A Lucky Thousand
A tiny fingernail in the sky after sunset yesterday – the New Moon. I’m a thousand today.
Years? Don’t talk to me about years. So for a few moons the Sun goes North every day, and later for a while she goes South? Big deal.
Coincidence: my thousandth girl, Mkrimi, was born last night. A thousand female descendants. Not all still alive, of course. Not even half of them. That would be too much to hope for. But a thousand proper my-girls, none of those son’s daughters and son’s granddaughters some folks talk about.
My own folks. Scandalous! How came we even to know about your son’s daughters, Mkembi? Why did Sembhor live in our village, with his stolen wives? At least no-one’s ever stolen any of my girls.
I know, I know. Sembhor was Mkembi’s son, which makes him my grandson too. I know, I know. He was a good man, anyway. Dead now, and both his sweet wives. All long dead. We treat their girls well, almost like our own. We’re decent people.
Here am I, talking as though Mkembi is still with us. She’s long dead now too, of course.
I had nine daughters, Mkembi the youngest. Five sons. All gone to other villages, like good boys. Probably some went a long way, or got killed somewhere. Some of my girls’ men came from very, very distant villages. They said. Who knows whether they told the truth? For all we know they could really have come from villages just four or five days away. Some of them told stories about their adventures, many moons’ worth, some more believable than others.
My daughters gave me thirty-eight granddaughters. I don’t know how many grandsons. Many. Two of my granddaughters, Bibi and Bimki, Mkembi’s fourth and sixth, are still going strong. Old ladies now.
Not nearly as old as me though! Not a tooth in my head, but still I go on. Everyone says I’ll go on forever, but of course I won’t. Nobody ever does.
Here am I, cradling my thousandth girl. My great-great-great-granddaughter. Ain’t she lovely? How many great-great-great-granddaughters have I got? I’m not sure. The oldest turned a hundred just last moon. My first great-great-great-granddaughter, a hundred! We had a big celebration. I wonder if I’ll get to see her first daughter? Another seventy, eighty, ninety moons? Maybe, who knows.
Nkrumbhal – Mkrimi’s grandfather – went and found some copper in the jungle this morning. The usual stuff, long green strings twisted together. Stuff the ancients used to make, obviously. Who knows why? Or how?
He’s making charcoal now, so he can melt the copper. He says he’s going to make a New Moon pendant for me, and a matching one for little Mkrimi. He says they’ll have a thousand stars, to celebrate our lucky thousand together. I don’t know how he’ll make a thousand stars on a New Moon pendant, or whether anyone will ever count them if he does.