Mark of Destiny

Msemo kuhusu kupigwa nyeusi na nyeupe katika maisha ni uongo.
Tayari pundamilia anajua kitu, amini mimi.

“They say life has black and white stripes on it. It’s a lie.
“A zebra knows better, believe me.”

The savannah was slowly awakening from night sleep. Yellow grass glistened with beads of morning dew, the earth below still cold and a bit damp. Belated night birds and bats flew to their day shelters in anticipation of peaceful, full-bellied sleep. A herd of antelopes stood at a cool backwater, constantly looking around for lions. Those, however, were too lazy to go out for a hunt so early. But in these lands wariness was never regarded as some unnecessary thing.

Before the sun appeared over the horizon, the old zebra mare came out of a simple hut at the mouth of the river, holding in her teeth a newborn filly who wagged her legs and squeaked as loud as she could. When first beams of the rising sun reached the hut, the filly suddenly stopped wriggling. She froze stunned, staring at the great golden circle sluggishly rising up the skyline blurred with a glaze of evaporating dew. The mare put the newborn in a sunlit basket filled with soft hay, and returned to the hut where the parents were already waiting for her. The sweat-covered mother lay on a straw mat, breathing heavily in the half-conscious state. Beside her sat her husband, a strong handsome stallion covered with many scars, his eyes closed. Just when as the old mare came back, both parents opened their eyes and looked at her in anticipation.

“The foal is healthy and strong,” the old zebra croaked. “The savannah is kind to her, and today a new name will appear in the Book of Sun. Zecora.”

I was laying in a thick prickly bush that grew over a small elevation over the vast expanse of the savannah. From my position, I could clearly see any movement down there. A few gnarled trees stuck out at the bottom, and dozens of birds sat on their branches. Three elephants who probably decided that it was their territory pompously walked around the trees. Further were huge white boulders chosen by a lion pride. Most of the lions dozed under the sun in a variety of poses. Little cubs rolled in the dust and tried to bite each other’s ears under the supervision of a pair of lionesses. Upon the far boulder was a huge powerful lion with a thick mane, and he was lazily speaking to an even more huge and powerful wildebeest who had prominent horns able to comfortably accommodate four eyries.

Their conversation looked tense and official. But thus was only from afar. Wasimba, the leader of local lions, suddenly patted his companion for a horn—but Mbala, the leader of wildebeests, pulled away and pushed his forehead at the lion’s side. After that, they both laughed and went separate ways. I did not know if I could talk to someone who killed one of my tribe every few days, like this. But their tribes had their relations, perfected by centuries of that life. They did not build huts like zebras. They were satisfied with what they had. Generation after generation.

The sun was overhead, so it was time to get out of my cosy observation point and go down to the river. At this time of day it became shallow almost to the bottom in some places, and one could cross it without fear of crocodiles’ teeth. The opposite bank was covered by a thicket of low trees, where the nastiest beings I had ever seen lived. Monkeys. These small evil creatures moved from branch to branch with amazing speed, shouting hysterically and throwing fruits, stones or even their own faeces. Then they grabbed anyone who came to them by mane, tail or legs, and threw them into the river at the jaws of crocodiles. No one went in their woods on his or her own. But this was a special case; I was on the test to obtain my Mark of Destiny.

Mark of Destiny was a special symbol that every zebra received after reaching the certain age, or tried to receive. A Mark was tattooed on a young zebra’s flanks by a village’s Elder, and it determined what that zebra would do all his life. Foalsitting, fishing or beating drums. But a Mark had to be earned by successfully completing the Test, which was given by an Elder to each foal depending on what they wanted to do.

It was a key pillar in the life of a young zebra. Only after he got his Mark of Destiny, he became a full member of his tribe. That was why everyone got their Mark. Well, or the most part. Last year, two young zebras vanished without a trace after going to the savannah on their missions, and another returned completely insane, unable to perform his task. He was not supposed to have a Mark, which meant he was not supposed to have a home or a family in our village, and he had to be a hermit. Second attempts were not allowed.

It just so happened that my grandmother was an Elder, and my father a leader of our tribe. I had been told that at first he was cold to me because he expected a son. But over time, paternal feelings had taken its toll and now he adored me, not to mention that I almost kept up with colts. Running a race, tumbling in the dust and fighting with a pole were important parts of my life, though they attracted me little. For as long as I could remember, I was always interested in what the Elder was doing.

