You Will Do Great Things | An African Story

You Will Do Great Things
By: kuwa jasiri Indomela

– –Great GrandGuardian- –

I awake on a damp bed of leaves. As the oldest villager a delayed hot flash visits me in the night. The family slowly trickles in to check on me, one of the most vulnerable. My three children fuss over me. Cooing and fanning. Then my great grandchildren Manu and Dedei who love rubbing my feet enter. Pushing one another aside to be the first to kneel before me. They cavalierly agree to each attend to one foot. As our world warms, I lay back and take in this moment of care.

Like all things, the moment passes and my sibling, Rundi, rushes in. Productive enough for a colonizer, and far too busy for me, they begin talking fast. I raise my hand to slow them down. They begin again, “The twins Coming Of Age Ceremony is tomorrow, which”. Again I interrupt, “Ackun is facilitating the storytelling and you are making sure the event is culturally rooted. I passed on all planning obligations and want to keep it that way.” Although Rundi agrees, I can tell from a life together they desire more of me.

I nod in agreement, and wiggle my toes. This signals, “I desire my feet for other things”. Manu and Dedei kiss both my feet before disappearing out the Antelope hide door flap with an “I love you”. Colour shines through the doorway as Rundi fastens open the balding flap. My children leave their provisions after offering me affirmations. My “I love you” trails after them.

I take a deep breath and pull myself up. I crawl over to the table, leaning against the mud wall for support. “What?”, I hurl at Rundi, frustrated that my pampering was cut short. While those kids massage me, I tell them stories till my joint pain turns to puffy clouds. Rundi lingers in the beam of light, “I had a dream. You had been dead for quite a while as were many of our peers. Your lover Hundri fell ill and was mostly bed ridden. I was quickly becoming the eldest in the village. I had an apprentice who I was teaching to steward our cultural practices. A great smoke rose in the North traveling fast out to the Gulf.”

I motion Rundi closer and we hug. Longer than normal. When we release Rundi beckons “What is going on with you?” Connecting to my center I answer, “I am declining. I awoke with little life left in me – my soul hovering above my body. My transition to the Spirit World has begun.”Rundi oscillates between shock and esteem laying their head on my lap. As is the way we get through all tough moments, we begin singing the songs our grandparents taught us. Rundi leaves the hut after kissing their grandchildren Piasi and Maanue. Piasi awakens to the tender touch. They roll to get up and lean on the hut wall, caressing their fetal bump.

Piasi signs “how did you sleep?” with their hands. Piasi is mute and uses African Sign Language to communicate with everyone except their intimate partner Numa. They seem to share a psychic language all their own made up of facial expressions, telepathy and shoulder bumps. I sign back “Marvelous, although perhaps one of my last.” Piasi knows mortality all too well. After a near death childhood experience took their voice. Piasi now is the village death and birthworker. They will facilitate all my funeral arrangements and lead the village in collective grieving. I crawl closer to cuddle with Piasi and their baby bump. Piasi recites so many soothing songs but can not cuddle and sign. So I sing the songs they taught me as they rock me.

Numa intuits the exact moment Piasi awakes and arrives moments later. Although lingers in the hut opening, taking in the moment, sensing the shifts. Piasi raises an eye brow towards Numa who comprehends instantly my waning mortality. Numa comes closer, holding me and their growing fetus whose arrival is imminent. Our resounding love wakes Maanue, the youngest of our family, who waddles over mid sentence explaining their dreams. As usual, “a Frog, green, daring, mighty and brave.”

Just after Sunrise, about twenty five villagers meet to meditate under the Baobab Tree canopy. We gather to honour our bodies and give gratitude for the forces of Nature: Fire, Earth, Air, Mineral, Water that flow through us. We meditate long enough for the youngest among us to begin rolling around in the foliage. They have been meditating since gestation, and soon return to their breathe. Our practice ends with deep inner bows, the words and signs “May this practice support all beings especially myself. So it is!”

As is our circadian tradition, we gather around the hearth for first meal and discuss who will plant the Tree. Our family has been planting one Tree circadian since we returned to Africa one hundred ninety years ago. Specifically Ghana, the land of our African Ancestry pre-slavery. With bellies full and duties confirmed, a tickle pile forms. A great stress reliever that turns into kisses and affirmations. That devolves into play, started by Bao, who sweeps up their child Maanue swiftly accompanied by their co-parent Mar. The gleeful parents each clasp an ankle inverting Maanue into the air.

