Written by Emme Kimani
The village elders had gathered under the sacred fig tree at the foot of Mount Kenya. Their faces etched with fear and contorted by the flames surrounding them. Father Cristas, a young priest, stood before them. His voice was soft but dripped with venom as he denounced the Agikuyu traditions and the secret Nguiko school hidden in the forests of Mount Kenya. The face of colonialism and religious fundamentalism, he had succeeded in turning the community against their own.
Ma’ Mathai, the sister matriarch and Head of the school, stood before the council, her back straight, her eyes ablaze with defiance. She knew this moment was coming, but she never thought it would come this soon. Accused of practicing witchcraft and promoting impure acts, she felt the cold grip of fear in the air as the once-loving faces of her own people hardened against her.
The elders deliberated, their whispers rife with accusations and whispers; she stood accused of demonic influence. Ma knew they had made up their minds before she had uttered a single word in her defense.
Sentenced to exile, she was given until sunset to leave the village or face her consequences. The crowd, once filled with love and respect, now turned on her like a pack of vicious animals, spitting and hurling insults as she walked away, head held high.
The sun beat relentlessly on her back as Ma began her treacherous journey into the unknown, her heart heavy with the weight of betrayal. She headed into her beloved forest, crestfallen yet still defiant. Her only solace was the knowledge that the way of life she taught still coursed through her veins. As long as she was alive, it would live too.
She knew Father Cristas would not give up so easily. She had thwarted his attempts to close the school many times, and he would stop at nothing to see her silenced for good. His cold, soulless eyes haunted her dreams, a constant reminder of the evil she stood up against.
Ma pushed through the dense foliage, her remaining students close behind. They were all that was left of the once-thriving women’s community she led. The knowledge they carried was now more important than ever before.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, they reached a hidden clearing deep in the heart of the forest. Her Ngomi, the spirits that guided her, whispered their approval. Her Ngomi guided them to a cave shrouded by thick, protective vines.
Inside, the air was cool and damp, but it was safe—for now. Ma lit a fire, casting a golden glow on the worried faces of her students. She knew they were looking to her for guidance or reassurance at the least.
“We will rebuild,” she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt. “We will carry on the traditions of our people, no matter the cost. The Nguiko way is not so easily extinguished.”
As the fire crackled, Ma’s thoughts drifted back to the village she had left behind. She knew that for every council of elders, there were hundreds more like them, waiting to pounce on the first sign of her opposition to the church way. But she also knew that for every one of them, there were countless others like her, fighting to preserve their heritage, their identity.
Her students lay down to sleep, their young bodies weary from the day’s events. Ma watched over them, her heart heavy with grief but also with determination. They would not be the last Nguiko class.
As Ma eventually drifted off to sleep, she dreamt of a time when the Nguiko would once again thrive, their culture and knowledge safe from those who sought to destroy it. And in her dreams, she felt the spirits of her ancestors smiling upon her, guiding her in the dark night that lay ahead.
–
The sun had not yet risen when Ma awoke. The ashes of her home still smoldered in the distance, but she knew they had to move on. They were now fugitives, hunted for wanting to pass on their culture to the next generation.
The forest was cool and damp as they ventured deeper into the depths of it. Ma knew these narrow pathways like the back of her hand, every twist and turn, a familiar friend. At last, they came upon a clearing, hidden from prying eyes.
“This will do,” she said, surveying the area. “We will rebuild our school here.”
The work that followed over several weeks was back-breaking, but the girls worked tirelessly. Each was fueled by their determination to keep the Nguiko way alive. They built crude huts from branches and leaves, just enough to keep the rain and cold at respectable bay. They wove beds from ferns and moss, softened with animal skins. And at the center of the clearing, they built a fire pit, around which they would gather to share stories and pass on the knowledge that had been entrusted to them.
As the days turned into weeks, and then months, the girls blossomed under Ma’ Mathai’s guidance. They learned about their bodies, about the sacred act of intercourse, and the power that lay within their very hips. They learned to read the body for early signs of pregnancy and how to use the plants around them to bring about healing or to end a pregnancy if necessary. They practiced the art of seduction, of dancing and singing, of weaving their naked bodies together in the firelight as they honored the spirits of the forest.
Soon there was an air of joy and camaraderie within their makeshift school; the girls laughed and loved, supported one another as they grew into their roles as keepers of the Nguiko tradition. Ma watched over them, her heart swelling daily with pride.
But the threat of discovery was never far from their minds. The zealous priest’s words still echoed in their minds, stoking the flames of fear and superstition. Ma’ Mathai knew they could not let their guard down, not even for a moment.
One evening, as they sat around the fire, a distant rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, predicting a storm. The girls looked to Ma, their eyes widening with fear.
“Fear not,” she said, her voice firm but reassuring. “We are protected here, deep within the heart of the forest. The spirits watch over us.”
The girls nodded, but their fears lingered like a dark cloud over their heads. As the storm raged outside, they huddled together, their bodies intertwined for warmth and comfort.
In the days that followed, Ma redoubled her efforts to teach the girls the ways of Nguiko. In the face of such adversity, the knowledge they carried was more important than ever. They practiced the ancient rites and rituals, their bodies rubbing on each other in sensual storytelling. They sought solace in each other’s arms, finding love and passion as a balm against the fearful world that lay beyond the sanctuary of their school.
And so, the hidden school of Nguiko survived, tucked away in the depths of the rainforest, a beacon of hope and perseverance in a world that sought to extinguish it. The girls continued to practice their traditions, to love and to learn, their spirits as indomitable as the very trees that sheltered them. And Ma vowed to protect them, to the last breath in her body, ensuring the flame of their heritage would never be extinguished.
