Our weatherwo/men must be grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. If these rains had not graced us with their final appearance, we’d have treated them like our weatherman of yore. Then, our weatherman lived in luxury or in misery depending on whether he answered to our desires.Time was when we had men who could command the heavens and the sky was bright or gloomy because our weathermen willed it.
Our weatherwo/men must be grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. If these rains had not graced us with their final appearance, we’d have treated them like our weatherman of yore.
Then, our weatherman lived in luxury or in misery depending on whether he answered to our desires.Time was when we had men who could command the heavens and the sky was bright or gloomy because our weathermen willed it.
Our weatherman, called the ‘rainmaker’, lived like a king when he gave us the weather we desired. He therefore wielded immense powers over us, since we could only be happy if we answered positively to his whims….
If I refer to a weatherman and not woman, it’s not because I am a male chauvinist of some sort but, rather, because then things were that way.
Those days, the world believed that the woman’s place was in the kitchen and men were out and about because they were men and women liked it that way. No, it’s not my fancy….
But back to our rainmaker. A delay in either rainy or dry weather was unknown unless, for some reason, he was unhappy. If rains came in torrents, like those pounding Australia, it was because we were not fulfilling his wishes. If the dry spell stretched over many months, our rainmaker for long hadn’t fed to his fill.
However, woe unto him if he had all he needed and yet we did not get our desired weather. Our people were an understanding lot and could do with an explanation if the rains were destructively heavy, or the dry season unbearably hot.
What they could not tolerate was a prolonged drought or an unrelenting downpour that resulted in the death of livestock and humans.
In the event of such an occurrence, the rainmaker was handled mercilessly. I remember one rainmaker, Rugushamahindu, in the mid-1950s.
There was an unusually long drought and for two seasons we had no harvest. When the drought persisted in spite of Rugusha’s (for short) assurances that rains were soon due, elders summoned him and asked him to bring the rains immediately.
Rugusha called for offerings of plenty of the local brew and two healthy bullocks with two young cows ‘nearing impregnation’. He accompanied them to his house and was left alone to talk to the skies.
Then he went into a long prayer, occasionally dipping his head into the brew, which he had poured into a big pot. Peeping through holes in the wall of his grass-thatched house, nyakatsi, we fallowed all the rituals.
He dipped his head into the brew, took a mouthful and then lifted his head and spat the brew in the air and said his prayers, repeating the ritual over and over again.
Then he would lapse into long trances before jumping up and making as if he was milking the sky. But try as he could, he did not impress the heavens and they remained as dry as the Tunisian streets after the recent demonstrations.
After four hours, Rugusha was again summoned, this time not to explain but, to pay! He was asked to strip down and lie on the ground. The elders called over strong, young men to come and take turns whipping him.
He was whipped for maybe five or six hours when someone shouted: "Stop!” Someone had seen a flash of lightening and we all covered our heads, fearing the worst.
If it was ‘dry thunder’, it’d take a number of people with it, especially those who had participated in whipping.
‘Dry thunder’ was thunder that struck when there was no rain and it was the most deadly. Ordinary thunder during the rain could strike and not necessarily claim a victim. However, ‘dry thunder’ could not strike and go without somebody to ‘company’ it. Most often it was accompanied by many victims.
Usually, it struck because the rainmaker had called it to avenge the punishment meted to him.
In this case, however, it seemed that Rugusha had not called it because the rain came down immediately after. The elders apologised to Rugusha and asked the young men to dress him up and rush him to his house for nursing. Then the elders followed the young men and we kids followed.
We all sat in Rugusha’s spacious house (built for him by the people), as the ‘medicine-man’ dressed his fresh wounds. After nursing him, the ‘medicine-man’ propped him on a mat against the wall and he lay on his side. He could not sit straight, of course, because his bottom was literally minced meat!
One of the bullocks was slaughtered and roast meat was passed around, as everybody toasted to the rain with the brew. As for us kids, only dregs were given to us because they did not contain potent alcohol.
Amidst hearty laughter at the jokes about Rugusha’s whipping, in which Rugusha himself participated, the elders pledged never to be merciless in punishment again.
Of course, in their hearts of hearts, they knew they’d repeat the punishment. After all, it did get results