– –Atsúata- –

We begin our Coming Of Age quest like any dutiful being. First to the Trees that hold parts of our shared placenta. We take some moments to commune with our individual Trees. This is where I come when anything and everything happens. This Tree is a fifth co-parent to me. Since my parents are polyamorous, we have two biological parents and two co-parent metamours. This Tree has known me since birth and literally grows with parts of me at their roots. We love each other and support each other in growth. The Tree of Panyiin is close by, but far enough that we can hold private conversations.

“The Seed pods are forming,” Panyiin says to me as they pass by. I collect these Seeds as I have since I was first able to meander to this Tree on my own. I fill my pockets for offerings along our route.

Next is the cemetery. We give thanks and requests to our Ascended Ancestry. Those we were close to in life and those whose stories resonate loudest in our bones. Not all their bodies are here, some are out in the Gulf, or on Turtle Island, while others were lifted to the Sky. However all the memories are here, and we move from gravestone to grave sight in reverent silence leaving offerings. We burst into laughter, we come from a playful people that find joy everywhere. “What messages you getting,” Panyiin asks as we join hands. “My message is have fun, explore,” I answer swinging our arms. “My message is of play and becoming,” Panyiin exclaims. “Let us roll down this hill to our motorbikes,” Panyiin says dropping my hand to run ahead. The bikes have manual pedals that generate and store energy in a battery for later use.

We pass the gardens and the orchards in full bloom this mild Summer. “Let us fill our bikepacks with fruits, vegetables and nuts,” Panyiin yells to me slowly braking. We already have jerky and protein bars but I dismount and gather more. “We can forage along the way,” I jump on my motorbike, leading the way. Past the nurseries where we grow Trees from Seeds. We plant these Trees in the Ashanti Mountains and along Black Volta River. I am frozen at the edge of our village. My motorbike is still, I drop my feet and linger on it. Panyiin is pedaling fast beyond the barrier. My gaze drops as everything fades to black.

I am jarred to the present moment by Panyiin whose hand is on my shoulder. “What is going on?”, nurtures Panyiin. I shakily reply, “I have never been beyond our cultivated space.” Doubling over their motorbike Panyiin laughs, tears forming in their ducts. My eyes widen and expression sullies. Finally emerging from their selfishness, Panyiin notices my response. They quickly regain themselves asking, “Seriously? How is that possible?” Panyiin goes everywhere they please. To the Rivers, the Hills, and the Woods. All the way out on the Gulf I suppose. Panyiin is the apprentice for Towia the Community Herbalist. They go foraging for medicines regularly. Panyiin, with a passion for Nature and all Natural ways of being, will become the Village Herbalist.

I speak up, “I stay close to home where it is safe.” Flabbergasted Panyiin says, “What!? How am I just realizing this. I am aware you dream of returning to modernization and hang out with Gaddo.” Gaddo is the only elder who still has a toaster and other machines from the extractive ways of capitalism. Gaddo also petitions Council regularly to get our community hooked up to the Akosombo Dam. One of the last intact or functioning dams in the world. We currently generate Wind electricity on a communal hut, and mostly to charge equipment for the differently abled and chronically ill. Otherwise we make due without. “I am just not sure what to do,” Panyiin says, bringing me back to my fears. Both of us dismount, sitting in the path. Returning to the practice we know and love – we meditate. Turning inward we are present in the moment. A song arises, another integral part of our lives. The moments pass, the Butterflies inquire and the leaves rustle.

Finally, Panyiin exclaims, “let us follow our intuition.” Bewildered I admit, “I rarely do that.” “Why not?”, asks Panyiin. “It is hard for me to tap into that way of thinking”, I explain. “More like a way of not thinking”, clarifies Panyiin, “When our bodies are in rest, the Universe brings us messages. We recognize them as intuition because there are no judgments associated with the actions. Only a desire to do.” Rearranging themselves, Panyiin proceeds, “Let us be in peace. May our intuition be loud and lead us as we Come Of Age.” The moments pass and finally my intuition tells me, “go South then go South”. I flutter my eyes and tell Panyiin my intuitive message. “Too far South are the Toxic Hylls,” discourages Panyiin. “Is that a judgment?,” I counter. Panyiin says, “My intuition says go North towards freedom like our enslaved Ancestry on Turtle Island. So let us meet back here and reenter the village together.”

