dance, Oganda
sobbed loudly. They were young and beautiful. They would
have husbands and children. She touched the glittering chain
at her waist and thought about Osinda. The chain comforted
Oganda – perhaps she would die with it on and wear Osinda’s
gift into the underground world.
The next morning a great feast was prepared for
Oganda. Delicious though it was, Oganda touched not a
morsel of it. The time of her departure was growing near. It
was a day’s journey to the lake. She was to walk all night,
passing through the great forest. She was already anointed
with the sacred oil. From the time she received the sad news,
she had expected Osinda to appear at any moment, but he
was not there.
In the afternoon the whole village stood at the gate to
bid her goodbye. Her mother wept and the great chief came to
the gate barefooted, a simple father in grief. He took off his
wrist bracelet and put it on his daughter’s slim arm. He said,
Oganda, you will always live among us. The spirit of our
forefathers is with you.”
Unbelieving, Oganda stood before her tribe. She had
nothing to say. She felt like a flower nipped in the bud never to
enjoy the morning dew again. She looked at her weeping
mother and whispered, “Whenever you want to see me, always
look to the sunset. I will be there.” Oganda turned southward
and began her trek to the lake. Her beautiful slender figure
grew smaller and smaller until her form could not be seen in
the thin dry trees of the forest. As she walked the lonely path,
she sang a song, her own voice keeping her company:
“Oganda must die young; Oganda must sleep with the
ancestors and the rain will come down in torrents.” The red
rays of the setting sun embraced Oganda and she looked like
a burning candle in the wilderness.
Oganda held her breath as she crossed the barrier to
enter the sacred land. Then suddenly the path ended on a
sandy beach. Beyond was a vast expanse of water. Trembling
with fear, Oganda would not let herself imagine what the
monster of the lake might look like. As she trudged along, she
had the distinct feeling that she was being followed. Was it the
monster? She started to run, and she could again hear
something behind her. Something resembling a moving bush
was frantically running to catch up to her. She made an effort
to cry out when the creature caught up with her. A strong hand
grabbed her and she fell to the sand in a dead faint.
The lake breeze brought her back to consciousness.
A man was bending over her, pouring cool water into her
parched mouth. She could hardly believe who it was.
“Osinda, Osinda, please let me die! Let me die so the village
will have rain!” But Osinda just touched the glittering chain at
her waist and wiped away her tears.
“We must escape quickly to the unknown land,”
Osinda said urgently. We must run away from the wrath of the
ancestors and the retaliation of the lake monster.”
“But the curse is on me, Osinda. I am no good to you
anymore. And the eyes of the ancestors will follow us
everywhere and bad luck will befall us.”
Listen to me Oganda! Listen! Here are two coats.” He
then covered all of Oganda’s body except her eyes with a leafy
attire made from twigs of the bwombwe. “These will protect us
from the eyes of the ancestors and the wrath of the monster.
Now let’s run!” He held Oganda’s hand and they ran together
from the sacred land.
The bush was thick and the long grass entangled
their feet as they ran. Once they stopped to look back at the
lake. The sun was almost touching the water. They ran faster,
to avoid the sinking sun. When they reached the barrier and
looked behind, only a tip of the sun could be seen on the
water’s surface.
“It is gone! It is gone!” cried Oganda, hiding her face
in her hands.
“Weep not, daughter of the chief. Let us run. Let us
escape.”
There was a bright flash of lightning. They looked up,
frightened. Above them black furious clouds began to gather.
As they started to run, the thunder roared and the rain came
down in torrents.