Now, before we get started, I think it is important to set the record straight and state that if you do not believe that cows can turn into humans and humans, in turn, can transform into cows; then I regret to tell you that this is not a story for you. As you hear this, your first inclination might be to scoff or turn away because if that doesn’t make it clear that I am making up this story, nothing will. I, however, can assure you that I am not making this story up. Although I admittedly have made up stories in the past, as those in my profession often do, you will be surprised to know that it is the tales that sound more realistic that are nothing but a figment of my imagination. My imagination cannot even think of coming up with cows that can turn into humans and vice versa. Besides, I heard this story from my grandmother, and of course, dear reader, you have no reason to believe me when I say this, but I can assure you that my grandmother is a very honest lady and has never lied to me a day in her life. If you are still not assured that such things can happen, please find comfort, dear reader, in knowing that you are not alone, as the characters in this tale also did not believe that cows can turn into humans and vice versa until it happened right in front of their eyes. I can imagine that you must also see this firsthand for you to believe me. However, as you would probably guess, I cannot present you with a cow that can turn human, as I have no clue where I would find such a cow. So, the best I can do is to tell you this tale as I heard it.

Our tale starts with a man named Mutesa, a rather ordinary-looking man, as I was told. He was neither handsome nor ugly. He had one of those faces one is likely to forget a few minutes after seeing it. Nothing about him stood out, he was of average height, average build his skin tone not too dark or too light. He was the type of man that would fade in a crowd. Despite his rather average looks, Mutesa was quite famous in his village because of his skills as a hunter. He never failed to come home with a kudu or an eland. He was the only hunter in the village to have caught a tsessebe, which added to his fame, given their rarity. When he went hunting, he would ignore rabbits and small animals. They were beneath him, as he was always guaranteed to catch good game. It was speculated that his great-great-grandfather had also been a great hunter and that his spirit lived in Mutesa. Mutesa himself never denied or confirmed this rumor. He simply went about his hunting. His skill was of constant pleasure to his wife, Laina, who was often treated to the best game.

From all accounts, Mutesa and Laina’s marriage was a happy one, as perfect as a marriage can be. There was, however, a tiny hiccup, if one could even call it that, and that was the two had no children. I am hesitant to call this a problem as it was unclear to me if Mutesa and Laina had no children because they could not conceive, or simply because they did not want children. In those times, if a couple didn’t have children, people almost immediately suspected foul play. Someone in the couple had to be bewitched. No one even considered the possibility that the couple did not want children. For Mutesa and Laina, the theories on who was bewitched varied. Some said it was Mutesa, the side effect of possessing his great-great-grandfather’s spirit. Some said it was Laina, possibly bewitched by a jealous woman who wanted to marry Mutesa, probably for his hunting skills, as we have already established his looks were nothing to scream about.

Children or no children, Mutesa loved his wife dearly, or at least that’s what the villagers and maybe Laina herself thought. This all changed when Mutesa visited a nearby village to sell his game. Since he lived with only his wife, he would sell most of what he caught to his village and the surrounding villages.  A day after a hunting trip, when Mutesa had finished cutting all the meat, he would put it in his cart and slowly make his way to the markets. No matter the village he was in, Mutesa typically did not stay in the market longer than an hour. He was known as the man with the best game meat, and as soon as he parked his cart, people would flock to him as if they had already been waiting for him to arrive. Well, the day he met the woman was no different. He parked his cart; people flocked to him and bought all the meat. He had been there for forty-five minutes and was preparing to go back home. He had been left with scraps, the parts that people didn’t want. Legs, head, and some insides. He would take it back with him and feed his dogs. It kept the dogs motivated if they were given a taste of the game they had helped catch. He was tying a sackcloth he used as covering over the cart when he felt someone stop behind him. (An experienced hunter as he was, Mutesa was always acutely aware of his surroundings). He lifted his head and saw a woman standing before him. She had a worn-out blue and red zambia tied on her waist. Her zambia was too close to the ground, as if she had borrowed it from someone taller than her. She wore an equally worn-out green t-shirt. Despite her attire, Mutesa could not help but notice that she was an extremely beautiful woman.

