UMQOPHI KA DEVELI

      Many decades ago, in this very village lived a man named Isela. He was an upcoming craftsman who made beautiful wooden and bronze engravings of animals, landscapes and even famous people. His art became the most sought-after item in the caravan trades and even brought dignitaries from kingdoms everywhere who offered him a handsome sum to work for him. Also, being a young, handsome man, many sought to have him wed their daughters, including some of the dignitaries. But our own king, the most revered Bilaal Mutongo, didn’t want to lose one of his most important assets, so he offered him his eldest daughter, Uumi as his wife. Taken aback by her beauty, he immediately accepted and stayed in Kikeero.

           After a lavish wedding and gifts from allies to the king, one could only imagine that he would live a wonderful life afterwards, but they didn’t. Because Uumi was accustomed to a royal lifestyle filled with excessive wealth beyond what most could only imagine, she pressured Isela to provide her with the same, forcing him to work even harder to support both of them. Though he sold more pieces than he had ever done and was living extremely well for someone who wasn’t royalty, his wife wouldn’t have enough. She even sought the company of other men, spreading malicious rumours about his inability to satisfy her to every man she had ever been with, and any time Isela walked outside he was laughed at, but no one could tell him the reason why given that adultery was punishable by death. 

           To add insult to injury, many artists started producing works similar to Isela’s but with different materials such as gold and silver, rendering his own work useless. The movement spread across the lands, each type being better than the originator’s work. Seeing that he had nothing special to produce, King Mutongo disposed of Isela and left him to live in poverty, and Uumi was only to happy to rid herself of him in favour of a foreign dignitary from the distant Monali empire.

          Now desperate, he lived in the slums, working odd jobs just to have some food to eat. He constantly begged from door to door to have a place to sleep and offering service for food and a warm bed, but all would turn him away, forcing him to sleep outside. People laughed at the once great artist, the one who thought he was better than them but ended up living even worse than them. They told stories about him to their children, and he gained a new reputation of being a walking example of failure in every aspect. No matter how hard he tried to hide his face from the public, someone would always recognise him and have others jeer him. This continued until it got to its worst when even the king belittled him in front of the people, calling him ‘A worthless man in all aspects.’

          Unable to take ridicule any longer, Isela walked to the Wailing Rock, a cliff where criminals were thrown over. He stood there for a while, contemplating it; in his mind, he was a criminal: guilty of failure, undeserving of success and death being his sentence. He looked down at the jagged rocks, seeing the numerous bodies vultures would feed on, taking a moment before he would join them down there. But before he could do it, he saw what he thought was one of the most beautiful women dressed in a white, flowing robe, walking past the bones, gracefully avoiding their sharp edges and humming a beautiful tune. He wanted to say something to attract her attention, but he remembered his sorry state, how he was unable to make ends meet. How then would he be able to attract this woman to himself?

But by a good stroke of luck, the woman saw him from below and started shouting, warning him not to jump down. She then proceeded to run and climb towards him, slowly and carefully all while Isela watched. As she got nearer, his eyes were stunned at how gorgeous she was, but he was confused as to why she wanted to speak with him.

“Are you not the great artist of the king?” she asked him.

“I was, but others have surpassed my success, hence the king no longer has use for me.”

“Is that what you think? That you have no purpose in life? Please, sir, grow up. Every great man has to undergo some form of difficulty in order to soar above his affliction. If it were not so, success wouldn’t taste so sweet. Why then do you give up so easily?”

“But what can I do to regain my former glory?” The woman looked intently at him, smiled a bit then asked him.

“What are you prepared to do to win back your former glory, good sir? How much are you willing to sacrifice in order to become great again?”

“Anything and everything,” he said. 

“Alright then. What if I told you I could make you ten times the artist you were before?”

“I would say that you were wasting my time, but seeing that I have no other alternative, I will ask you ‘How is that possible?’” She then came closer and held both his hands, breathing heavily and chanting something in low tones. Isela himself felt rejuvenated, his mind reeling with ideas and his hands aching to create something new.

“Now tell me, artist, what will you make for me?” she asked him. Without hesitation, Isela ran back to his village, screaming at the top of his voice.

