Tombstones and Banana Trees by Medad Birungi Read Free Book Online

build her a house, and the meager resources would have to stretch a little further.

    Incest, witchcraft, violence, alcohol abuse—these all seem to go hand in hand with polygamy. It is a continental curse, and it has caused more pain, bitterness, and depression than many would like to admit. The statistics, however, reveal that if you are in a polygamous marriage you are more likely to be physically abused.
    About 10 percent of marriages are polygamous here. Even some members of the clergy are polygamous, despite their attempts to keep it a secret. Members of our cabinet have many wives, and at the southern tip of the continent, Jacob Zuma, South Africa’s president, is husband to (at the time of writing) three wives.
    Will polygamy end? HIV has made it less popular, but the increase in urbanization has made it catch on again, as men look to have one wife for the city and one for their rural ancestral home. This is a problem, and the idea of having one wife for the working week and another for the holidays is odd whichever way you try to dress it up.

    With the compound now empty, except for my sisters, brothers, and our mother, there was far less noise to distract us from the pain of hunger. I began to retreat into myself a little. We all did. We were faced with the very real possibility that life might be cut short at any time—perhaps through the slow agony of starvation, or in the sudden torment of an unexpected death, or by the hands of wild boys who could grab a sister in the night and take her from us. And so we retreated.
    I do not often return to Rwanjogori—the place of maggots. When I am in the area, I normally stop at the tall tree opposite the trading post at Kashumuruzi. This was the place where we were beaten down from the pickup trucks, and even today it marks a boundary beyond which I do not often pass.
    But whether I go beyond the tree or not, I am reminded of what the people of Israel used to think about Egypt after they had escaped. I am reminded of the pain I went through, of the rejection I experienced, of the abandonment I fed on for so many of the years that followed. A spirit of rejection and abandonment can stay with you for a long time. For so long I felt as though I had become an orphan on that morning by the tree. Anger, desperation, hopelessness … they all took up residence within me then, leaving me feeling so alone. Throughout Africa the orphan spirit has led many young people into depression, drugs, alcoholism, and violence.
    I am reminded of how deceitful people can be, how they can betray you, how you cannot really build your trust on people. We had seen our father as our source of security, but he had failed us. So what was to be my source of self-worth, with poverty biting at my flesh and the effects of polygamy still toxic in my veins? Jealousy, hate, and envy were inevitably going to win the day.
    And I am reminded that this was the time when God took care of me and my family despite so much despair. In His mercy He helped us through. His love carried us. His forgiveness took us out of the dirt. I believe that no scheme of man, no power of hell, shall ever pluck me from His hands. Jesus commands my destiny!
    As I said already, that journey from despair to hope was measured out in the smallest of steps. Most of the time I had little idea that it was underway, and it is only now that I can look back and see what was happening, only today that I can discern God in action. He used a range of people, even those who had every reason not to like me.
    I have told you that my father’s family in Rwanjogori were our fiercest opponents. But not all of them hated us. Deborah Karagi, who was one of the wives of my uncle and whose son was my age-mate and a great friend, was a great Christian. When I was young I stayed with her for a month, and every night she would read us Bible stories. We read through the book of John, and I was fascinated by Jesus’ miracles. Slowly I