This is what some people did.
The son said: “Mother, go and find a wife for me, as I am now grown up.”
The mother said: “My child is now grown up.”
Other people said: “Dear me! he is not grown up yet.”
The mother got up and went to look for the wife...
Time passed. The wife gave birth to a child, and later on to another. At last she said to her husband: “Let us get up and go and see my mother.”
The husband said: “We will go.”
They got up, both of them. It happened to be a time of famine. On the way they found wild figs. The woman then said: “Do climb up and give me some figs.”
The husband went up the tree. He then began to shake the branches, and figs fell in abundance, the woman, meanhile, and her children eating them.
Again he shook, and more figs fell, among them a particularly big one: “Wife,” said the husband, “do not eat that one fig; if you do I will kill you”.
“Hunger has no law,” said the wife. “Besides, really! Would you kill me, your wife, for a fig? I am eating it; let us see whether you dare kill me.”
The woman ate the fig. Seeing that, the husband came down and with an assegai pointed at her, said: “My fig, what as become of it?”
She said: “I have eaten it.”
He there and then killed his wife, his younger child just staring at him.
The man then said: “My children, let us go now, as I have killed your mother.”
They got up and the bigger child put his little brother on his back. Baby, looking behind, began to cry. His brother then started this reproachful song:
How can I silence Katubi?
How can I silence Katubi?
O my dear Katubi!
O my dear Katubi!
How can I silence Katubi?
[Katubi, literally ‘Make-the-thing-white,’ i.e., ‘Expose-the-truth,’ is the name of the baby.]
The father asked: “Now what art thou saying?”
The answer was: “It is not I that am speaking; it is baby that is crying.”
The father said: “Let us go, dear! There is food for thee where we are going to!”
On they went, on they went, on they went, till baby himself took up the song:
Silence Katubi!
Silence Katubi!
My brother has become my mother!
My brother has become my mother!
Silence Katubi!
The father said: “Now what sort of language is that, thou little child of a tendon? I am coming to kill thee. What! As I have killed thy mother, art thou going to expose me at thy grandmother’s abode?”
The child said: “No, I shall not speak.”
On they went, on they went. Baby looked fixedly behind. Then came the song:
What a lot of vultures!
What a lot of vultures!
Over the fig-trees at Moya’s,
Over the fig-trees at Moya’s,
What a lot of vultures!
And baby cried again.
The father said: “What art thou crying for?”
The bigger child said: “I am trying to stop baby’s crying.”
The man, having looked behind, saw a number of vultures hovering over there, then heard this song:
What a lot of vultures!
What a lot of vultures!
Over the fig-trees at Moya’s,
Over the fig-trees at Moya’s,
What a lot of vultures!
He said: “What art thou crying for?”
“Why!” answered the child. “I am doing what I can to silence baby. It is he that is crying, not I.”
“What is he crying for?”
“He is crying for mother,” answered the child.
The father said: “Nonsense! Let us go; thou art going to find thy grandmother ahead.”
On they went and went, till baby looking back started again:
Silence Katubi!
Silence Katubi!
My brother has become my mother!
My brother has become my mother!
Silence Katubi!
This time there goes the father retracing his steps, then beating them both, beating and beating them.
“You are killing me, father,” said the child. “Are you going to kill me too as you have killed mother?”
“I mean to kill thee,” answered the father.
On they went, on they went, the children this tune going in front until baby looked back once more, and sang as before:
What a lot of vultures!
What a lot of vultures!
Over the fig-trees at Moya’s,
Over the fig-trees at Moya’s,
What a lot of vultures!
At last they reached the village.
There first the greeting: “So you have put in an appearance!”
“We have put in an appearance,” replied the man.
But the grandmother at once began to put questions to her bigger grandchild, saying: “Now, where has your mother been left?”
The child just shook his head. Then he said: “Do you expect to see mother? She has been killed by father, and that for a wild fruit. It is a fact; it was for a fig that he killed her.”
At that moment baby started singing:
What a lot of vultures!
What a lot of vultures!
Over the fig-trees at Moya’s,
What a lot of vultures!
The grandmother said: “Stop, baby.” She added: “We are just going to kill your father also.”
People then set to dig inside of a hut, to dig a deep, narrow hole. Meanwhile the grandmother said: “Stir the porridge.”
Soon porridge was brought into the hut, while a mat Was being spread over the hole. The grandmother then said: “Go and call your father.”
He was called. As he entered the hut, he said: “We may as well sit just there on the mat.” And, as he said so, he tumbled into the hole. He died in boiling water (which was then poured over him).
I am Mwana-Rumina.