Dimba ya agogo inali yabwino, iri ndi mapira ndi manyuchi ndi cinangwa. Koma zabwino kuposa zonse zinali nthochi. Angakhale kuti agogo anali ndi ana azukulu ambiri, ndinadziwa kuti ndinali wa pamtima wao. Anali kundiitana kawiri-kawiri kunyumba yao. Anandiuza zacisinsi. Koma kunali cisinsi cimodzi comwe sanandiuze: kwamene anasungira nthoci kuti zipsye.
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.
Tsiku lina, ndinaona nswanda iri pa dzuwa panja pa nyumba ya agogo. Pamene ndinafunsa nchito yake ya nswanda, yankho inali yakuti, “Ndi nswanda yanga yamasenga.” Pafupi ndi nswanda, panali mayani a nthochi yomwe agogo anayikamo nthawi ndi nthawi. Ndinali ndi mafunso ambiri. “Kodi mayani ndi aciani?ndinafunsa. Yankho yomwe anandipatsa ndiyakuti, “ndi mayani anga a masenga.”
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.”
Cinali cosangalasa kuona agogo anga, nthochi, mayani a nthochi ndi nswanda yaikulu. Koma agogo anandituma kuti ndipite kwa amai anga. “Agogo, conde, lekani ndikhale nainu pamene mukonzeka…” “Osacita nthota, mwana, cita zomwe ndakuuza,” anakakamiza. Ndinanyamuka ndi liwiro.
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.
Pamene ndinabwelera, agogo anali khale panja koma analibe nthochi. “Agogo, kodi nswanda iri kuti, nthoci zonse ziri kuti, ndipo ali kuti…” Koma yankho yomwe anandipatsa ndi yakuti, “zonse ziri mu malo anga amasenga.” Zinali zokhumudwitsa.
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.
Patapita masiku awiri, agogo anandituma kukatenga ndodo yao kucoka ku cipindi cao cogonamo. Pamene ndinatsegula citseko, ndinamva nthochi kununkhira. Mukati mwa cipinda munali nswanda ya masenga ya agogo. Inali yobisika ndi gombeza wakale. Ndinasegula ndipo ndinamva kununkhira kokoma.
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.
Mau a agogo anandiopsya pamene anati, “Ucita ciani? Fulumira bweletsa ndodo.” Ndinapita panja mofulumira kupereka ndodo. “Umwetulira ciani?” Agogo anafunsa. Funso yao inandidziwitsa kuti ndinali kumwetulira nthoci zomwe ndinaona mumalo a masenga.
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.
Tsika lotsatirapo pamene agogo anabwera kutandalira amai, ndinathamgira ku nyumba yao kukaonanso nthoci. Panali zina zomwe zinapsya kwambiri. Ndinatengapo imozi ndi kuibisa mu delesi yanga. Pambuyo pakutseka nswanda, ndinapita kuseli kwa nyumba ndipo ndinadya nthoci mofulumira. Inali nthoci yonzuna kuposa nthochi zonse zomwe ndinalawapo.
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.
Tsiku lotsatirapo inali tsiku lopita ku msika. Agogo anauka msanga. Anali kutenga nthoci zakupsya ndi tute kukagulisa pa mtsika. Sindinafulumire kuwatsatira tsika lija. Koma sindinakwanise kukhala kopanda iwo.
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.
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.
