Eshilundu shia Kukhu shiali
shiamakana-shietsulamo amabere,
obule, nende emioko. Ne
amaremwa niko akalimo amalayi
muno okhushira fiosi, okhuba niko
akayachesa buli eshise mu mwaka.
Kukhu yali nende abetsukhulu
abaanji. Ne esie nali nemanyira
mumwoyo busa mbu esie niye
wayachama okhushira. Kukhu
yambooleranga amefiswi matitititi.
Nabutswa eliamefiswi elala lialiwo
shiamboolera tawe- wayenjekhanga
amaremwa.
Grandma’s garden was wonderful, full of sorghum, millet, and cassava.
But best of all were the bananas.
Although Grandma had many grandchildren, I secretly knew that I was her favourite. She invited me often to her house. She also told me little secrets.
But there was one secret she did not share with me: where she ripened bananas.
Inyanga ndala ndalola eshimwero
eshikhoongo nishibakalwe khu
mubasu, alwanyi we inzu ya kukhu.
Olwa ndamureeba mbu shiali shia
shiina, likalusio liandanyoola liali
mbu, “Neshimwero shianje
shiobufumu.”
Ambi nende eshimwero esho, kaliwo
amaru kamaremwa
kayakalukhasinjia buli eshise.
Ndanza okhupaara. “Amaru
nakashiina kukhu?” Nemureeba.
Likalusio liandanyoola liali mbu,
“Namaru kobufumu bwanje.”
One day I saw a big straw basket placed in the sun outside Grandma’s house. When I asked what it was for, the only answer I got was, “It’s my magic basket.”
Next to the basket, there were several banana leaves that Grandma turned from time to time. I was curious. “What are the leaves for, Grandma?” I asked. The only answer I got was, “They are my magic leaves.”
Kali okokhuchamisia okhulola
kukhu, amaremwa, amaru nende
eshimwero.
Kukhu yamala yarume okhutsia wa
mama wanje. “Kukhu bayie ndekha
endolekho nga okasia …”. Ne
shiyaulira akanje tawe.
“Lekha okhunyasia, omwana ewe.
Khola ngo obolirwa,” nakhaya sa.
Ndarekukha tsimbiro.
It was so interesting watching Grandma, the bananas, the banana leaves and the big straw basket. But Grandma sent me off to my mother on an errand.
“Grandma, please, let me watch as you prepare…”
“Don’t be stubborn, child, do as you are told,” she insisted. I took off running.
When I returned, Grandma was sitting outside but with neither the basket nor the bananas.
“Grandma, where is the basket, where are all the bananas, and where…”
But the only answer I got was, “They are in my magic place.” It was so disappointing!
Two days later, Grandma sent me to fetch her walking stick from her bedroom.
As soon as I opened the door, I was welcomed by the strong smell of ripening bananas. In the inner room was grandma’s big magic straw basket. It was well hidden by an old blanket. I lifted it and sniffed that glorious smell.
Omwoyo kwa kukhu kwarengusia
olwa yayiba, “okholanga
shiina?Nderera bwangu ilabushi.”
Ndayuka bwangu nende ilabushi ye.
“Omwenya mwenyanga shiina?”
niyandeba.
Lirebo lie ero lianzitsulisia mbu,
embere neshimwenyanga khulwo
khunyoola amefiswi kobufumu bwe.
Grandma’s voice startled me when she called, “What are you doing? Hurry up and bring me the stick.”
I hurried out with her walking stick. “What are you smiling about?” Grandma asked.
Her question made me realise that I was still smiling at the discovery of her magic place.
The following day when grandma came to visit my mother, I rushed to her house to check the bananas once more.
There was a bunch of very ripe ones. I picked one and hid it in my dress. After covering the basket again, I went behind the house and quickly ate it. It was the sweetest banana I had ever tasted.
The following day, when grandma was in the garden picking vegetables, I sneaked in and peered at the bananas.
Nearly all were ripe. I couldn’t help taking a bunch of four.
As I tiptoed towards the door, I heard grandma coughing outside. I just managed to hide the bananas under my dress and walked past her.
Inyanga yalondakho yali ye eshiiro.
Kukhu yabukha itsuli.
Yairanga amaremwa ne emioko
okhukusia khu shiiro.
Shindamucheniya bwangu
nyangeyo tawe.
Alali shindeefwira khu fise efirambi
tawe.
The following day was market day. Grandma woke up early. She always took ripe bananas and cassava to sell at the market.
I did not hurry to visit her that day. But I could not avoid her for long.
Angolobe, lwandalangwa nende
mama, papa nende kukhu,
ndamanya sa eshichira.
Nga ndatsia okhukona eshiro esho,
ndetsuba mbu shindakhebekho
khandi tawe, okhurula khu kukhu,
kata abebusi, nomba omundu yesi
yesi.
Later that evening I was called by my mother and father, and Grandma. I knew why.
That night as I lay down to sleep, I knew I could never steal again, not from grandma, not from my parents, and certainly not from anyone else.
