missionaries. When the fathers weren’t looking, though, they would give her a good scolding, if not a beating for her cheekiness.”
“What did she do after her schooling came to an end?”
“Raised goats, like everyone else her age.”
“Goats?”
“They did not own cattle. They were no Tutsis.”
“And after that?”
“A young man from Butare, who was passing through trading goats at the time, became enamored of her. He gave half his flock to make the young woman his bride.”
“And he stayed in the village?”
“He traveled frequently to do his trading. She bore him four children before he died.”
“What happened?”
“He drowned trying to cross the Rusizi to Bukavu. The news took a few days to reach the village, but when it came it spread silence across her face, like her soul had left for the dark of the forest.”
“I’m sorry. It must have been devastating. And what of her children?”
“They grew old and have married. But that is part of another time.”
Through this and several other conversations with Mzee Mangome, I never heard any hint of condescension, no evil speaking behind Baruki’s back. I thought that perhaps his non-judgmental attitude was simply a mark of respect born out of shared experience – both had seen the schismatic transition from colonial to post-colonial rule at a young age. Those of the next generation had grown up under black rule their entire lives.
Only later did I understand the dichotomy of attitudes regarding Nyanya Baruki. An over-zealous young woman, a Christian girl, newly baptized, came to me in a state of great alarm, warning me that a group of women were about to administer “the old rituals” to some young women who had recently reached puberty. I knew what the old rituals entailed, and was concerned from a wholly sanitary viewpoint – religious disagreements were not my concern, nor was it my purview to interfere in this regard.
I gathered my bag and headed for the forest, running behind the young zealot. Muffled screams greeted me as I rounded a thicket and walked into a grove just as Nyanya Baruki exited the hut, clitorodectomy stone in hand, the blood of pubescence covering her arms and hands. From the hands of the grandchild-less – a new group of mothers-to-be. Fruit from the barren hands, a blessing from the cursed.
Sample NR19b,c,d
Cranial metric methods for establishing geophysical ancestry are fraught with difficulty, though several such procedures exist. The large skull fragments of individual 19 were tested against both Howells’ and Gill’s criteria in this instance because of the abundance of comparative material and because the remains of individual 19 were identified by locals as that of a prominent moderate Tutsi allegedly killed by other, more radical Tutsi soldiers during the massacre of Ndundi Hutu . . . indeed, the cranial metric methods employed reveal that the remains of individual 19 are morphologically indistinct from those of other individuals in the study sample.
Peter Banyuro came to me on a stretcher. He had been badly wounded while interfering with a Zairean soldier who had taken a fancy to one of the local girls. Banyuro’s delicate cheek was swollen purple, bruised from shattered flecks of orbitale and ectoconchon that had been buried in the muscle.
“He caught the soldier with his pants down,” one of my attendants told me. “But the soldier’s caught prying Peter with his rifle butt, even with his ankles all tied up!” Banyuro laughed at the comment, then winced in pain, smiled, then groaned. His agonized frivolity was not lost on my attendant, who pulled faces and cracked jokes in an effort (I hoped) to distract the suffering man from his wounds.
“Peter, you should have knocked! Then he would not have knocked you!”
and
“You must tell me, was it the rear guard or just the guard’s rear? It’s good for you he didn’t make a frontal
“What did she do after her schooling came to an end?”
“Raised goats, like everyone else her age.”
“Goats?”
“They did not own cattle. They were no Tutsis.”
“And after that?”
“A young man from Butare, who was passing through trading goats at the time, became enamored of her. He gave half his flock to make the young woman his bride.”
“And he stayed in the village?”
“He traveled frequently to do his trading. She bore him four children before he died.”
“What happened?”
“He drowned trying to cross the Rusizi to Bukavu. The news took a few days to reach the village, but when it came it spread silence across her face, like her soul had left for the dark of the forest.”
“I’m sorry. It must have been devastating. And what of her children?”
“They grew old and have married. But that is part of another time.”
Through this and several other conversations with Mzee Mangome, I never heard any hint of condescension, no evil speaking behind Baruki’s back. I thought that perhaps his non-judgmental attitude was simply a mark of respect born out of shared experience – both had seen the schismatic transition from colonial to post-colonial rule at a young age. Those of the next generation had grown up under black rule their entire lives.
Only later did I understand the dichotomy of attitudes regarding Nyanya Baruki. An over-zealous young woman, a Christian girl, newly baptized, came to me in a state of great alarm, warning me that a group of women were about to administer “the old rituals” to some young women who had recently reached puberty. I knew what the old rituals entailed, and was concerned from a wholly sanitary viewpoint – religious disagreements were not my concern, nor was it my purview to interfere in this regard.
I gathered my bag and headed for the forest, running behind the young zealot. Muffled screams greeted me as I rounded a thicket and walked into a grove just as Nyanya Baruki exited the hut, clitorodectomy stone in hand, the blood of pubescence covering her arms and hands. From the hands of the grandchild-less – a new group of mothers-to-be. Fruit from the barren hands, a blessing from the cursed.
Sample NR19b,c,d
Cranial metric methods for establishing geophysical ancestry are fraught with difficulty, though several such procedures exist. The large skull fragments of individual 19 were tested against both Howells’ and Gill’s criteria in this instance because of the abundance of comparative material and because the remains of individual 19 were identified by locals as that of a prominent moderate Tutsi allegedly killed by other, more radical Tutsi soldiers during the massacre of Ndundi Hutu . . . indeed, the cranial metric methods employed reveal that the remains of individual 19 are morphologically indistinct from those of other individuals in the study sample.
Peter Banyuro came to me on a stretcher. He had been badly wounded while interfering with a Zairean soldier who had taken a fancy to one of the local girls. Banyuro’s delicate cheek was swollen purple, bruised from shattered flecks of orbitale and ectoconchon that had been buried in the muscle.
“He caught the soldier with his pants down,” one of my attendants told me. “But the soldier’s caught prying Peter with his rifle butt, even with his ankles all tied up!” Banyuro laughed at the comment, then winced in pain, smiled, then groaned. His agonized frivolity was not lost on my attendant, who pulled faces and cracked jokes in an effort (I hoped) to distract the suffering man from his wounds.
“Peter, you should have knocked! Then he would not have knocked you!”
and
“You must tell me, was it the rear guard or just the guard’s rear? It’s good for you he didn’t make a frontal
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