“What?!,” I gasp, “We are sticking together.” “No”, says Panyiin frustrated with my inability to leave the village. “Why?,” Panyiin eases. I beg, “I require support on my first outing, and protection. There is no way for me to do it on my own and actually benefit from this experience. Please… Journey with me.” Panyiin is tussling their kinky hair most likely hoping for a Universal message to ditch me. But then their expression softens and they seem to be listening elsewhere. Coming back to reality, they touch my knee. No words for a while. Just that twin touch I have grow accustomed to all my life. There is a lot of love between us. This moment seems difficult for Panyiin too. I mirror their silence while I receive their soft touch.

Suddenly Panyiin is animated, “I will go with you, be your guardian on our great quest.” I jump up full of energy, finally ready to face the beyond with my best friend. “Thank you. Let us go, go, go!”, I break into song. “Our journey awaits,” the bars keep flowing. “The South is calling and we heed all calls,” Panyiin joins in an ad-lib as we mount up and venture on.

Our trip will last two nights and then we are to promptly return. The vastness beyond the boundary is stunning. I am in awe at every twist and turn. We take a second meal at Black Volta River. I feel the mighty roar of the Waterfall and we gorge forgetting our long travel ahead. Bellies full we roll in the grass. The Bushes rattle and I return to the clearing at the Riverbank. “How about we fill up our Water Gourds here?,” Panyiin says seeking some peace of mind. “Sure,” I toss fixating on the Eastern Mountains in the distance. Panyiin fills our gourds and scans the terrain. Panyiin adds herbal plants to their medicine kit. Kagya and Sawere leaves to treat wounds.

– –Panyiin- –

Atsúata and I arrive at the Southern part of Lake Volta. Commonly known as the furthest our people venture due South. Over the Eastern Mountains are the Toxic Hylls, then metropolis, then the Gulf.

With so many other places to explore, this is my first visit. The Air is crisp blowing through the dense Mahogany Trees. We take a moment to rest upon the tall Grass. Atsúata, full of excitement, has been pushing us forward with little reprieve. Giving me no moments to contemplate our death mission.

Our village has tales of the Toxic Hylls, with it’s polluted Watershed and ecosystem. With this information I urge us to change course, “Atsúata we can build a raft and follow the Volta to the Gulf.” Hoping Atsúata has returned to their sheltered life, full of fear.

Fully tapped into their intuition, Atsúata makes a pleading expression. I am helpless to their furrowing mouth and twinkling eyes. “To be a successful chaperon one must leave their desires and only object to avoid danger,” I say astutely embodying my leadership role. With my extensive wisdom of plants, animals, and wilderness safety, I allow us to transcend our usual last stop. I declare our safety protocol, “touch nothing. Hazardous chemicals can seep into your skin. No touching, no digging, no drinking, no eating.”Adding, “back to here by night fall,” to hasten our return.

Our backs upon the Earth and heads touching, we take a short nap under a Abootre Tree. We wake to a flock of honking Ducks gliding towards the Water. The Ducks land and the ripples wade out in all directions. I pray aloud, “Great Spirit protect us, guard us from the hidden and deliver us safely back to this spot”. We stretch, gobble some snacks, transfer our rations to our backpacks, and stash our motorbikes before our summit of the Eastern crests.

From the tip of the alp we witness blooming Sunflowers, Amaranths and Mustard Greens. In the distance are groves and old growth forests. The Water channels are strong and evident from our high vantage point. Lush land as far as our imagination carries us. Atsúata makes an “all for me” face that I quickly shut down with a “no touching, no digging, no drinking, no eating and out of the Hylls by night fall”. We follow the paths carved out by large mammals descending the toxic landscape. To my surprise there are terrace gardens and cultivated fields full of biodiversity. Again Atsúata swells with lust but is dampened by the wag of my finger. Shrieks of laughter startle us to the ground. Hiding in the brush Atsúata signs to me, “What was that?’ I sign, “Seemed human but impossible”. We crouch low heading towards the sound.