“O what a wondrous day, for the artist has found his inspiration. Which one of you would house me, that I may create wonders before your very eyes?” People deliberately ignored his plea as the ramblings of yet another lunatic, yet he continued, fuelled by his newfound purpose. One man, curious as to what he would make, called him aside to hear what he had to say. 

“Sir, I have been burdened with purpose, one far greater than my own life. Won’t you give me a place to stay that I may show you what these hands are capable of making?”

“Alright, but for every piece you make, I receive a portion of it,” the man said, and after they agreed, Isela set out to work. For several days, he was busy with his clay, working at it so much that at times he would forego sleep and meals just to reach a set deadline. He wouldn’t even allow his host into the room he was working, claiming that he would spoil the surprise. Such statements were annoying to hear, but the man had faith in Isela and his work.

After a few weeks, the work was done. Isela called the others to see his work, and indeed they were astounded. Before them was the large, lifelike image of a nude woman lying on a rock with her hand raised to the sky, one he called ‘Muse’. The people could not believe how real it looked, and some even began doubting him, claiming that he had used someone to get the proportions right.

“Ha! No, I did not. This is all the work of my mind,” Isela said, as the man who hosted him backed him up.  Yet unable to be defeated, skeptics asked him why he would make such an obscene image, claiming that it was perverse and that such should not be seen by children or by anyone.

“This is merely a representation of the female form, one who gave me the inspiration to work. It is only perverse to those whose minds dwell in the gutters, which leads me to ask where you spent the night,” he replied, prompting laughter from the crowd. People then talked about Isela’s rebirth as a craftsman, the quality of his works reaching the king, who decided to see it for himself.

“My son, I made a terrible mistake in dismissing your talent. Will you come back and work for me, so that your name may be spread all over the kingdoms again?” 

“Thank you, Your Highness, but I will have to decline your most generous offer. I want to work independently from now on, spreading my own name through my works.” Not long after, the dignitary who was married to his wife Uumi saw the work and immediately purchased it for a handsome sum, triggering a jealous reaction from Uumi, who thought Isela was with a more beautiful woman than she. This eventually led many to ask him who the woman was, the answer being the same for all the times he was asked: ‘She is my inspiration.’

Afterwards, Isela continued making more sculptures of different people, each one better than the last, and all of them attracting foreign traders who bought them at very high prices, subsequently ending his poverty streak and enabling him build his own house and live comfortably, while the man who once hosted him continued to reap the benefits of their initial agreement, even promoting his works as his agent.

However, in all his regained fame and wealth, he never once forgot the woman, who he would always see after completing a piece.

“See all that I have made for you?” he would say, his arms outstretched in reverence to her.

“I can see that, Isela. Did I not tell you that your fortunes would turn around?”

“Yes, indeed. I cannot thank you enough for this gift. If it were not for you, I would be rotting with the others in the valley below.”

“I know, but that is not why you came here is it? To shower me with praise and thanksgiving like a deity of some kind, like you always do? What is it you want artist?”

“It is no secret that you are the cause of my success, yet I feel unaccomplished. I want to be the one that many generations will remember, the one whose works stand immortal in the ever-changing society and the one whose name will evoke respect and admiration even beyond the grave. Surely, is this too much of me to ask?” 

“No,” the lady replied, a sly smile spread across her face, “but I would like something in return this time.”

“Anything for you, my dear,” he said, kneeling and looking up to her, unaware of what he was about to get himself into. The lady beckoned him to rise on his feet, after which she began circling him and cooing.

“I really do pity your former wife, for she did not see the handsome man I am standing before. I’m sure many young women will be lining up at your door step, yet I ask that you only take one as your own, to have and to hold till the very end of time. Isela, won’t you let me be the one for you, the only one that you will ever love?”

“Y-Yes,” he answered, unable to believe what he was hearing, “Yes, I would like that very much. I will tell everyone that I am a taken man, in fact I can go right now…” She placed her finger on his lips and disrobed, wrapping her hands around him and whispered in his ear.

“Or, you let me make you mine, right here and right now.” She then engaged him in a long and passionate kiss as they fell to the soft green grass, making love in the orange ambience of the sunset. Unbeknownst to them, Isela’s agent had followed him out of curiosity, and once he saw him with her, horrified beyond belief, all he could say was “Oh dear God, what has he done?”