“Is all the meat gone?”

Mutesa must have been staring at her for some time without replying because she gave him a smile, meant to let him know she was still there waiting for an answer. Mutesa finally composed himself.

“The good one is all gone. I’m only left with legs, the head, and other stuff people didn’t want.”

“Can I take a look?”

He unfastened the cloth. She walked around the cart, inspecting the meat.

“I will still take it. How much for all of that?” She began digging for money in the little purse she was wearing around her neck.

“I can’t possibly sell you that. I can give it to you for free.”

That was a lie. If it were anyone else, Mutesa would have sold the meat. She thanked him for it. When she was about to take out the meat from the cart, Mutesa interjected,

“You can just leave it in there. I can carry it for you to your house.”

The woman politely refused. He insisted, and she refused again. He told her he would be back at the market in two weeks, and if she would come earlier, he would still have the good meat. She said she would try to come earlier, took her meat, and left.

Two weeks later, Mutesa was back in that village market. People were surprised to see him because he typically rotated villages after each hunt, so they were not expecting him for a while. They still flocked to his cart and bought all the meat from him. Mutesa, however, had taken some meat aside, hoping the woman would show up again. She showed up after everything had been picked up.

“Am I late?”

“Yes, but I figured you might show up, so I saved something for you.”

She was incredibly thankful, paid for her meat, and left. Mutesa came back three consecutive times. She was always late, and he always saved some meat for her. On one of those visits, she agreed to have him carry the meat for her. Mutesa now knew a bit about her. Her name was Farai, her father’s only child who had raised her by himself since her mother died when she was young. After a couple more visits and more walks to Farai’s house, Mutesa decided he was going to take a second wife. Now, when my grandmother told me this tale, she insisted that taking a second wife did not necessarily mean that he no longer loved Laina. She said it was simply a different time; monogamy was not expected. I say this to say that maybe we should give our Mr. Mutesa a bit of grace, but as with all things, dear reader, I leave that to your discretion.

When Mutesa broached the subject of marriage, she only asked for two things. Firstly, Mutesa had to ensure that there would be no animosity between her and Laina. If Mutesa could promise they would live harmoniously and that he would not mistreat his first wife on her account, she would happily marry him. The other stipulation was that Mutesa had to talk to Farai’s father and ask him for her hand. If her father gave her the go-ahead, then all would be settled. Mutesa promised that there would be no problems between Farai and Laina. Whether Laina was consulted on this, I cannot be certain. I find it hard to believe that Laina was given a choice and said yes to this plan on her own accord. I, however, admit this to be my own bias, so do not take my disbelief as fact.

After assurances were given that there would be no barika problems between Laina and Farai, the only thing left was to talk to the father of the bride-to-be. He wasted no time opting to see the man a week after his conversation with Farai. Although he had walked Farai home numerous times, he never reached her home out of respect. As is the custom to this day, all courting is done away from the parents. One only sees the parents when they are ready to marry. When he got to Farai’s house, he saw the father sitting on a small stool, sun-basking behind the hut that served as the kitchen. It was eleven in the morning, and the man looked to be sweating. The decision to sun bask was bizarre as it was in the middle of summer. As Mutesa and Farai approached, he looked up but did not get up from the stool. Farai led the approach.

“Baba”

He smiled and spat out the blade of grass sticking out of his mouth. Mutesa squatted on the ground and started clapping his hands to begin the customary greeting. As a man who had been married before, he knew how to correctly cup his hands to make an air pocket so that his clap sounded respectable and not like a child’s clap.

“Makadiiko Baba!”

The father let him clap about five times before he responded with a clap of his own.

“Ndiripo zvangu mwanangu. Masiya vari seiko kwmabva?”

Mutesa responded that the family was alive and well. They went on to ask about each other’s health and their agricultural fortunes. After it was established that all was truly well on both sides, the clapping subsided. The greeting was done. Mutesa was about to sit on the ground when the father protested,

“No, no, don’t sit on the ground, son. In fact, let’s move to the shade. Farai will bring you a chair.”