I am a flutter. “Teenagers?,” leaks out of my voice box. They notice us shortly after we find them. “Show yourselves,” booms a voice. I am first to emerge arms raised and submissive. Atsúata springs from hiding with a burning desire for information. “Why are you here?”, Atsúata blurts out in a belch. Oloyo makes a sweeping motion with their hands, seamlessly answering, “I am Oloyo of the Wind. Because we love the land.” Atsúata and I nod in agreement with inquisitive mouths. Oloyo noticing our confusion continues “Our people believe this Mountain range deserves protection. Our Ancestral stewards rallied for the land and defended the land from developers and others seeking to benefit while harming the natural rhythms. It is our sacred duty to keep this place both safe and secret from…” Oloyo trails off. “Everyone”, Anisa completes the sentence. Anisa reminds me of myself: certain, skillful, poised. Anisa examines us with wild expressions and whispers to Oloyo. Finally speaking to us, “because of your youth and lack of equipment we pronounce you all harmless. Why are you here?”

The teenager led tour began like any great epic with the basics. Rows of gardens we already passed. “Most of these we grow in our village,” I say scanning the crops. “What are their names?,” I point out a few different stalks. I scrunch my face scrolling my memory but the names said are a mystery to me.

“Since we keep to ourselves we steward Seed species only known to us,” Oloyo says while painting their face with a yellow flower. The words linger in my body and my interest is ten fold. My senses expanding to take everything in. I uncork my gourd and take deep sips. That way I will have a solid excuse when I refuse their drinking Water later. My interest in this place is growing but my words “no, no, no, no, back by night fall” repeat in my head as we move along.

“So these are the landfills” says Anisa with a sweeping motion down the Valley. “Those hills?” I clarify. “Yes, the metropolis South of us used this land 200 years ago to store their constructed waste.”

Anisa frowns as their words dance to the Sky. Atsúata and I both shake our heads in disapproval. We are told tales of the metropolis that bustles in our present life. None of our people go there, not even Gaddo. Although once in a while a young sales associate with the latest piece of junk wanders to our village to make a name for themselves only to find we do not partake or have the type of currency they seek. In our village, everything is made of fibers, rocks and bones coated with vibrant pigments that bring a sense of joy to the surface. After their purpose is served everything turns back into Soil in the compost piles. Our most modern assets come from the hunters who are able to trade meat for metals, for which we have little use, like motorbikes and tools for collective use.

“Metropolis no longer dumps here, but their destruction lived on,” Anisa explains. Anisa goes on and on about all their remediation efforts, “We use plants that absorb toxins from the Soil, although various toxins remain in the leaves. There is no way to truly get rid of toxins, we just transfer them around so that some Soil is safe for growing edibles. These are the Mushrooms and Moringa Trees that detoxify the Earth and people. We work with flora and fungi to restore our land and bodies.” We arrive at a terraced Stream planted thick. Oloyo explains, “We use Guava Trees and other plants which pull toxins from Water. The Water trickles through the roots as a filtration system.” The Stream pools at our feet.

Atsúata starts lapping up mouthfuls with the other young folks. I move away to some nearby rocks. Glona, refreshed from the cool drink, wipes their mouth and joins me on the rock. “I am Glona of the Earth. The filtration system also uses rocks and minerals to purify the Water,” Glona says adjusting their Hippopotamus tooth necklace. I am only half listening because – eww – Glona drank the Water. Glona continues explaining the properties of every plant present. This allows me to rapidly overcome my judgments of them. I am taking mental notes, although my capacity for new information is filling up quickly. “This place is fascinating. Call me Panyiin,” I gush leaping up from the rock. “We use Trees to capture carbon in the Air and bring it back to the Soil,’ I explain touching the bark of a Rosewood. “You all seem to do the opposite by drawing toxins out of the Soil,” I conclude staring through Glona at the bounty of Forest beyond.

