1000 Word Excerpt



Sammy sat cross-legged on the ground before the Muthuri. The fire had turned to embers now, and its flickering light cast eerie shadows across his face. A hush had fallen over the entire tribe. Even Luke sat in silence.

"I have come many miles, over centuries, even, to see you, my father," Sammy told him. On the outer fringe of the circle, they could hear the soft beat of a talking drum.

"It is right that you have done so," the Muthuri replied, and the soft beat took on a deep, resonant sound. "My spirit has wearied of searching for you." There was a long pause.

"I have sought you in the mountains, along the lakes, and beside the great waters of the seas." The beat of the drum grew restless, even frantic.

"You are my future. I am your past." He leaned over to touch Sammy. "Tell me, by what name are you known?"

"Sammy."

The old man nodded and closed his eyes. "Yes. That is it. Mtoto was Kusaliwa Kwa Simba," he crooned, rocking back and forth. "Simba, Sammy. My son, born of a lion."

The drum roared now, thundering triumph. The sound died slowly down, signaling the end of a successful search.

At once the drum resumed, announcing a celebration. The future of the honored Muthuri had been recovered. He sat with his youngest descendant, Sammy, at his knee.

"Tell him," Luke urged Sammy. "Tell him you need a treasured object to take back with you."


"He doesn't seem to have very much," Sammy replied quietly. "Only that ostrich feather, and even the man who grabbed us had one of those."

"The lion's mane, Sammy!" his friend whispered, wondering if he'd forgotten his mission.

Sammy stared into the fire. He looked up at the Muthuri. At last he had found the words he needed. "Please, Meetooee," he whispered. "I need you to give me something, just any little thing . . . to prove that I was welcomed by you."

The Muthuri was very pleased. "I cannot give you courage, for it must come from inside yourself. But I can give you the opportunity for it to surface." He signaled to the tall warrior who had captured the boys and brought them into the village.

The two of them talked in low tones, the warrior looking over at Sammy from time to time, shaking his head. At last, his head began to nod. "Come, my little brother," he said, holding out his hand.

Sammy and the warrior walked togther where the women were gathered together. At his signal, the women began to sing, their high, shrill voices filling the night air. "They are telling a story," the warrior told Sammy. "It is a story that is ours alone."

At this point, both Luke and Mr. Genos appeared. Sammy thought he should introduce Mr. Genos, but the warrior didn't seem to notice him. Continuing to speak in his tribal language, he addressed Sammy. Sammy understood him perfectly.


"In the early days of the bari, or family, there was a lion near the homestead with a great pain in his mouth. Pangs of hunger overcame him. The lion, raging with the heat of the pain, stalked and he killed, but the pain would not permit him to eat. Frustrated and enraged, he kept killing, over and over again, but each time, the pain in his mouth only increased the pang of hunger in his belly.

"All the animals fled into the forest. Only the mbari remained, trapped inside their huts. It was then that the Muthuri, just a lad, about Sammy's age, slipped out to meet the lion.

"Every year his victory over the lion has been celebrated." At this point, men who had stretched animal shapes over the ends of sticks held them up between the flickering fire and a smooth, mud wall where they cast moving shadows. "This time, the Muthuri tells me, you will bring honor to your ancestor. Yesterday, I sought out the angry lion, enraged because of a pain in his belly. You will go out to meet this lion."

Now the talking drums really did seem to talk. The beat grew faster and faster, almost to the point of hysteria, and Sammy was shaking with fear. "Time to get outta here," Luke told him, grabbing his hand.

Sammy stared at Luke; he wanted to leave, but his feet would not move. Mr. Genos slipped up behind the boys. "I'm here," he whispered and Luke grinned. Again, Sammy just stared.

Soon tribe members began to drift off to their huts for sleep. When Sammy went with the Muthuri to his hut, Luke followed. Mr. Genos followed Luke.


All night, or so it seemed, Sammy thought about the coming day. It would make no difference to anyone if he allowed Mr. Genos to fight his battle for him; no one in the tribe would ever know. But he, Sammy, would know. Always, he would know his courage had been replaced with a trick. Even when he went back to school, ready at last, to tell about his forefather, he would know. At last, without even knowing it, Sammy slept.

The tribe awoke to the roaring of a prowling, angry lion, right there, inside the compound. "Why did they have to bring him in here?" Luke complained. The roar moved closer to the low entrance to the Muthuri's hut. Sammy jumped up. For a wonderful moment, he looked very brave; then he looked just plain scared.

"Quick," Luke whispered, searching in the dim light for Mr. Genos. With a genial wave, Mr. Genos stepped in through the hut's door. "Go with Sammy," Luke told him.

Sammy paused a moment, trying once more to make up his mind. "No," he said firmly. "No tricks, no Mr. Genos and I mean it."

"Sammy, you could be killed! Aren't you scared?"

Sammy grinned. "Not at all," he replied. "I always sweat like this."