Only the mercy of the Spirit kept us from losing our resolve, for it gave us reasons to smile in the laughter of our children, the appearance of rainbows that left us in awe, the birth and marriage celebrations that filled Kosawa with gladness in the days before and after, the euphoria on full-moon nights when we took out our drums and our children skipped around the square while the elders cheered and our wives twirled their hips, causing our groins to stiffen.
At times like these, we thought little of how many years of waiting still lay ahead; we thought mostly of how blessed we were, what boundless promise life bore. Such moments reminded us that, no matter how long the night, morning always comes.
We thought often, also, of how blessed we were to have Thula.
We never feared she’d toss her hands in the air, forget about Kosawa, and return to Bézam telling herself that she had done her part and failed. That was never who she was. She had the fortitude of the sun—no matter how dark and thick the clouds, she was confident she could melt them and emerge in full glory.
* * *
SIX MONTHS AFTER HER RETURN was when she gave us the money for the guns.
She did it without ceremony. She simply took out an envelope while we were sitting in one of our huts. In it was the full amount we had requested to buy five powerful guns and sufficient ammunition. She said nothing as we stood up, one after another, stooped next to her, bowed our heads, took her hand in ours, and expressed our gratitude. When she did speak, her tone was stern. She told us that we were not to use the guns without her permission. We were not to use them for anything but the defense of our lives and those of our families and friends. No one was to know that we owned guns until the day it became imperative that we use them. We were never to say she gave us the funds to buy them. If we were to kill anyone with them, may the Spirit be her witness that she never gave us her blessings to take the life of another human. We gave her our word.
The next morning, one of us went to Lokunja to meet with the soldier who’d approached him about the gun sale. The soldier agreed to get us five guns, though not before making it clear that if the government found out that we had guns we’d be dead. He’d also be dead, he said, and he’d rather not die for our sake; he was merely a broker, doing what he needed to do to supplement his government salary and take care of his family. One mistake from us and he would be ruined. We assured him we’d be careful.
On the day he brought us the guns, we met him deep in the forest.
When he took the guns out of his bag, our mouths dropped open in awe. There they were, at last. Smooth-skinned. Perfectly weighted. Blacker than crude. We turned them in our hands. We held them upside down and sideways. We looked at each other, the look of men who in an instant had been born again. The soldier showed us how to use them. How to clean them. How to prevent jams. The magic of the weapons’ telescopic sight. He told us how, with the telescopic sight and suppressor, we could kill from afar, soundlessly, leave no trace of our culpability. We never knew such a thing was possible. The soldier told us his dealer in the neighboring country had personally altered the guns for us; he’d explained our situation. We had the best guns for our money.
We marveled at how good it felt to hold them. Killing suddenly seemed the most natural thing. Imagine: one pull of the trigger, one less enemy. Four, five bullets in one body; four, five layers of pain shed from our hearts. Their blood spilling, someday no drilling. Their children fatherless, our children free to live. That evening, in the forest, we received our ordination as slaughterers. The Spirit was there. We felt it. The spirit of the Four. The Six. They were there at the moment it dawned on us that the battle would no longer be fought on uneven terms. When our chance arose, and it would, we would slaughter them the way we once feared they’d slaughter us. Soldiers, laborers, His Excellency’s people—how many would we kill? While they remained on our land, would we get tired of killing them? It seemed unimaginable that we, who were once trembling children, had gained the ability to stand supreme over other mortals, but we were not unworthy of it. No, we were deserving of the thrill of inflicting on them the suffering they’d exacted on us. But we wouldn’t do anything just yet. We’d given Thula our word. We’d await our opportunity. The weapons would have to stay hidden in the forest.
After the soldier left, we dug a hole and buried the guns and ammunition.
We left the forest that night excited about joining Thula to start laying the groundwork for a revolution, for we knew that if marching and singing and dancing failed, we would have a recourse. How glorious it felt to be powerful.