Part 1
"Peter! Peter! Light the bonfire and open the gates. It is
time." Mama Lushana called out to the farm boy, her voice carrying the
weight of tradition and loss. The title Mama—a sign of respect in her
community—had been given to her by the church. It meant "Mother" and
was used by everyone to address her, though not all knew the trials that earned
her the name.
Flashback
Lushana was born in the 1940s, one of only two children her mother bore
before tragedy struck. Her mother died in childbirth, leaving Lushana and her
younger sister to navigate a harsh world under the care of their stepfamily.
Determined to provide for her sister, 13-year-old Lushana agreed to marry into
a well-off family. Her dowry would allow her younger sister and step-siblings
to afford an education.
Her husband, Habbu, was an evangelist, often away on preaching missions.
While he spread the Gospel, Lushana stayed behind, carrying the weight of
countless household and farm chores under her mother-in-law’s watchful eye.
Swift and obedient, she quickly became the preferred worker, surpassing even
the hired hands.
At 14, Lushana became pregnant but suffered a heartbreaking miscarriage.
Undeterred, she and Habbu tried again, but a second miscarriage followed. Her
stepmother visited, offering advice and blessings, along with herbal remedies
for the pain. But Lushana endured seven miscarriages before Habbu took her to
the missionary hospital.
The white doctors attributed her losses to severe undernourishment.
Unable to understand English, Lushana relied on Habbu to translate. On the
bicycle ride home, she asked what the doctors had said. “I will stay home
more,” was his only reply.
Habbu kept his promise, becoming a preacher in their local church and
taking a job as a teacher at the nearby school. He encouraged Lushana to step
back from hard labor, ensuring she ate nutritious meals and supervised others
instead of doing the work herself. Gradually, her health improved.
When she became pregnant again, Habbu took her for regular check-ups at
the hospital. This time, their vigilance paid off, and Lushana delivered a
healthy baby boy. The joyous news traveled swiftly, carried by a messenger who
ran tirelessly, reducing a two-day journey to one.
Her family arrived days later, celebrating through the night with songs
and praises to Omwami (God). The blessings continued with another son, then
another. But with three boys born, Lushana’s mother-in-law lamented the absence
of a daughter to carry her name. The universe answered her cries. Just before
her passing, a baby girl was born and named after her. Four more daughters
followed.
By the time she turned 36, Lushana and Habbu had welcomed eight
children, their home overflowing with life and gratitude for Omwami’s
blessings.
Present Day
Mama Lushana changed into a white gown, sitting quietly on the balcony
of her home. Below, the bonfire blazed high, its light piercing the night sky
as mourners began to arrive. Cries filled the air, heavy with sorrow, as they
entered the compound where Habbu’s body lay in a coffin at the centre.
Whispers spread among the crowd. Why wasn’t Mama Lushana sitting by her
husband’s body, as tradition dictated? Her sister-in-law climbed the steps to
the balcony, seeking an explanation.
Lushana’s voice was calm yet resolute. “Habbu will cause the Heavens’
gates to open. A great downpour is coming,” she said. “He told me on his
deathbed to sit here, on the front balcony, when his body is brought home.”
The night deepened, and all eyes turned to the heavens.
To be continued.
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