The First Woman by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi

Author:Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ugandan;Uganda;Mythology;African mythology;Folklore;African folklore;Soulful;Family;Families;Mother;Mothers;Epic;Africa;African;Moving;Powerful;coming-of-age;Women;Woman;Strong woman;Feminism;Feminist;Courage;Passion;Love;Witch;Witchcraft;Award winning
Publisher: Oneworld Publications
Published: 2020-07-27T09:18:14+00:00

7

The day Kirabo saw Giibwa again was the day she showed Sio what a woman really looked like down there. It was just before Christmas 1979. Sio had passed his exams and had been accepted into the University of Dar es Salaam. Because of the war, he had sat his A levels in July. The results had come out in November. Since Tanzania had brought the war to Uganda, the University of Dar es Salaam had made provisions for Ugandan students to join a term late with remedial classes. Sio was travelling to Dar the following day. He would spend Christmas with his mother before starting his course in the new year. Kirabo would not see him again until next April.

As promised, Sio showed her his ssebukuule first.

They were in a lodge, the one on Clement Hill Road where men escaped to with pinched wives, where good girls lost their virginity. Such an air of depravity hung in the room that Kirabo could not help but feel a sense of guilt about all of the women in her life who had worked so hard to keep her safe from men. She thought of Grandmother and all the women in Nattetta, especially Widow Diba, Nsuuta, Aunt Abi, Aunt YA and Sister Ambrose. They had no idea she was in a disreputable lodge with Kabuye’s son.

Sio sat her on the bed, and then proceeded to peel off his clothes as if it was an art form. At first, Kirabo held her mouth in shock, giggling, unable to believe how much Sio enjoyed his own nakedness. You know that superb male bird of paradise doing a courtship dance? That was Sio.

Now that he was naked, save for his Caterpillar boots, he performed a military parade, whistling the police band tunes. From the wall across the room, quick march, quick march, to the end of the room, abouuuut turn. Then he came back doing the goose-step, singing, ‘Okello, talina mpale…’ At the wall he stopped, stomped and swivelled on his heel. He saluted, put an imaginary baton under his arm and started the slow march. Kirabo fell back on the bed, ribs aching with laughter. When she sat up, Sio was kneeling at the side of the bed.

‘Your turn.’

For some reason Kirabo’s confidence deserted her. Forget Aunt Abi’s assertion that the vagina was a flower bud unfolding, forget all the pride St Theresa’s had given her in her body. At school, she was just another girl. She could walk about naked. In this room, Sio’s pale body reminded her that her breasts were not supposed to be charcoally, that her vagina was foul. If it was a flower, why did nature tuck it out of sight?

‘I am not taking my clothes off to model boobs and bums.’

‘Come on.’

‘Hmm, hmm.’

‘You promised…’

‘To show you my flower.’

‘But the flower does not come in isolation.’

‘That is what you asked for.’

‘Okay.’ Sio gave in unhappily. ‘Take off your knickers.’

She pulled them off and lay back on the bed but kept her knees closed.

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