Kali's Trial

By Andrew Anzur Clement

1885: A young prince, kidnapped into slavery, returns to his tribal homeland in one of the remotest parts of Africa. Kali has regained his freedom with the help of his fellow captives, Staś and Nell. The adventures he shared with the Polish boy and British girl have made a strong impression on the young African. As he takes his rightful place as king, he is determined to rule a civilization based on peace, liberty and progress. He embarks on a program of sweeping modernization.

Decades later, with his people being stripped of their land and erased from the history books, an elderly Kali prepares to meet death on a dirt road, alone except for the last few of his inner circle.

A moment before he dies, Kali is visited by a Mzimu – a divine spirit -- and a mysterious shapeshifting cheetah, who have the ability to control time. They announce that they are putting him on trial for the actions he took as the Bwana Kubwa of Wa-himaland. Together, the three of them bear witness to events from Kali's life as he tries to build a progressive but isolationist society in secret -- with the tacit blessing of his British colonial overlords.

As colonial ultimatums grow more and more outrageous, Kali must navigate a series of demands and betrayals from his fellow Africans that could spell certain disaster for his grand experiment—and perhaps show that his dream of an African utopia could never have worked in the first place.

As Kali journeys through his life, he begins to question the well-intentioned actions he took as the leader of his nation. Is he really guilty of collaborating with the enemy? And has he condemned his people to an even crueler fate at the hands of rival tribes and post-colonial masters?

The time-travelers must reach a verdict. Knowing that his life is at an end, the slave who became a king must bow to their judgment on his legacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Anzur Clement
• Release date: Jan 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201684020

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Author’s Note

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual public figures or institutions is not meant to reflect, in any way, their real conduct, character or reputation. Any opinions or actions of the characters do not necessarily reflect the personal views of the author.

One

The two trails of dust were the first things that caught his attention as he and his fellow time traveler appeared on the savannah. He knew that the plumes came from the two Land Rovers that made their way along a dirt path which cut through the fields. If Arunesh had not been able to perceive them through his celestial powers, the vehicles would have been hidden by the plain’s tall grass.

There was a creaky squeak. It was the sound of old brakes screeching to a halt. The plumes of dust fell away. Arunesh brought his hand to his chin in thought. Then he looked down, where his own hard-soled leather dress shoes had trampled some of the grass. It would have concealed him and his feline companion from the vehicles that they were observing, but there was no need. Arunesh had the power to make himself and those near him invisible.

The cheetah sitting at his feet looked up at him. Its facial expression spoke of worry, apprehension and reluctance at what it was about to see. After a moment, the creature gave a soft purr, as if agreeing to go through with something.

Making them both appear invisible, Arunesh moved both of their presences to the side of the dirt road, one that headed south, out of Kenya, and then around Lake Victoria through Uganda. Arunesh reflected that most people in this day and age would refer to the time period as early 1964.

A group of people, all sub-Saharan African in appearance, were moving a man out of the back of the Land Rover that was at the head of the small motorcade. He was old. His skin was dark and covered by mottling or tattoos. His hair was white. His clothes were what the outsider would only recognize as those of a traditional African tribesman. There was a stab wound in his left flank. One that looked like it had been hastily dressed.

Three women leaned over him. One looked almost as elderly as the old man on the stretcher, the second was middle-aged and the third still in her twenties. The oldest woman cried silently. The younger ones looked briefly down at the man and then up at the second Land Rover.

Father, you’re going to be alright. Doctor. Doctor? Come quickly! The middle-aged woman spoke in a language that Arunesh knew would not be known to most of the inhabitants of Kenya in this time period: the language of the Wa-hima tribe.

The woman’s father, the old man on the stretcher, responded with a wet gurgle. His eyes were glassy, not looking directly at her. Another man got out of the second Land Rover. He knelt down, just as Arunesh looked back down at the cheetah, whose tail was swishing slightly. Both he and the cheetah knew what was coming. This was the end of the old man’s life. There was nothing that the doctor could do.