– –Atsúata- –

We all cluster in the village center. Anisa, adjusting their thick shoulder length braids, points out the terrain, where is safe and where is contaminated. I immediately break away from the group to explore, further from my comfort than ever, although gleeful and radiating ease. Panyiin has loosened up on the safety measures and pull to leave the Toxic Hylls by dark. Panyiin is still quite practical and inquires about third meal.

I find a quiet place and pause to think. Before I can focus on my breath. “Wow, outsiders,” arises in the space. “Who is there?,” I inquire, placing my back against the solid wall. “My name is Angimo of the Sea. I am the protector of Tender Hills,” the reply is weak and apathetic. “That is your birth honour,” I mimic the words told to me earlier that afternoon. Angimo slinks from the shadows to join me. “Is getting cancer, dying young, hiding in the Hills and skewing the truth an honour?, their question tugs at my heart. I have no answers.

I slowly ease my body to the Earth and bring my knees to my chest. “I feel burdened too,” beginning to tell my story. “I am Atsúata. Since returning to Africa and reconnecting ourselves with our Ancestral land, my family has vowed to plant a Tree circadian. 69,350 Trees later, I feel irritated and skeptical of the urge for more. I envision breaking the vow and moving to pursue the metropolis dream. I want to be able to invent modern things, sleep in a building, and socialize well into the night.” With a deep sigh I confess, “I feel trapped.”

“Same,” agrees Angimo as they too move closer to the Earth. Their dress floats arriving on the dirt. Angimo continues telling their story, “My relatives since our creation have stewarded this land. It is our duty, pride and joy. Then European colonizers came post-slavery to exploit our land for personal gain. They built the neighbouring metropolis and brought all their waste to our home. Our work is tiresome and devalued. We defend the land from every new capitalist venture. With only one manufactured road, blockading is easy. Although, to block out others, we shut ourselves in. I too have a dream, for a life like yours. Everything you need in your village, rarely a metropolis visitor, pure lands in every direction. The ability for prolonged rest…”

I feel myself shifting, “Do we avoid the destruction happening in the world? I never thought of it like that.” “You must,” snapped Angimo, “We keep track of every outsider that learns our secret. Your people have never been curious about our Tender Hills until you.” “How is that possible?,” I questioned, pacing along the fibrous wall. “You only made it here by accident,” sharpens Angimo pointing out my lack of prior interest or comprehension of their reality. “Toxins come from metropolis, and you want to leave your pristine life to dwell out of balance with harmful people and practices?” Angimo summed up my life in a sentence.

“My people, we keep the balance of the Natural world no matter the cost. We face great villains on the frontlines. Bold and victorious are my people. Ask the Land,” Angimo bellowed with a forming sense of dignity. Startled by the acceptance of their responsibilities, Angimo springs up, gathers their dress and sprints off. I linger in the space to catch my breath. I squat to draw in the dirt. While my emotions flow, shapes form at my finger tips as I move them across loose dust.

– –Panyiin- –

Atsúata and I are awaken by the brute shakes of Oloyo. Hurry we must go. In the fog of dawn we fumble to retrieve our backpacks. Back in the village center, the Hyll people are a blaze. Loud shouts and fingers jabbing in our direction. News of our visit has spread fast and tensions are high. “No outsiders,” is the tone off many lips. Oloyo, obviously with some sort of status, counters, “I will take care of this.” The Hyll people seem to ease, though their glares harshen.

Oloyo grabs us both by the arm and takes off running. I stumble to match their stride. We arrive at the gardens of our introductions. “You must go and never return,” Oloyo pants, “It is imperative that you continue to spread the story of the Toxic Hylls.” “What?,” I say in disarray. The Birds are loudly chirping as they dive in and out of the garden eating berries. Noticing my rage building, Atsúata touches my hand, “No, no, no, no. We must leave. This is how they keep their home safe.” “We are friends,” I plea, “and harmless. There is too much wisdom and bounty to just leave forever.”

“You must steward the narrative that keeps us safe. Whatever your community currently believes about the Toxic Hylls, amplify that myth. Even if you disagree. End of discussion.,” lashes Oloyo confident and poised like our first encounter.