Thin smoke always curled up above the Elder’s hut, and all kinds of smells always permeated its walls. She was inside almost all the time, going out just to eat or to go to the river. Herbs for potions were brought by two special mares who wanted to take her place in future. Sometimes she came outside a little delirious and shouted long incomprehensible phrases, or just stood by the fire looking into it. My mother said that those were times when she spoke to spirits of the savannah, and they told her such things that an ordinary zebra would go insane, were he to listen to them.

Potions and powders prepared by her could do everything. At least there were no illness or injury she had not cured with her poultices. If a zebra had gotten sick, the Elder would just have come out of her hut with a steaming bowl, giving him a drink, and the next day he was well.

As long as I could remember, I was always fascinated by all these mysteries. Other zebras treated her with caution and tried to stay away from her hut. But I, on the contrary, was drawn to that place. The place where strange smells lingered in the air and muffled voices of the ancestors were heard.

Six years ago, there was one day when the Elder went to the river for water and her assistants stuck somewhere far away in the savannah for night, so I sneaked inside. The hut was dark, lit only by a single oil lamp and a few smouldering embers remaining in the hearth. The walls and ceiling were hung with drying herbs, roots and some other strange things. In the centre of the hut was a round hearth with a huge cauldron able to fit an adult zebra. The opposite corner contained a table with several books, an inkwell and a quill. It was the first time I saw books.

One of them immediately attracted my attention: thicker than the others; the edges decorated with worn-out gold; a symbol of Sun on the cover. Unable to resist, I reached for this book, and heard the Elder’s cough behind. My heart skipped a beat.

“Well, well... Who’s this? Come step out into the light, I want to see a frog to be. Or an earthworm. Or a river snail. I don’t know what potion I’ll get first.”

I hung my head and stepped out into the light of the lamp.

“Zecora. I should have known. So that’s why you’ve been idling around for some time. Perhaps before I turn you into a snail, I’ll tell everything to your father.”

“No, grandma, don’t tell father! Turn me into a snail if you want, just don’t tell him! He loves me so much, and I let him down so much... You just have so much fun here, so I—”

“This is not the reason to break in the sacred place without asking, little Zecora!”

“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. Turn me into a frog if you want, but don’t tell father. He’ll be very upset...”

Having said this, I came up to my grandmother and lay at her hooves, waiting for some sweet-smelling liquid to pour over me and that I would leave this hut skipping and croaking.

But instead, I heard only a raspy laugh over my head.

“Heh heh heh, did you really think I’d turn my sweet grand-daughter to some creature for such a trifle? Get up, don’t you wallow in the dirt.”

I got up to my hooves, and saw my grandmother looking at me gently. I bet she had never looked at anyone like that.

If it had not been for that case, I would probably have adopted one of those crafts my parents suggested to choose. Zecora the Lion Tamer! No no, Zecora the Great Protector! But I had decided to follow the path of the Elder. Even if it meant bringing contempt from her assistants upon myself, since from that moment they would likely have to spend all their lives as fillies for fetching and carrying herbs.

The day before the ceremony, when I was sitting by the river and grinding a dried-up lizard skin, my father approached me with a spear for fishing. He stood for a while, watching the water surface. Suddenly, he was beside me and started throwing pebbles into the water. I squinted at him quizzically but did not stop work.

He gave a deep sigh. “You sure want to be a witch?”

“A witch doctor, dad!”

“Okay, okay. A witch doctor. Do you really like sitting around and grinding these stinking weeds?”

“That’s not it. We’ve already talked it over, don’t start again...”

“Daughter, you have grown into a beautiful strong zebra. You could become anyone, even a future chief of the tribe. Your strength and agility put any stallion around to shame. And you waste your time mixing up some herbs...”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. For Sun’s sake, don’t start it, dad.”

My father sighed and threw another pebble into the water. “You’re so big now, almost like your mother. At least she’ll be happy for you. Don’t let me down tomorrow.”

I put the mortar aside and hugged him.

When the day of the ceremony came, I had already guessed where the Elder would send me. To the other side of the river and into the thicket full of monkeys. There grew a special moss which was a rare ingredient for some potions. Not so bad, given that one of the alternatives was to catch a crocodile and tear out his teeth.

More than a dozen young zebras preparing to pass the Test gathered on the outskirts of the village early in the morning. Someone walked light-hoofed. Someone was carrying only a small bag with food for a short move to a neighbouring tribe. And someone was bowlegged from the weight of spears, water bags and other necessities loaded on their back. Those were going deep in the wild savannah, to earn the most honourable Marks.

I, for my part, had only a small gourd of water dangling on my side and a bag of herbs on my chest. I would not have to go very long, so I expected to come back tomorrow or the day after.

