The First Artist was a Woman with No Name

The Story of How It Is

The spirit magic worked wonders on Ngobi. The Woman helped him to his feet, keeping a steadying hand on his back to make sure he didn't fall, but he didn't even sway.

He looked around the clearing; at the sun making its ascent in the east; at the waist-high grass and the trampled area from the four different spirits who had visited them in this cursed spot of the savannah; at the small mounds of earth, the only remaining evidence of Oba's help as they were both about to die. When his eyes finally settled back on the Woman's face, he smiled as if nothing in the world was wrong.

And maybe it wasn't. Oba had told her that her tribe was safely returned to their home. She had Ngobi back, and in one piece no less. The strange ability she had to resist the powers of spirits seemed to pulse under her skin, filling her with new strength she didn't know was possible.

In the back of her mind, the Woman wondered if Ganna and Bawa would be there when they returned. They contributed to the survival of the tribe as much as the other children and were only led astray by I'tepah and his grudge against humans. Perhaps they would reclaim their old responsibilities in the tribe, despite the Woman and Ngobi's knowledge of who they truly were. The Woman thought she would like it if they did; more curious minds to teach to paint.

Ngobi took the Woman's hand and led them back in the direction of their home. Across the savannah, through the trees, along the stream. The peaceful gurgling of the water was soon overpowered by the sounds of people talking, laughing, singing. Ngobi turned back to the Woman and they both rushed back to the campsite.

Even though it was morning, there was a roaring fire, people on either side fanning the flames, making it bigger and bigger. Oba had been telling the truth, the tribe was back. It didn't look like anyone was dead or injured, just shaken up from the experience. The kids bounced back from the experience quicker than the adults, already running around and playing as if they hadn't been taken by a malicious spirit to who-knows-where. Among the bounding children, the Woman recognized two faces laughing with the rest. Bawa stopped for a moment to wink at the Woman before turning back around to play.

Around the fire, everyone else was sitting down in a circle. Ceremonial objects were brought out: stones, shells, necklaces, metals, feathers, and more. The Woman wasn't familiar with whatever ceremony was about to happen and based on the looks on the faces of a few others, neither were they. The only figure standing up was her mother, giving orders and organizing the tribe around her and the fire. When she saw her daughter, she smiled.

Wangara gestured for the Woman and Ngobi to join her at the fire. When the Woman got to her, she grabbed her hands.

"I know what you did," her mother said. The Woman's eyes went wide, shocked that her mother knew without any explanation. Wangara chuckled. "That antelope would not stop grumbling about the 'nerve of that silent worm.' He seemed badly shaken when he released us. I'm proud of you, my daughter. You have done well, more than I ever could have imagined any human doing."

Her mother's words washed over her, and the Woman felt tears slide down her cheeks. She hugged her mother fiercely, glad to have her back, her constant support. When she pulled away, she saw that the people gathered around the fire were looking up at her expectantly. Confused, she turned to her mother.

"They are waiting for a story. And it is one only you can tell," Wangara said, before she too joined the circle around the fire.

The Woman looked around, nervous at having so many eyes on her. Ngobi tapped her elbow and nodded at her, giving her silence assurance that he would remain at her side as she spun the story. She took a deep breath and began to sign.

This is a story, and this is how it is.