“We have to respect their choices. This is their home that they allowed us into. With great wisdom comes great responsibility,” Atsúata coos at me. I drop to the Earth pounding my fist puffing up debris, unable to comply with Oloyo’s demands. “I have a duty to my people,” I say sitting back on my feet. In that moment Glona appears out of breath and sits next to me. I soften my temper while they gather Air in their lungs. “I resonated with your passion for Herbalism and your duties to tend the Earth,” Glona says. “I have never met anyone so in tune with the Natural world,” Glona says affirming me. “Take these.” Glona thrusts a small bundle towards me. I open the package revealing Seeds. “And never return,” Glona repeats the demands of their people.

Holding the bundle my temperature cools and I adjust, placing my butt firmly on the ground. “What do I tell the people,” I ask, gesturing at the gift. “Tell them you found them up North in a dilapidated cellar. That is the true story of our Ancestry. The Seeds will only grow if you tell their story,” reveals Glona. I gaze towards Atsúata who is already tugging at my arm, “We promise.” I am bewildered and unable to form words. Atsúata is holding me tight, dragging me up the Eastern Mountain, the distance between us and the Tender Hills grows greater and greater until we are back at the Southern part of Lake Volta.

Atsúata pushes me down, “Say something.” I open my hand to reveal the Seed bundle. I cover my ears to avoid hearing the words, “never return” but they echo loud throughout my body. “I am going to fetch our motorbikes so we can camp here tonight,” says Atsúata as they leave me. “What do I do?,” I ask myself. Atsúata comes and goes gathering the materials we use for the night. I oscillate between an open palm and closed fist as I contemplate the Seeds.

Atsúata thrusts some food in my direction. I snap to the present moment. It is mid day and I have yet to move. “You need to eat,” Atsúata says adding more food to my lap. We eat in silence. After my last bite Atsúata says, “You really reacted back there.” My lips tighten and I shrug in agreement. “We have to honour their wishes by lying and never returning,” Atsúata reminds me. Imaginary bugs swarm my body and I swat them away. Atsúata takes my hands in theirs, “breathe. Just breathe deep with me.” I do the bare minimum. Noticing the tension leaving my shoulders I breathe deep into the practice I cherish. We breathe deep until all my angst melts away.

“You have the Seeds, their story and the Hill peoples’ blessing to cultivate them.”, Atsúata says shining. “I fell in love with the Tender Hills,” I confess. “You can create a similar space in our village. You can spread the wisdom that was lost to our people. Bring this greatness to our people. You are the only one that can,” Atsúata’s words pierce me. I finally touch the actual Seeds. Feeling their pulse hearing their stories. “I agree,” I say softly. “What?,” Atsúata pushes me. “I agree,” I say in my normal volume.

“I can not hear you,” Atsúata taunts. “I agree,” I shout leaping to my feet. A few Seeds slip out of the pouch and I quickly recover them. I tighten the cordage and rejoice.

We sing and banter as the Sun strengthens. We eat a full second meal and mill about in the grass. We pluck tall blades and make figurines. We make the scenes of our adventure with them. We reminisce as this is the last we will speak of the Tender Hills. The day wanes and our play subsides. We dismantle all the figurines while we make up the lies to tell about our adventures. A crafted saga fitting of twins. We wrestle in freshly chopped grass to burn off energy. Our fatigue turns into laughter that turns to tears. We hold each other close for a while.

–Great GrandGuardian- –

My great grandtwins arrive full of mystery and wonder. The Spirit Tender of the village, draped in Great Blue Turaco feathers, approaches the twins with outstretched arms, open and upward palms. With slanted brows, they wave their staff over the young ones. The staff is made of ceremonial Eucalyptus Tree, dandling shells from the coastal lands and rainbow pigments. Ụzọ ahụ is a potent spiritual leader of our community. All intersex people hold the space between us and the Spirit Realm. Their staff lingers between the twins before falling to the Earth. Ụzọ ahụ turns towards the spectating villagers and proclaims with words and signs, “Welcome Atsúata and Panyiin as Teenagers – older, wiser, clearer.” A prayer is said and they are granted passage back into our hut ring.

I embrace the twins proudly as they carry me back to our hut. They speak of going beyond the confines of our minds and honouring the Earth until the end. My life is fading and their elevating energy is draining. I motion them to leave. We exchange “I love you’s and Air kisses as the hide flap falls. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open them in the Spirit Realm.