Adultery
There are men who prefer sleeping with other men’s wives. This is the story of such a man, a moran whose lover was the youngest wife of an old man, a trader, who had several wives.
The young wife and the moran had been lovers for a long time. As usually happens, they began to grow careless. The husband suspected something. He asked others in the manyatta whether his wife was sleeping with another man, but he was always told, ‘No, when you are gone, she is always alone.’ The old man was not satisfied with this answer. He asked more questions. ‘Does she spend time talking with one moran? Is there a moran she sings with in the evening?’ ‘No,’ he was told, ‘when you leave on business she is always alone.’ The villagers liked the moran. He was in love with the young wife.
One morning, when the old man was standing at the manyatta gate watching his cows go out for morning pasture, a parrot landed on the gate post. The parrot began talking. It told the old man that his wife had a lover, and that his second child was not his. The old man was angry. He realized that everyone had been lying to him. He asked the parrot what to do. The parrot said, ‘Go away on a business trip, as you usually do. But this time, don’t go far. Come back in the night, and you will catch them.’
The man returned home. His wife was making tea. He was still angry. He asked her whether she had a lover. She said, ‘No, I don’t have a lover. I only have you.’ ‘If that is so,’ he asked, ‘then why does our second child look so different from our first?’ ‘I have no lover, but you,’ she said. ‘And if I find that you have a lover, then what should I do? ‘Then,’ she said, ‘you can kill me.’
The old man wanted to believe his wife. He grew calm. He made his plans. He was a good trader, smart, patient, tireless. For a few days he did nothing. He didn’t mention anything, and it seemed as if everything was fine. Then he told his wife he would take some goats to Isiolo. As usual, she helped him get ready for the trip. As usual, he left before dawn. But instead of going far, he only went a few kilometers. He went to the manyatta of a friend. He gave the goats over to a child to watch, and then spent the day inside, brooding.
As soon as he had left, his wife had sent a child to a neighboring manyatta to tell the moran that her husband was gone. During the day the moran was busy with the cows so he could not come to see her until night. As soon as the cows were back in the manyatta, he came to her. They drank tea, talked, and then, after it was dark, they began to make love. As the sun set the old man set off to come back home.
The old man approached the manyatta quietly. He pulled the acacia branch that blocked the gate forward, slipped through the gap, and put it back in place. He approached the door to his house, crouched down beside a spear that was planted by his door, and very quietly pushed the door aside and entered. He arrived at his house as his wife and the moran were having sex. His house was dark. The fire was just smoldering embers. He crept forward. They were just to his left, on the women’s bed, just on the other side of the entry wall. When he reached the fire, he shouted out, ‘Go on, continue what you are doing!’ At the same time he reached for the moran’s weapons, his rungu, and his short sword. The moran jumped to his feet and stood, crouching, arms extended, facing the man across the smoldering embers. The ceiling is low, neither man could stand up. The old man had his sword out. He swung the sword, severing the moran’s right hand. The moran cried out, but he was trapped. The woman’s bed was only one cow skin. There was no place to go.
The old man said, ‘I have suspected this for a long time. I have been waiting. Now, I am ready. I know what I am to do.’ He moved forward, grabbed hold of the man’s penis and cut it off, along with the testes.’ The moran screamed, begged for his life. The old man held up the bloody mass, and said, ‘See this, this is your property.’ But the room was dark so it was impossible to see them. The old man ordered his wife to make up the fire. She crept from the bed and did as she was told. She put some sticks on the fire. Flames lept. The old man said, ‘Now you can see your property. As it is yours, eat it!’ The moran didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t eat his own penis and testes. He couldn’t! He begged for his life, ‘Please, my father, don’t kill me, my father, I am your son.’ The old man said, ‘You won’t eat? Fine, and he grabbed the moran by one shoulder to steady him and then chopped off one of the moran’s ears. ‘Are you ready to eat,’ he asked?’ The moran cried, he vomited, the old man said, ‘No, well, fine, then I will chop off your other ear.’ He chopped it off. ‘Eat!’ But the moran could not eat. The old man pulled one of his feet forward. ‘Put this here, on the log.’ He put the toes on the log that separates the woman’s bed from the fire. He brought the sword down on the toes, pop, they came off. ‘Eat!’ But the moran could not eat his own penis and testes. He was crying, he was shaking, he was vomiting, his words were confused. Outside the house the whole manyatta was gathered. Even some from the neighboring manyatta had arrived. People where shouting. Some were shouting at the moran — ‘We told you so, see what happens when you fool with other men’s wives!’ — and others were shouting at the man — ‘Stop this! You have done enough!’ At one point someone started coming into the house, but the old man thrust his sword in the man’s face and told him that he would kill anyone who interfered.
The old man chopped off the toes from the other foot. He cut off the other hand. ‘Now, will you eat? Will you now eat your penis and your testes? They are yours! Or do you need me to show you how to eat them?’ His wife kept adding wood to the fire. The room was hot and smokey. Shadows danced on the walls. The moran had no penis, no testes, no ears, no hands, no toes, he fell, limp, like a calabash.
The old man grabbed his wife. ‘This is your man?’ ‘No,’ she said, ‘this is not my man.’ ‘I found you with him playing sex!’ The woman said, ‘No, he forced me.’ ‘He forced you? Fine. Then this won’t be painful.’ The old man took his sword and stabbed his wife in her vagina, twisted, and cut out her womb. His wife screamed, cried, pleaded, oh, my husband, why are you doing to me? Please, forgive me. He said, no!, I asked you before. Now, you have to eat this. Ah, no, how can I eat my womb! Eat now! Or I will make sure you are not living. Ahhh, oh, this is impossible, it is uncooked! ‘Then cook it!’ ‘No?, then bring me your hand.’ She lifted her right hand. The old man chopped at the fingers, leaving her only the thumb. ‘Now, the other one!’ He grabbed her other arm, placed the hand on the branch that marks the men’s sleeping area and chopped of the fingers, leaving the thumb. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘this is your womb, ask your children to use it as water bucket.’ The house was still surrounded by people. Sometimes one would callout to the old man to stop, but he paid no attention, and nobody tried to come in. He told his wife that he was going to sleep, and if she lived to the morning, he would see what he would do.
The old man woke up before dawn. He dragged his wife outside in the field. She could not stand. He called all the old men and said come and see how I usually practice to kill. Everybody came out of the house. Dawn was breaking. There was shouting, ‘Don’t kill her! Stop!’ One man tried to get to her, but he was knifed. The spears? Couldn’t a spear have been thrown? A spear was not thrown.
He cut off a breast. Eat this one. ‘This is not meat,’ she cried, ‘this is my flesh!’ The old man shouted at her that her teeth were for eating, not talking, and as she wouldn’t eat, she didn’t need her teeth. He hit her about the mouth with his metal-tipped stick, breaking her teeth. She was choking. There was blood everywhere. And then, at last, call it with mercy, he brought the stick down on her head, and she lay still.