–
On a cold winter’s night, drumbeats reverberated through the forest at dusk. The girls of the Nguiko school danced around the fire, their bodies glistening with sweat under the newly full moon. They wore white robes, draped in scanty, revealing configurations. The garments accentuated the girls’ bodies, sliding over their curves where seduction and sensuality met. Ma watched them from the sidelines, as usual.
The scars on her body ached in remembrance of the hardships they’d endured, but the sight of these young, vibrant women dancing in defiance of the oppressors filled her with an indomitable spirit.
Among the dancers, Wairimu’s lithe form caught Ma’s eye. The young initiate had the awkward proportions of a teen still, but managed to move in harmony with the rhythm. Her eyes shone with a fire that Ma recognized all too well. She had seen that same fire in her own mirrored reflection, many moons ago. It was the fire of a woman who had come of age, who had awakened to the power within her.
As the dance reached its climax, the girls paired off, their sweat-soaked skin pressed against each other’s, their lips seeking solace in the embrace of another.
–
Ama’s heart pounded in her chest as she stared into the frightened eyes of the man before her. In the dim candlelight of the dormitory, his face wavered like a ghost of the past, but she knew instantly who he was. “But, Kamwana,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with disbelief. Kamwana, the boy she’d once known from her village, now a grown man with a face full of stubble and a body hardened by years of hardship.
Ama’s mind reeled with memories of their stolen glances and secret meetings, the innocent touches they’d dared in the shadows of the tall Acacia trees. But all of that had been stolen from them when she’d been taken to the Nguiko school. She had assumed he’d moved on, married, and forgotten her. Yet here he was, tied and helpless, at the mercy of her women.
Her gaze flickered to the other girls, their naked bodies slick with sweat and desire, their faces flushed with power. They’d taken a perverse pleasure in his capture, in reducing a man to their plaything. But something about the vulnerability in Kamwana’s eyes, the way he trembled beneath their gaze, ignited a fire within her she’d thought extinguished long ago.
Ama’s hand trembled as she untied the ropes that bound him, her fingers brushing against his skin, sending shivers down her spine. The other girls watched, their eyes narrowed in jealousy and suspicion. “Ama,” Ma’ Mathai said, her voice laced with warning. “What are you doing?”
“It’s fine,” Ama said, her voice firm but laced with uncertainty. “I… I know him.”
The admission hung heavy in the air, thick with the scent of musk and sweat. The girls exchanged glances, their eyes accusing and knowing. They understood the rules, the consequences of forming attachments, of straying from the path of the Nguiko. But Kamwana’s presence had unraveled something in Ama; a long-buried yearning for connection and tenderness.
Ama was silent as she led him away from the other women and into an empty cell while her heart was pounding in her chest. Once the door was securely bolted behind them, she lit a single candle, casting their faces in flickering shadows. She’d imagined this reunion a thousand times, but never like this, with her as his captor and him a helpless captive.
“Ama…” Kamwana whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
He reached for her, his fingers tracing the contours of her face, and in that moment, all of the discipline and training she’d learned at the Nguiko school faded into dust. Ama leaned into his touch, her body aching for the contact she’d been denied for so long. His lips found hers, and she moaned, surrendering to the long-forgotten feelings.
As their passionate kisses grew more heated, it became clear that this was a chance they may never have again. Desire, long-repressed, surged through their veins, burning hotter and feverish. Together, they fell onto the thin straw mattress, not caring about the potential consequences. In each other’s arms, they found solace from the harsh realities of their world, their bodies intertwining into an explosion of sensations. Ama put her lessons on sensuality to good use.
–
Ama reveled in the feel of his strong arms around her, his callused hands mapping her body, and the way her name fell like a prayer from his lips. Kamwana’s touch revered her, as if she were the most precious thing in the world. This was what it felt like to be desired, to be wanted, to be free.
The walls of the cave seemed to tremble with their fervor, as if the very stones themselves were conspiring in their forbidden tryst. With each kiss, each caress, each moan, they defied the world that sought to tear them apart. This stolen moment was theirs and theirs alone, a rebellion against the chains that bound them both.
Ama lost herself in the pleasure, in the knowledge that, for just a fleeting moment, she was no longer a cold-blooded warden or an oppressed captive. She was simply a woman, with her love, feeling the fire of their youthful passion rekindled.
As their coupling reached its fever pitch, they clung to each other, their bodies moving as one, their breaths coming fast and ragged. The ecstasy that coursed through their veins was both physical and emotional, a release from the burdens they’d both been carrying for so long.
As their breathing slowed, their hearts still pounding in their chests, they lay entwined in each other’s arms, their naked bodies slick with sweat and desire sated. The candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, playing with the shadows that were already etched there, the ghosts of their pasts and the phantoms of their future.
Ama, still panting, looked into Kamwana’s eyes, her heart heavy with the knowledge that this moment couldn’t last. They both knew the price they would pay if they were caught. But as she gazed into the eyes of this man she loved, she knew it was worth it.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet cell.
“I love you too,” Kamwana responded, fingers tracing the contours of Ama’s face with tenderness.
As their fingers intertwined, they both knew that this stolen moment was all they might ever have. But for now, it was enough.
In the dimly lit cell, the two lovers clung to each other, their love a flame in the face of the dark forces that threatened to consume them both. And for just a little while, they could almost believe that they were free.
In the end, that was all they could ask for.
Writer notes*
– Nguiko: An initiation programme of direct and indirect learning for girls in the Agikuyu tradition, focused on preparing them for womanhood and imparting knowledge about sexuality, sexual fulfillment, and reproduction. The practice was outlawed due to strong objections from the colonial churches in Kenya.
– Agikuyu: A Kenyan ethnic group inhabiting the Central Highlands; Ma’ Mathai’s community.
– Mount Kenya: The highest mountain in Kenya, considered a sacred site for many communities in the Central Highlands region.
