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Metutu had studied long and hard. The gods had blessed him with wisdom and the strength to use it, and he used those blessings well for one whose heart was filled with so many distractions. Indeed, there were times he wanted to be with Asumini, but had to sit through lectures on star lore and wade through the savanna grass to learn the different herbs and their uses. Patiently Asumini would wait for him to return. She remembered her father well, and how he put his service before his comfort. Metutu was a lot like him, and it felt comfortably familiar. Also, like Busara, Metutu would use the time he was with her to its best advantage. Feeling guilty, Metutu would forgo rest when he was tired, and rush through meals. The precious minutes he saved were spent holding her hand, brushing her hair, talking about whatever was on their mind, and of course there were also times when he would take her hand and lead her away with him. Makedde would smile and try not to notice that some chores were being neglected. Makedde was married to his work, but he understood that Metutu was not.
One day, Makedde questioned Metutu at length about treating wounds and setting broken bones. He tried very hard to find some weakness in his knowledge, wondering where to concentrate his training. He found no weakness at all, and anxious to help Metutu settle down with his new wife, offered to take him to the council.
That evening, a nervous Metutu was ushered into the circle and presented to his brother Makoko. This was no time for casual greetings, and Metutu did not speak unless spoken to.
Some of the elders were leery. Dedou asked, “How could such an admittedly bright young buck know all that a shaman needs, and bear the weight of that much responsibility? Is it not the optimism of youth here rather than the considered opinion of his esteemed sponsor?”
Makoko looked at Metutu. “Well, candidate? Answer him.”
Metutu glances around at the other faces, then looks right at Dedou. “My love for the King is the light of my world. His people are my joy, and his welfare is my abiding concern. Even if you forbade me, I should humble myself in the dust before him and offer my hands to his service. The wonder of one acacia leaf is so deep and rich that I could never learn it all. Who can hope then to understand God’s world? And if we must concede that no shaman could possibly know everything, we must ask how much knowledge is enough to comfort those who suffer? I tell you brothers that I am an expert on suffering, for I have suffered greatly. It was suffering that put me on this path. But I also understand love, for I have received much of it, and it is love that keeps me on this path. Without the path, my life has no meaning. That, my esteemed Dedou, is my answer.”
“I withdraw my objection,” Dedou said.
Makoko stood up, deeply moved, and waived the age requirement, allowing Metutu to be admitted into the Council. The high priest gave him a large rock to hold. “This is the burden which you willingly accept, for with knowledge comes the weight of responsibility.”
Makedde took the rock from Metutu. “Love is the gift of God. It inspires your friends to share your burden, when their love is genuine. So I admonish you to love others all the days that God gives you in this land.”
They made Metutu a clay totem and consecrated it according to the law. And they taught him the words of passage into the circle, “Daima pendana” which means, “Love one another.”
Makoko embraced him. “I’m so proud of you, brother. My love flows like the spring rains!”
Standing with the uninitiated outside the circle, Kinara watches as tears of joy run down his face.