The Bicentennial Woman

Finally Mary snapped.

The work had become backbreaking. Since she had been married to Kigotho, she had borne him seven children. There were nearly 30 goats and sheep to find fodder for. She had to fetch the household's water from the river, each trip taking her more than an hour. The fireplace was eating more and more firewood, now that the children were growing day by day; fetching firewood from the forest was a whole day's job, and was needing to be done more often. She must ask her husband to marry another woman to help her.

Her hut, as the first wife, stood facing the entrance to the homestead, opposite that of the husband of the home. Sometimes when his fellow elders came to speak with him on weighty matters affecting their village, she was expected to provide refreshments for them at a moment's notice. All these duties had reached a point of becoming unbearable, and she could feel her 37 years acutely.

One evening when he had called her to the hut, she meekly brought to his notice the pressing need of his homestead for another wife. She went so far as to suggest the daughter of Regeru as a suitable choice.

"Where do you think I would find the goats to pay her brideprice?" he barked at her.

She hung her head in silence because it was not in her place to know which ones should be selected for this purpose, although she knew he could very well afford it. Too, Regeru was known as a reasonable man who would not place too high a price on his daughter's head.

At night Kigotho came to her hut after the lamps had been put off, groping his way around the now-doused fire, to her pallet against the far wall of the hut, near to where the goats and sheep spent the night. Dutifully she lifted her garments to expose her lower body. If she were late in doing this she would earn a beating for 'trying to deny him his rights'. She tried to make it easier for herself by wetting her vaginal lips with some spit on her two fingers. He threw the blanket he wore around his body onto the floor, leaned his staff where he could easily reach it, and clambered onto her. She felt his very rigid organ nosing around between her legs until she took hold of it and guided it to her vagina. He grunted as soon as he felt her warmth, then thrust himself into her with some force. Despite her earlier efforts it still caused her some pain with the skin of her labia majora being pulled hard.

On his outward stroke he came out with some wetness, so that his inward one caused her slightly less discomfort. "This is another reason another woman should be coming soon, to share this torture!" she thought as he pumped away inside her, the wetness having spread more and causing her less and less pain. Groaning, his stroking became faster and soon enough he was grunting under his breath as he poured his discharge into her. He pulled her garment from beside her and wiped his long stem, climbed off the pallet, threw his blanket over his body without retying the knot, and hobbled out of the hut back to his own. That was it for a few more nights, she hoped.

A few days later she overheard the men talking in her husband's hut. "...goats...Regeru's daughter..." reached her ear. "Njoki, did you not see the son of Nyoike and the son of Kinyanjui coming? Where is the food?" Kigotho bellowed.

She was already halfway across the courtyard between her hut and his with some mataha and porridge. "I am coming, my lord!" Panting, she entered and placed the food and drink at their feet. She turned to leave. Before she was more than a few paces away she heard one of the men, "She looks ready to take care of a co-wife now."

"It is time," agreed the second one.

It did not take long before she observed her sons being told to take a small herd of goats across the ridge. She knew by this that plans to get the maiden were well in hand. Soon she would be brought to the homestead and Njoki would have an extra pair of hands.

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Njeri let the huge load of firewood fall off her back onto the ground behind Njoki's hut. She was sure her co-wife had fetched enough water for both of them. Since she had been married to Kigotho, some twenty five years ago, they had struck a friendship which seemed mysterious to some. They had brought up their children as one family despite the fact that Njoki's first seven were older than her firstborn. They shared not only the food and occasional treats but also the chores of the homestead. She had had six children, while Njoki had ten. She felt grateful that Njoki had been a good and gentle soul, not given to quarrels and strife. The tasks became lighter for being shared among two women who had a deep respect for each other despite the difference in age. Her sister had not been as lucky; married as a third wife, she had been victimised by the two older wives, making her lot a hard one.

Three of Njoki's daughters and two of hers had been married off by their husband to men of his own choosing, just as Njoki's and her father had married them off to Kigotho in exchange for a number of cattle, goats and a quantity of beer.

Four of Njoki's sons and one of hers had wives of their own and herds of livestock as well. They were well on the way to becoming wealthy men in their own right. Those younger wives also contributed to the labour in the family taking some of the load off their mothers-in-law's backs. It was a smooth-runnning, harmonious homestead.

She and Njoki could say that they had had a good life, that none of their children had died in infancy as was common in their village or neighbouring ones.

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"But Granny, you cannot stay here by yourself! You are not feeling well!"

"So I go and stay in your house, you and your husband's? Then who do I call out to, when I want to blow my nose, for example?" Njoki asked in a querulous tone.

Her care-giver, knowing full well she meant "going to the ladies' room" chimed in, "I will go with you there, Shosh!"

"Thank you so much, Lilian!" said Margaret. "Granny, you will have your own doctor in the house. You do remember Robert my husband is a doctor at Mater Hospital?"

"If Lilian will be with me, I can allow myself to be in the care of your young man, Margaret." So it was all arranged.

Two nights later, Granny Njoki had to be rushed to hospital. Her granddaughter's husband went with her, and after suitable tests, it was determined that her pancreas was failing. There was no way of getting it back to functioning order. The only remedy was a transplant. Within a very short while the theatre was booked, Njoki was prepped and was being wheeled inside.

Back in the years when she was in her middle age it was only possible to transplant a heart, kidney or liver. Due to extensive research carried out on the Space Station 250 miles above the Earth, it had become possible to replace a failed pancreas, or more recently lungs, in the theatre.

When she left the hospital two and a half weeks later she had a new pancreas in her, joining a kidney that was replaced some thirteen years earlier, as well as a hip, replaced nearly thirty years before. Now in her 114th year her body functioned like that of a 45-year old. Her doctors estimated that she would reach her sesqui-centennial, or even beyond. Advances in medicine continued to offer people the chance to live longer and longer.

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Njoki sat catching the evening sun on the balcony of the 20-story flat building. She reflected that when she petitioned Kigotho to marry Njeri those many years ago, their family was only nine people. Today, she had ten surviving children, thirty-two grandchildren, seventy great-grandchildren, and twelve great-great grandchildren, the youngest of whom was two and a half years old. That was over 120 souls without counting Njeri and her 63 offspring.

She cast her mind to her wonderful co-wife Njeri, now living with her granddaughter only a few kilometers from where she was. Two months ago she had gone to visit her, driven by Richard, the doctor husband of her granddaughter. Njeri had also come to see her week before last; they spoke on the phone often. Kigotho was living in a complex owned by her, Njoki's, last born son 20 kilometers away. They visited each other when it became possible, several times a year. All three have had replacement surgery for various body organs; she liked to joke that they were no longer the same people who had married so long ago.

She remembered Kigotho's bicentennial celebration last year, bringing together over one hundred people all within Kigotho's family and a like number of friends. Her own celebration was only twenty months away, but the preparations had been in progress for some time now. She had exceeded her doctors' expectations by fifty years, yet her body seemed set to continue ticking for some years yet.