Itempa da nkanka dadin’ga dawukalawenu, denzala na masan’gu, masa na nyikamba. Ilan’ga hayuma yayiwahi, mwadin’ga makondi. Hela nkaka wadin’ga nawezhikulu zhindi amavulu, nelukili nami waken’geli ami. Wadin’ga nakumbidika kakavulu kwitala dindi. Wadin’ga nakulezha nawa tuyuma twakusweka. Ilan’ga kwadin’ga tuyuma twakan’genyiyu kuleha: kwadin’ga nakufuchikayi makondindi.
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.
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.”
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.
Chinafuntili, nkaka wadin’ga washakama hanzhi ilan’ga chakadi imban’gu hela makondi. “Nkaka, indi makondid adikudihi, indi imban’gu yidi kudihi na…” Ilan’ga wakwili hohu nindi, “Adi mwilun’ga dami da kafuta.” Chadin’ga chawunen’gu nankashi!
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.
Ifuku dimu, nkaka wantumini Kuya nakusenda mukombu windi kwakukama. Chinenzwinini chenzelu, anshikizhili kudi ivumba da makondi akwiha. Mukachi kakapeka kakukama, kwadin’ga imban’gu yayineni ya kafuta. Yadin’ga yakusweka mwipayi da hayaka. Nayinyemwini nakuhumba kana kadivumba da wukalawenu.
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.
Izu da nkaka da kansumwini chabidikiliyu,, “Wunakwiladi?” endesha nentaku mukombu. “Mulon’gadi unakusehelela?” Nkaka wehwili. Kwihula chindi chan’gwanukishili nami nakusehelela mulon’ga nawani chisweku chindi cha kafuta.
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.
Ifuku dasinsilihu chayiliyi nkaka nakutala mama, natemukilili kwitala dindi nakutala ana makondi chen’gi nawa. Kwadin’ga mukata waha nankashi. Nasendelihu yimu nakusweka mu kanji yami. Chinabutili muna mu imban’gu, nayili kunyima yetala nakunda dina ikondi. Dadin’ga ikondi daswezha kutowala Kandi nidan’gahu dehi.
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.
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.
Ifuku dasinsilihu dadin’ga da chisaka u. Nkaka wahindukili swayi. Wadin’ga natukwala makondi akwiha na nyikamba ha chisankanu. Hinatemukilili kwitala dindiku. Ilan’ga nadin’ga mwakamwihi nayena impinji neyi impinji.
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.
Melela efuku denadina, antambikili kudi Tata, Mama nayena nkaka. Nelukili mulon’ga. Wufuku wuna chinakamini, nadiahin’gili hinikamba keya kudi Tata hela mama hela nkaka chen’giku swezhe kudi muntu wachen’gi wudi wezhima.
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.