The women cried over the old man’s body. The doctor shook his head over his dying patient, just as there was a disturbance in the savannah’s grassiness.

It was another big cat, like the one next to him, Arunesh mused with mild interest. This one, though, looked more like a leopard. It was bigger and brown, almost tawny in color. It morphed into human form. Blood from a shotgun wound was oozing out of the new arrival’s leg.

Suddenly stirred to consciousness, the old man made a feeble attempt to lunge up at the shape-changer. He was clearly delirious.

Get away, you evil creature of the devil, betrayer.

The newcomer shook his head. I never wanted to be your enemy.

The old man tried to talk again. He seemed to choke with a wet sound, as if on his own blood. He eventually managed to gurgle, Stay away from my granddaughter.

The youngest woman suddenly shrieked at her father. We’re together. Grandfather, you can’t insist that we just…

The old man let out a wheeze, unable to fight anymore.

Arunesh looked down at the cheetah, whose large eyes looked a bit wider. He could see his companion’s continued consent for this expedition, even as he perceived it in the creature’s mind.

Arunesh focused his will on the old man lying before him, using the powers he possessed as an immortal fallen angel. Along with himself and the cheetah, Arunesh removed Bwana Kubwa Kali wa Fumba of Wa-himaland from the flow of time.

***

Bwana Kubwa Kali was suddenly aware of being aware again. He was conscious of no longer being in pain, but aware that the pain in his mind had been caused by some of those he considered closest to him. The kind of hopeless feeling that can only come from one who is near death and can do nothing but wait in limbo for the end to come. He’d always had detractors. But that was the price to pay for the role—the leopard’s mantle of leadership—that he had chosen to take on. What he couldn’t get out of his mind was the betrayal he’d faced in the end—both by friends and those who had made themselves his enemies. Even as he thought that, he also wondered if it was evidence of his own shortcomings, pettiness and unwillingness to compromise. He pondered uneasily if those qualities had led to his downfall. He felt a mix of shame and righteousness at the thought of those self-criticisms; the same traits that brought him down had also made him a leader.

The near-death fog in Kali’s mind began to lift. It was there, of course, but held at bay, just like the bleeding of his wound had suddenly been stayed by some mystic art that Kali was not yet aware of but did not doubt existed.

Kali sat up on the stretcher, propping himself up on thin elbows. The other Africans around him had ceased to move. He stared at the tall man in front of him. His cheekbones were high, his dark tan face gaunt, like paper stretched over a skeleton. The cheetah returned Kali’s stare.

Kali knew that the man who stood before him wasn’t really a man. He had his doubts about the cheetah, too. Kali sat fully upright.

"A Mzimu," he said to the two-legged being before him, using his language’s word for spirit.

The man before him nodded. Yes, I am one of the beings that your people would refer to as a Mzimu. You have a lot to answer for, Bwana Kali. Call me Arunesh. I presume you know why I am here.

Kali, who had long known that beings with Arunesh’s capabilities existed, stood up fully. I have some idea. I am on some kind of trial. Were my deeds good or evil—justified or misguided?

I am not the final decision maker in that regard, Arunesh replied as he indicated the cheetah. Let us just say that myself and my familiar here have some casual interest in the events of your life and leadership, precisely on the issues that you just brought up.

Arunesh looked out above the grasses to the sky. "It’s a dilemma, really. You tried to create an egalitarian society for all of the people and beings within your realm, the likes of which no one has seen since before the Middle Ages. But to do that, you had to sacrifice the freedom and security of all those on the outside. At the same time, you were only able to rule your kingdom with the blessing of your colonial overlords.

Your enemies, Bwana Kali, have called you intransigent, naive, a collaborator, a traitor to your race, a hypocrite and a dinosaur. A believer in the ways of the Europeans, but kept in power by traditionalism, both driven by altruistic idealism and fueled by blind ambition.

Kali raised an eyebrow at this. If this was some form of final judgment, he was not going to grovel like the slave that he once had been. Even if he had just been grappling with those issues in his own mind, he would go out with pride, chin held high.

