Chapter Text
The grandsons of Mama Odongo, true to her word, were loyal, strong, and wise travelling companions. In their company, the small family came to no harm and, indeed, even flourished. They sought rest at the homesteads forged from the very wetlands of the Sudd and the prince, in his amphibious form, found the region particularly suited to his tastes. Each day, his toad form saw fewer hours of daylight and he walked longer in the form of a man.
The jubilant shouts of welcome and joy reverberated through the forested hills of the lands of Bunyoro on the day the lost prince returned. The first herdsmen that recognized the face of the son of the king left their cows immediately to run ahead to share the news with their clan and neighbors. Like ripples in a pond, the news spread so that before the prince could continue to his father, his father had already heard the news and came running to find his son. Each village stopped the prince with their musical instruments, feasts, and celebrations and then added their own footsteps and voices to the growing pilgrimage, all the way to the home of the king.
It was with tears streaming down his face that the grey-bearded, wrinkled king welcomed home his only son. The welcome turned ever more joyful as the king met not only the wife of his son but his grandson— a boy so lovely and strong that all who looked upon him marveled. Makeda, princess of Abyssinia, wore the last of her royal finery on the day she was introduced to the kingdom of Bunyoro and her heart glowed with happiness at the welcome she received.
By the time Wamala took his first steps, his father remained bound by the curse only during midday. When the sun rose to its zenith, Isimbwa retreated to the most protected center of their fortress. Makeda waited for him there and watched over him until he was freed again.
By the time Wamala was weaned, his father’s curse was broken entirely. It was with great joy that Isimbwa found he had transformed for the last time. With a broad grin and a great shout of jubilation, Isimbwa stood in the light of the noonday sun. He stretched out his arms to the heavens and felt the strength of his two feet beneath him. The curse of the Crocodile King no longer held him captive and he would never be a toad again.
The grandsons of Mama Odongo were honored for protecting the son of the King and returned to their home with as many gifts and cattle as they could manage. Yet, to Mama Odongo, the greatest gift she received was the cessation of preparations for war between kingdoms. She rested in peace knowing she would not end her days in violence.
In the years that followed, the brother of Makeda, the “Emperor To Whom Tens of Thousands Bow,” continued to search for his lost sister. So frustrated was he by the lack of fruit born by his emissaries, that he set out to find his lost sister himself. He traveled far and wide through the lands ruled by the King of Kings and the Emperor of Ethiopia and far, far beyond. So long did he travel, that his strength expired and he fell gravely ill. The emperor sickened so that all who looked upon him thought he would never recover.
Attired as he was in a disguise as a peasant, none recognized the ill traveler as their emperor. Out of pity, he was taken in by a farmer on the border lands. The farmer’s maiden daughter patiently nursed him. Day by day, she tenderly doted upon him and helped him regain his health.
The result of her care was that the emperor fell utterly in love with her and insisted she marry him. She agreed, though the marriage was looked upon as a great scandal at his court, especially as his first wife mysteriously died upon the night of his marriage to his second. Unrest grew and rumors of who would claim the throne upon the emperor’s death were whispered in dark halls and behind closed doors.
The emperor gave up seeking his lost sister. The years passed. A day came when his Imperial Majesty was both old and grey. In those days, a young warrior and his entourage came upon the gates of his castle and requested an audience. When the stranger was brought before the emperor “To Whom Tens of Thousands Must Bow,” all present in the great hall gasped.
It was with absolute incredulity and fear that the mighty emperor looked into the face of a man forged in the exact image of his own father. This youth, while stronger, darker, and taller than the old emperor, could not be any but a close relative of the former King of Kings. He walked with a confident step known only to those with the blood of kings and he spoke with a strange lilt to his voice, as if his tongue were formed in a distant land. Around his neck, he wore the golden necklace that once belonged to the mother of Makeda, sister of the emperor, and to her mother before her.
With a mighty flourish of addresses performed with such feigned humility as to border on mockery, the youth introduced himself and the throng of warriors who followed behind him.
“I am Wamala, son of Isimbwa, King of the Kingdom of Bunyoro, and his wife, Makeda, Princess of Abyssinia,” he stated. “I wish to be introduced to the people of my mother, the people of the Blue Nile. I come to bring you her greetings from where she rules as queen of a mighty kingdom in the far south, along the birthplace of the White Nile.”
All who looked upon Wamala where he stood in the great throne room were filled with fear and reverence. The emperor, fearing both for his life and his lineage, secretly plotted to harm the young prince. His evil plot bore no more fruit in disposing of Wamala than his long-failed attempts at preventing the birth of the prophesied heir. After a sojourn in the lands of Abyssinia, Wamala came to gain an audience with the King of Kings again. There within the walled fortresses of the mighty castle in Gondar, grey and imposing and as regal as kings, the emperor’s nobles and armed men welcomed the young prince again.
The prince gave his audience a profusion of thanks for their hospitality, though if bitterness tainted his voice, none blamed him, for they each knew of the emperor’s evil plots. Then Wamala addressed the emperor with such words that all who heard were afraid the emperor’s wrath would smite the prince where he stood.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” the prince said, “While I have learned much from my travels in your lands, I must admit that I am unimpressed with what I see. Your land is dry and weary from over-farming and nobles too hungry for power. Your great houses compete out of pride and you are so fearful of even your own family that you imprison your closest kin.
“I have heard it was long ago prophesied, that ‘Makeda, Princess of Abyssinia, would give birth to a son who would be a glorious king and the seed of a mighty dynasty that will be renowned for the ages.’ I wish to become that glorious king and plant the seed of that mighty dynasty.
“What need have I for walled fortresses and tall stelae when I could instead be lord over the Lands of the Lakes and king of the well-watered lands of the far south? No, you have no fear I will claim your crumbling throne, for I have one of my own waiting for my return. I have seen and I wish to return to the land of my kin. Now that I have seen your lands, my choice is more easily made and I will plant my seed far from these dry lands upheld with fading glory.”
So it was that the prophecy was fulfilled. The great lineage of Bunyoro grew strong and long-lasting. The lineage of the King of Kings dwindled in the Age of Princes, fought over as it was and weakened by internal conflict, poor leadership, and mismanagement of treasures. For the gift so rejected by Abyssinia became the treasure of Bunyoro and the seed which Abyssinia refused to plant grew to be a deeply rooted tree in the rich soils of the kingdom to the far south.
Thus, it was that Makeda, the imprisoned princess, and Isimbwa, the prince turned into a toad, lived happily ever after.
The End.