Mutesa knew this was a test. The old man would not have offered a seat until Mutesa indicated that he was willing to debase himself in front of his elders and sit on the ground. They sat under the mango tree in the middle of the compound. Farai brought out a stool similar to the father's, and she disappeared behind one of the huts. It was time for Mutesa and the father to get to business. Mutesa thought his main objective with the father would be to convince him, as he had already done with Farai, that taking a second wife wouldn’t disrupt the peace. To his surprise, the father's first question was how many cows Mutesa owned. Mutesa’s heart sank. He was asking, checking Mutesa’s wealth. As a man who lived by hunting, Mutesa did not dedicate a lot of effort to agricultural pursuits. They grew enough not to be labeled lazy, and he kept a small herd of ten cows. Big enough to maintain his household’s dignity but certainly not big enough to be considered a man of wealth.

After he gave him the number as if musing to himself, the father said, “Not too plenty, good. But yet still too many, still too many.”

The response puzzled Mutesa, but before he could think about what it might mean, the father asked another question.

“Do you eat a lot of beef in your house?”

Now, this was bordering on disrespect! Mutesa was not bothered by the fact that the father sought to inquire about his wealth. He wanted to make sure that his daughter would live a comfortable life. However, no man ever asked the specifics of another man’s household. Mutesa kept his composure. As disrespectful as it was, he was still the father, and he was in charge. So Mutesa answered the question.

“Here and there, father. However, as a hunter, there is always meat in my house.”

“Oh, son, I was not asking because I want to check if you are able to provide meat every day. How you run your household is your business. I am asking because Farai cannot eat beef, and if beef is a common meat in your house, then this union will not work.’

Mutesa was surprised that it was the father who was broaching the subject of what Farai could and could not eat. It was not as if Farai was a child who could not speak for herself. He, however, played along.

“I understand, Father.”

“No, I don’t think you do. See, I raised the subject, so you know this is serious business. If Farai were to talk to you about this, there is a chance that you might dismiss her, thinking it’s a woman being too picky. I need you to truly understand that under no circumstances should my daughter eat beef.”

Mutesa realized that whatever Farai’s issue with beef was, it was serious. He promised that he would only feed Farai poultry and game. The father went on,

“I will not tell you why my daughter should not eat beef. I expect you to honor your word, and if you do, you never have to know.”

Mutesa reiterated his promise that Farai would not touch beef. After that detail was ironed out, the two set to discuss the brideprice and the roora ceremony, which was sorted out rather quickly.  Farai was to become Mutesa’s wife.

Mutesa did not waste time. The roora was done the following month. The father did not ask for a hefty bride price. He asked for no cows, only goats and fowl. The villagers were bewildered by this decision. In fact, the father became a ridicule in the village. Speculations started to fly, chief among them that he could not wait to get rid of his daughter. No father would ask for such a low bride price for his daughter, especially a daughter as beautiful as Farai.

Mutesa built another house and hut on his village compound. The house was to be Farai’s bedroom, and the hut was to serve as her own kitchen. This, if I may interject, dear reader, was a common practice among people who took multiple wives. Each woman was given her own space probably to limit quarrels. It was also the custom that since every wife had her own kitchen, they were all required to cook for the husband. Thus, at dinner, every wife took a dish she had cooked to her husband, who ate by himself. Mutesa did not require that from his wives. He found the rules utterly ridiculous. There was no way he could eat all that food, so he left it to his wives to determine among themselves who would cook the family meal. It is hard to say if it was the forced collaboration on who was making the dinner schedule or the character of the women themselves, but these two women got along very well. Farai, who had never had any siblings, saw Laina as an older sister, and Laina, on her part, embraced her as her younger sister.

