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Mukalo wa Mphepo, or Mukalo for short, was born in June, the coldest month of the year in Namanga. When we say cold, we don’t mean cold, cold. Just less hot than the other months, because in reality, usually by midday even in June, it was already warm enough to take off your morning jacket.
Mukalo wa Mphepo means Luck of the Wind. When he was born, he was gifted a wooden flute and a song written on a scroll by his maternal grandfather.
The Namanga tradition of gifting a child with a musical instrument and a song went back thousands of years. In its original form, the form that Mukalo’s family was proud to practice, when a woman felt she was ready to have a child she would sit under an acacia tree and start singing. She would do this every day until she felt that she had heard the future child singing back. She would then teach the song to her husband and they would sing it together as they made love. Once she got pregnant, she would sing the song to the child every day. And when the child was born, their second name reflected something about their song. The child’s maternal grandfather was responsible for bestowing the song to the child and was the official guardian of the song and the name. At any important event in the child’s life - birth, birthday, initiation, wedding, funeral - the child’s song was sung. The call-and-response would be started by the grandfather, if he was still alive. If he was not, the gathering had to be opened by the child pouring libations to the departed guardian and then starting the song him or herself.
One big exception to this rule was the funeral of the child. If the child was grown-up it was unlikely that their grandfather was still alive. The Namanga rule was that the child’s song should be started by their mother, or, if the mother was not alive, someone else who represented motherhood - usually an aunt. And so the circle of life started with a mother singing a child’s song and ended with a mother singing the same song. The Namangas were careful to keep these rules. They had been passed down almost entrely unchanged for generations and were believed to come from the time of the Great Summit - the time when the Gods are said to have met to decide who was to live where, when and why.
Mukalo’s song was about the wind.
Wind chime, go far
Move through the night
Gently, slowly
Wake up the stars.
Wind chime, come near
Pierce through my skin
Help me to follow
The luck of the wind
Mukalo’s mother sang it often. It reminded her of the years of barrenness and being despised by the village girls before Mukalo her miracle child was born. In those days she would sing the song alone for hours under the acacia tree, and then keep humming it whenever she felt despised by anyone for being childless.
The song also reminded her of Mukalo, the wispy baby that almost died during his first week, when he caught a form of asthma almost immediately after being born. She believes that Mukalo’s song saved him. She sang it to him whenever he seemed distressed and struggling for breath. It seemed to calm him down.
Today was Mukalo’s birthday - not the day he was born - the people of Namanga counted the day that your mother had first heard your song under the acacia tree as your birthday. Careful records were kept of all the birthdays in the village.
Mother had siphoned away some money for a visit to Mukalo’s school for his birthday. She was singing his song as the bus they had boarded wound round the little dusty roads on its way to his school.
Wind chime, go far
Move through the night
Gently, slowly
Wake up the stars.
Wind chime, come near
Pierce through my skin
Help me to follow
The luck of the wind
But her mouth was not moving
Credits: Artwork by Theresa Le