The entire village for some exceptions gathered to see off the candidates. Three zebras were beating drums or playing reed pipes to give us confidence. Though it was a hard word to say about us. Most of us just trembled from head to hooves. Even I felt like my stomach was ready to part with what meagre breakfast I had had.

The crowd parted, giving way to the Elder and the chief dressed up in ceremonial robes.

“Twelve seasons ago, their names appeared in the Book of Sun!” My grandmother began her speech. “Twelve years they have been taught the laws of the savannah, and now they are ready to choose their own path in life! Hivyo basi jua kuangaza juu ya barabara wakati wa mchana, nabasi mwezihautatoa yaowakatiwa usiku...”

Further listening to her made no sense. When the Elder began speaking the language of the Ancestors, it meant she had spent too much time breathing smoke from her herbs again. I glanced at the father. He grimaced and gestured me to stand still.

I rolled my eyes and turned the other way. My gaze met Imara’s. Imara was my old friend, and now was standing by my side. He immediately turned away, his eyes wide open. Imara had a bulk of bundles and bags full of supplies on his back, three throwing spears hanging from his side as well.

“Feel nervous?” I asked him with a corner of my mouth.

“You bet... Sure I do,” he answered, looking at the ground. “I have to go to the Canyon Manaa and bring a tail of a desert scorpion. That scary beast! On my own! No one hunts a scorpion alone, but others didn’t want to help me. All afraid for their coats. Cowards.”

“To the Canyon? You alone? That’s a five-day road,” I said, still not believing that he brought himself to such madness.

“You know... I didn’t think I’d be alone...”

Let the Sun be merciful on him. And my sanity's health, that too.

“Don’t you say you were counting on me.”

“Yes, I was...” the stallion said and hung his head.

“Elephant’s dung be falling on your head! You look like an adult, but even a monkey has brains larger than yours! You knew I’d be doing the Elder’s task!”

“I thought—”

“You know you can die? And you know that I don’t change my mind.”

“I do. Zecora, you know...”

“You stupid, stupid roach!” I finished the tirade and turned away. I certainly did love to thrill my nerves by venturing into one dangerous place or another, but this was a pure folly.

I heard my father’s sonorous voice. “Come here, young zebras!” It was the final part of the ceremony.

The participants for the Test lined up, and then the chief came up to each to leave marks of our tribe on their flanks. It was the ancient tradition to avoid any misunderstanding if a candidate would run into members of another tribe in their territory. The father came up to me, put a hoof in the bowl with dye and made the mark on my flank. He looked me at the eye and nodded his head. I nodded in return. That was it. I was on my own now.

“Go now, sons and daughters of ours! May Moon not be too quick on writing your names into her book,” the Elder said and returned to fancy words of the Ancestral language.

And so we went. Looking behind, I noticed tears in the mom’s eyes. I had never seen her crying, even when my aunt had drowned in the river. A lump of bitterness got up my throat. As we reached the exit from the village, everyone went separate ways on their missions. After saying farewells and wishing best luck, I turned from the road into high grass and sat on a stone to check out my equipment for one last time when Imara appeared, all out of breath.

“Zecora, wait! I need to tell you something...” he blurted out, looking around suspiciously.

“You should go another way,” I said, my eyebrow risen up.

“That’s sure... But you know, I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time... that... I...” He went quiet and blushed like a baboon’s bosom.

Oh, that thing. “You can tell it when you come back with a scorpion’s tail.”

“But...”

“I’m not going to listen to gibber from a foal who hasn’t even got his Mark yet. Now you’re gonna go kill that damn scorpion, and when you get back, we will talk. And don’t you dare to die on the way,” I said with as much of indifferent expression on my face as I could, checking out if my gourd with water was closed firmly.

“I’ll try...” he said, and dragged himself off.

“You promise?” I uttered in a voice that caused stallions to twitch.

Imara looked at me with the unbelieving eyes and began smiling like an idiot.

“Uh... Hey, what are you doing?” I only managed to say before this big fellow went straight for a hug. And then he got a good punch in the stomach. “Did I say something about it? Wanna check the strength of my hooves again?”

Imara adjusted his equipment and, with a short nod, disappeared in the high grass, the smile still on his lips.

“I just got stuck in,” I mused aloud. “Okay, that’s not important now and I can think of it later. I need to get to the plateau before sunset and make up a bed under the protection of lions’ territory.”

I rose up from the stone and noticed some useful herb underneath. The day started just fine.