Great Mzimu, what I did, I had to do. My only ambition was for the vision that I had for Wa-himaland, for it and its people. For all the beings that I welcomed as subjects inside its borders.

The cheetah let forth a long, low growl. It shot a glance at the other shapeshifting figure that Kali had lunged at.

Judging by your last action that we witnessed here, that does not appear to be the case. Where is your evidence? Arunesh asked him.

My evidence is contained in my actions, all those that came before this, Kali intoned in his aged voice. It is in what I tried to accomplish. I was not perfect. I was as fallible as any other man. But my purpose never wavered; I knew it was just. I wanted to make Wa-himaland a state like none the world had ever seen. One that made sense for its place and the kinds of people who inhabited it. That was my only ambition.

And yet that evidence does not stand before us now, Arunesh countered. As a consequence of your actions, that state and your entire people are currently being erased from the history books. They could have tried to survive in an independent Kenya.

Maybe, Kali admitted, but they would not have been free. I tried. I failed. I have no evidence other than the events of my life to show you that my intentions were good.

If I am correct, there is a saying in this time period about good intentions and hell.

Good intentions, sir, Kali said sternly, are all that can be expected of any mortal who does not know others’ minds or what will come in the future.

Arunesh shook his head. In this case, that is not the situation. You see, we in the Society have the power to invisibly and without anyone’s knowledge revisit the events of your life. To travel through time, as it were. You said that your intentions were good. That what happened was the fault of those around you. Are you willing to put those claims on the line before us and before the One, whom you would call the Great Spirit?

Kali thought about his life and what he had tried to accomplish. He couldn’t say he was proud of what had happened. But he was proud of what might have been, of what Wa-himaland could have become. Kali fixed the yellowing whites of his eyes on the Mzimu—the spirit—before him. There was nothing left to lose. He would meet the end with honor and a steady gaze; he would not shy away from anything. Yes, I am ready.

Arunesh looked down at the cheetah. The big cat bobbed its head. Looking back at Kali, Arunesh announced, Very well. Let us begin.

With that, Arunesh and the cheetah disappeared in a flash of white light. Kali felt it envelop him as well. Then, he was in another place and another time.

Two

The light receded. Kali was on a desert made up of a slightly rolling plain that seemed to undulate and was covered in the remains of desiccated vegetation. The Mzimu who called himself Arunesh was beside him; so was the cheetah.

Ahead of them, on the desert’s wavy plain, two caravans stood opposite one other. It was not as if they were in confrontation, but instead as if this was a moment of ceremony.

The two groups were not the same. One of them was well equipped with what looked to be machine-made tools and weapons, in stark contrast to the handmade implements of the other group. Most of the rank and file in both groups had the darker skin that showed them to be native Africans. But those who stood at the head of the caravan with the modern supplies had much lighter skin, as did a few among its ranks. Those at the head of the other caravan had skin the same color as that of their followers.

The leader of the second caravan, who was still in his teens, was at the feet of a white-skinned teenager who faced him. A younger white girl was at his side. To the side of the African caravan stood a tall, thin African girl, a few paces back. Her hands were clasped in front of her.

Seeing this, Arunesh turned to the aging Kali.

Do you recognize where you are?

Kali’s mouth had opened slightly. He pointed to the kneeling figure, whose arms were around the young white man’s ankles. Yes, that was me, all those years ago. This wasn’t a first meeting. It wasn’t a surrender. Quite the opposite. It was a goodbye, to a man and young lady I’d never see again, after we had gone through an ordeal that changed my life. I knew they had to go back to where their home was. I knew my place was back with my peoples and yet I stayed there for the longest time, kneeling like that, because I didn’t want us to part ways. I didn’t want our adventure to end.

They watched as the young Kali stood up. His face was wet with tears, just like the white boy’s. They bear-hugged. The shirtless young African wore only the skin of a leopard around his shoulders and pelts around his waist. He stepped back and lightly grabbed the shoulder of the younger girl, who was crying so much that she could have been described as a veritable fountain. The two young men exchanged a nod.

They turned away from each