I chuckled to myself when I heard our weatherman confidently caution our peasant-farmers against planting anything, as it was not yet the rainy season, according to him.

Now the return of the dry season that he predicted is nowhere. Instead, we are saddled with a prolonged rainy season and no crop a-growing.

And yet the weatherman still walks the plains of Rwanda, as free as the birds of the air. In the good old days, such a naïve blunder could cost a skin, if not a life. Because the weather of the time was commanded and not predicted, if a weatherman was disobeyed by the skies, punishment was prompt and severe.

At the slopes of Mount Muhabura, where I was born and bred, our Ntaganda (John Ntaganda heads the Rwandan meteorological department) was a gangly man of advanced age called Muvubyi.  Muvubyi was not a mere mortal like you and me. He had supernatural powers and did not carry the cheap title of ‘Weatherman’. He carried the godly moniker of ‘Rainmaker’. 

As mere mortals, when you wanted rain you prostrated at his feet and showered him with offerings. It was the same if the rainy season was too long and you wanted it shortened. Your wishes were fulfilled only when you succeeded in pleasing him, which meant giving enough gifts. Even then, he couldn’t make the mistake of committing himself to a categorical directive, like "Plant your crop now!” or "Don’t plant your crop yet!”

If you saw the rains coming and asked him if you should plant, he gave an evasive opinion like: "Prudence is advised. The ways of the skies are like the word of a fickle man.” He could command the skies, yes, but sometimes they did not necessarily obey him. So, in case they disobeyed, you could not pin him down on any promise. Rainmaker knew he had limits to his powers.

He knew that his powers derived from communing with the gods but even they depended on their God for their powers. That chain of command meant that his wishes were not always granted.  Yet the impatience of men who’ve made their offerings being what it is, Rainmaker was flogged ‘iz’akabwana’ (whipped like a puppy) whenever the men did not get their desired weather, his equally furious revenge notwithstanding.

I remember one particular spat between Rainmaker and his people, in late September, 1957. The year had not seen a good crop and yet the rains showed no signs of coming soon, despite the plentiful gifts made to Rainmaker. When the head of the community saw that famine was looming, he called for a gathering of Agacaca (the anglicised Gacaca of today) and then summoned Rainmaker. When Rainmaker arrived, the weight of the atmosphere was suffocating, even to us as young spectators.

"Esteemed elders of the community,” opened the chief, after clearing his throat, "have you all survived the night?” The elders grunted the characteristic reply-question in unison: "Have you also survived the night well, chief of the community?” "Yes!” responded the community head, as a preamble to the business of the day. Which business, he proceeded, was that a famine was at the horizon and yet Rainmaker’s rain was not even beginning to wet the tail of that horizon.

Some of the elders, who were not necessarily well bred, mutedly clicked their tongues. The community chief called for cool-headedness and asked them to calmly consider the problem and suggest what should be done. All the elders suggested punishment for Rainmaker, since custom provided for that as the first step towards addressing such a problem. It was agreed that Rainmaker receive six lashes of the cane and a strong young man was called to administer them.

Rainmaker knew he had exhausted his excuses, so he resignedly lay down and bared his ‘seat’ of his loincloth. When the young man raised his cane, a clap of thunder slit the sky, followed by prolonged rumbling. Then the sky clouded and rain fell, first in light drops and then downpours. No one bothered to run for shelter. Rather, they all ran to lift up Rainmaker and take turns hugging him. After soaking in the rain, they went to the chief’s house to drink and fete their rainmaker, as they made merry.

It was after a lull in the partying that the chief called for silence. A feeble voice could be heard calling from outside and so the ‘cane’ young man was asked to go out in the rain and investigate. After a short while he was back, assisting a shivering Biragwira, one of the Gacaca judges, who had first suggested flogging for Rainmaker. Biragwira recounted how, on regaining consciousness, he found himself in the granary, perched on top of the community chief’s sorghum.

So, thunder had avenged Rainmaker! The elders stopped their partying, wondering if they’d ever dare punish Rainmaker again. Goes to show how everything had a mitigating force for justice.

But, John, whatever malicious streak you may be possessed of, as they say in TV commercials, "Please don’t try it at home!” For, it used to be that that caning was never avenged!

E-mail: iyigihanga@gmail./com
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