However, as with all siblings, quarrels are bound to happen. The easiest thing, dear reader, will be to suspect that Mutesa started to show favoritism towards Farai. I cannot say for certain that he did not, but I am willing to trust him as more honorable than that. I do not exonerate Mutesa to fully cast the blame on Laina, either. My earlier statement still stands: Laina loved Farai like her younger sibling. We must remember that Farai, who had grown up as the only child, had grown up being used to certain privileges, most of all working at her own pace and doing things in her time. Now that she had to work constantly with Laina, she was required to consider someone else’s schedule rather than her own, an adjustment that was not easy to make. The little inconsiderations Farai was making started irking Laina. I call them little because they were indeed little, but all little things tend to be magnified if done numerous times. Laina started thinking through some of the ways Farai was being inconsiderate, and the “no beef rule” was at the top of the list. It was burdensome whenever she was cooking because she had to cook a separate meal for Farai if she cooked beef. And although Laina never saw herself as a jealous woman, she got bitten by the jealousy bug. She began to see it as favoritism that Farai always had to get the best game meat whenever they ate beef. She was more annoyed that no one could tell her why Farai could not eat beef, and she became convinced that Farai had made the rule up. There was nothing wrong with her. She just needed to feel special.

These feelings continued to grow, and Laina became more irritable. She became determined to make Farai try beef. She was convinced that nothing would happen to Farai, and if Mutesa saw that, it would put an end to this charade. When it was her duty to cook, Mutesa brought game meat for Farai as usual. Laina decided to start small, so she cooked it but added some beef stew to the meat. The family gathered for the meal in Laina’s kitchen as it was their custom to eat in the kitchen of the woman who had cooked. Mutesa sat on the men's bench in the kitchen facing his two wives, who were sitting beside each other on goat skin mats. Laina watched with interest as Farai took a morsel of Sadza, shaped it into a ball, and dipped it into the beef stew. She watched Farai’s hand as it directed the morsel to her mouth. Laina wanted to sarcastically ask how the stew was, but she didn’t get the chance. Farai dropped the plate. The beef stew flew everywhere. Laina jerked her head in surprise. Mutesa looked up from his plate. Before the two of them could say a word, Farai was already on the kitchen doorstep. She stood right in the middle of the courtyard. Mutesa and Laina ran after her. Before they could reach her, Farai, as if pushed hard by an invisible hand, fell on her fours. Mutesa went to her and tried to pick her up, and she let out a shriek that made him take a couple of backward steps. Farai began to jerk her head violently, and out of nowhere, she burst into song,

Zvakanzi rega kudya mombe Laina mukoma

Mhuu Laina mukoma

Maihwee Laina mukoma

Hee Laina mukoma

Mhuu Laina mukoma

Hee Laina mukoma

Laina heard the accusatory lyrics; she looked at her husband.

“What is she singing about?” Mutesa asked.

Laina stammered.

“Did you give her beef?”

“I might have put some beef stew in her meat.”

Mutesa did not have time to question her further. He tried one more time to lift Farai. This time, she didn’t scream; she kept on singing. He, however, could not lift her. It was as if she was rooted to the spot.

 Then it started happening. Laina was the first to see it, as she was the first to make a sound that was part scream, part wail.  Horns were emerging from Farai’s forehead. No blood gushed out as the horns pierced the skin. It was as if the horns were always there beneath the surface, and the skin was parting to let them pass. The children that had gathered to watch left their parents and ran back home without anyone having to tell them to. Mutesa saw that this was now beyond his expertise, so without saying a word, he packed a small bag and set for Farai’s father.

He was lucky. He didn’t see the worst of it. After the horns and the tail, which came right after the horns, the bones started breaking. While still on her fours, her left leg was jerked to a right-angle position. Then, as if someone was pushing her knee inward, Laina could hear bones crack as the leg was forced straight. Some villagers who could not bear to watch any longer left to follow their children. Skin from the leg started peeling off. This was when the blood started gushing out. Nothing was emerging from underneath the skin this time. Instead, the skin was being peeled by an invisible hand to reveal a cow’s hind leg. One by one, Farai’s legs and arms were broken and peeled to reveal the legs of a cow. Flesh was torn from her back as it gave way to the hide that was coming out from underneath. Bones continued to crack as her back started rising to match her long legs. It was as if an invisible hammer was panel beating her belly to raise her back higher and higher. Her face, not wanting to be left behind, was changing too. Her eyes changed from brown to fully black, her ears lost their human shape and became pointed, her mouth was now a muzzle. The transformation was complete. In all of this, Farai did not utter a single scream. That was all done by Laina and the few brave villagers who had decided to stay. Farai, on her part, kept singing. Her voice deep now, a mix between singing and mooing.  She kept jerking her head back and forth, and as she did this, her horns dug into the ground.

