Majimi aba nkambo awamine, ajinga na mebele, luku ne makamba. Byawamine pa byonse ke makonde. Nangwa ba nkambo bajinga na bankana bavula, nayukile namba yami batemwesheshe. Bangitanga kimye kyonse ku nzubo yabo. Kabiji ba mbujileko ne bintu bikwaabo bya fyamika. Pano kwajinga kintu kimo kya fyamika kyo babujile kushilang’ena ne amiwa. Koba fukikanga makonde.
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.
Ibala lyaba maama lyali ilisuma saana, mwali amasaka, amale, na tuute. Nomba ifyawamishe pali fyonse ni nkonde. Nangula bamaama bakwete abeshikulu abengi, nalishibe ukuti nine batemwishishe. Balenjita lyonse ku ŋanda ku mwabo. Baaleenshimikilako no twankama tumo-tumo. Nomba kwali inkama imo iyo bashanjebeleko: uko balefumbika inkonde.
Juuba jimo, namwene musansa yebatula pamute pangye ya nzubo yaba nkambo. Byo nashikizhe pa musansa, mukumbu yeba mpele ke, “Musansa wami wa mijiki.” Kwipi na musansa, kwajinga mabula avula amakonde ao ba nkambo oba alululanga pakimye ne pakimye. najinga na kizaku. “Mabula aka aee nkambo?” Naipwizhe. Mukumbu yena tambwile ke, “Mabula ami a mijiki.”
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.”
Bushiku bumo namwene bamaama nababika icimuseke pa kasuba panse ya ŋanda. Ilyo nabepwishe batiile “Muuseke wankama.” Mupepi no museke paali amabuula ya nkonde ayenji ayo bamaama baaleepilibula kashita-kashita. Naleefwaisha ukwishiba, efyo nabepwishe nati, “Mabuula yanshi aya maama?” Banjaswikefye abati “Mabuula ya nkama yandi.”
Kyajinga kyawama kumona ba nkambo, makonde, mabula a makonde ne musansa. Ba nkambo ba ntumine ku ba maama. “Nkambo, kine lekayi mboneko byo muna kunengezha.....” “Kukosama ne mwanyike, uba byo nakubula,” baambile. Nanyamukile lubilo.
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.
Caliweme ukutamba bamaama, inkonde, amabuula ya nkonde, no museke uukulu. Nomba bamaama epakuntuma ukuli bamaayo. Elyo nabeba nati, “Maama napaapaata lekeni imoneko ifyo mucita…” Bamaama epakuti, “We mwanawe uleumfwa, cita ifyo nakweba endesha.” Efyo naile ulubilo.
Byonabwelele, Ba nkambo baikele pangye kwakubula musansa nangwa makonde. “Nkambo, musansa uji pi, makonde onse aji pi…” Pano mukumbu ye natambwile ke, “Aji mu mpuzha yami ya majiki.” Kyajinga kya kuzhingijisha biingi.
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!
Ilyo nabwelele, nasangile bamaama nabekala panse, nomba tapaali inkonde nangu umuseke. “Maama, umuseke ulikwisa, ne nkonde shilikwi, nga …” Bamaama epakuti, “Fili kuncende yandi iyankama.” Nshatemenwe.
Pakupita mooba abiji, ba nkambo bantumine kuya na kwiba kebela mukombo ku kibamba kya kulalako. Byona shinkwiletu kibelo, nanunshishe bweema bwa makonde apya. Mukibamba kya mukachi mwajinga musansa waba nkambo wa majiki. Beifile bulongo ku mweemba wakala. Namunyamwile ne ku nunkula bwema bwawama.
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.
Panuma ya nshiku shibili, bamaama bantumine mukusenda inkonto yabo ku muputule. Cilya naisulafye iciibi, akaceena kankonde ishapya kampokelela. Kukati ekwali umuseke wa nkaama. Ninshi nabafisa bwino-bwino mu bulangeti bwakale. Nafimbulapo nanunshako akaceena akasuma.
Jiiwi ja ba nkambo jambazhimwine byoba ngichile. “Ubena kuuba ka? pelawizha, leta mukombo kuno.” Na pelawizhe ne kutwala mukombo. “Ubena kumwemwesela ka?” Ba nkambo baipwizhe. Jipuzho jabo ja ndengejile amba kimwemwensela pa byonatana mu mpuzha yabo ya majiki.
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.
Juuba jalondejilepo, ba nkambo byo baishile na ku pempula ba maama, naile ku nzubo yabo lubilo nakumona makonde jikwabo. Kwajinga kizanze kya makonde apya. Natoleko jimo ne kwijifya mu ndeleshi. Panyuma yaku tana musansa jikwabo, naile kunyuma ya nzubo ne kuja lubilo. Jajinga jikonde ja tobala kyakine kine jo nkyangye kujapo kala.
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.
Ubushiku bwakonkelepo, elyo bamaama baishile mukupempula bamaayo, nabutukile ku mwabo mukumona inkonde na kabili. Nasangile umusemo wa nkonde ishapya. Nasendako lumo nafisa mwilaya. Nasha nafimbapo bwino-bwino na kabili. Nabutukila ku lukungu lwa ŋanda no kulya ulukonde bwangu-bwangu. Iyi nkonde yali iyalowesha ukucila pa nkonde shonse isho nalilepo.
Juba ja londejilepo, ba nkambo byo bajinga mu majimi, nabombokele ne kuya na kutala pa makonde. Onse ajinga apya. Natolelemo makonde ana. Byonaendejilenga kumana na kuya ku kibelo, naumvwine ba nkambo ba kopola pangye. Nafile makonde mu ndeleshi ne kwiba pitaila.
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.
Ubushiku bwakonkelepo, ilyo bamaama baile mwibala mu kuswa umusaalu, naile lushenshe mu kumona pa nkonde. Ninshi shonse shili mukupya. Efyo nasendelemo shine. Cilya ndebendelela ku ciibi, naumfwa bamaama baleekoola panse. Efyo nafishile inkonde mwilaya no kuya pita epobaali.
Juuba jalondejilepo jajinga juuba ja kisankanyi. Ba nkambo babukile biingi lukelo. Batwalanga makonde ne makamba kupotesha ku kisankanyi. Kechi na pelawizhe kuya na kwiba pempula pajoja juuba ine. Kechi na konsheshe kwiba fyama kimye kyalepa ne.
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.
Ubushiku bwakonkelepo, bwali buushiku bwakushitisha ku maliketi. Bamaama babukile lucelocelo. Baaletwala inkonde ishapya na tute lyonse mu kushitisha ku maliketi. Nshaceleele mu kubamona ubo bushiku, nomba nalibafulwike.
Joonka ja juuba mabanga ba ngichile kwiba maama ne ba taata ne ba nkambo. Nayukile kine kintu. Abwa bufuku byo nalajile , nayukile amba kabwezhapo jibiji kwiba, kuba nkambo, nangwa bansemi yami kabiji nangwa kubantu bakwabotu.
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.
Mu cungulo, bamaayo, bataata na bamaama balinjitile. Naishiba ne lyashi. Ubushiku bulya lintu naile mu kusendama, nasambilile ukuti nshakabwekeshepo ukwibila bamaama, abafyashi bandi nangu umuntu umbi na kabili.
