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.' "...
margozap