When all this was happening, Mutesa was on his way back with Farai’s father and a healer Farai’s father called after Mutesa had told the father about the horns. Throughout their journey, Farai’s father berated Mutesa for not taking care of her daughter. He kept asking him,

“Wasn’t it the only stipulation I had? Didn’t I stress how important that rule was?”

All Mutesa could do was apologize, and he apologized the whole journey. The healer said nothing. He didn’t look at them either; he only faced ahead, clutching a dirty sack that was hurled on his right shoulder.

When Mutesa returned, the hole Farai had been digging with her horns had grown deep enough to fit a small dog. Seeing Farai in her cow form, her father let out a howl. He ran towards the cow and kneeled in front of it. It was as if he was pleading with Farai to turn back. Mutesa, who had left Farai mostly human, let out silent tears but maintained his distance. He felt as if he didn’t have the right to grieve. This had happened because of his negligence.

The healer did not show any emotion. He instructed the villagers still there to remove Farai’s father from the cow. Laina, who had remained in the same spot throughout the transformation, had to be carried off as well. The healer took out a bird feather with which he began sprinkling water all over Farai. When this was done, he knelt before the cow as Farai’s father had done. He began shouting a prayer.

Dear Ancestors

This child belongs to you.

The parents asked for a child when they could not conceive.

In your goodness, you gave them one.

You gave only one rule. Oh, great ones.

The child shall not touch beef.

A sign that she belonged to you,

A daily reminder that she was a gift.

An error has been made; oh, great ones.

We ask for your mercies, dear fathers.

We ask for your mercies, dear mothers.

We await and accept any punishment you bestow on us,

Knowing we have aggrieved you, great ones.

He then bent forward with his face touching the ground. He remained in that position for about fifteen minutes. After that, as if nothing had happened, he stood up and poured the water he had been sprinkling Farai with on the ground. He put the pot and the feather back in the sack and asked to speak to the family privately.

“The ancestors have spoken,” said the healer. “The child shall not be turned back. The ancestors demand her back.”

“What does that mean?” The father asked.

“She shall die, and her carcass has to be burned.”

There were sniffles in the room.

“You,” the healer continued, pointing at Laina.

“The ancestors demand retribution. You shall die next week at the same hour Farai ate that morsel of sadza.”

“And you,” now directing his attention to Mutesa. “Shall not marry again; you will lose all your livestock; the gift the ancestors bestowed on you shall be taken away. You will die a poor man.”

There was silence in the room. All three looked intensely at the healer. They all knew the statement was final, that the ancestors would not change their minds. Yet they waited for the healer to say something else. To say that all this could be fixed with some ritual. The healer said nothing. He stood up and went outside. He reopened his sack and took out an axe. He shouted, “We have heard your demands, great ones, and we shall obey.”

With that, he walked over to Farai, who was still half singing, half mooing, and still digging her hole. He took out an axe from his sack and continued walking towards Farai. This is the part of the story, dear reader, that I must rely on my imagination. Maybe not so much as imagination but rather deducing what occurred by looking at how the story ended. I say all this because once the healer came out with his axe, the remaining villages, my grandmother among them, ran away. They had not run far when they heard a change in Farai. She was no longer singing. She was now letting out a moo cry. A cry for life, a cry to be spared. This was the first cry she uttered during this whole ordeal. Farai’s father, Laina, and Mutesa remained inside. If the nosy villagers could not stand to watch, there was no way either of them would have had the courage to watch their loved one being hacked to death. Unable to take the sounds anymore, Mutesa went outside to offer his services. He wanted to give Farai a quick death. The healer forbade him, telling Mutesa it had to be done this way. Unable to watch, Mutesa went back inside and sat next to his father-in-law. They all sat in silence, listening, waiting for it to stop. After what seemed like forever, everything went silent. The next sound that was heard was something heavy falling to the ground.