This is set in the mid-1840s in Rabai.
His was a peculiar story. Not in the novelty of rebellion, obviously, but in the nature of his subversion. Curled up in a ball was cracked clay and creed. And in it was the story of Johann John Kalume.
The Kaya was a secretive place to say the least. Even the mention of the place elicited a sort of forbidden excitement in people. Of course, very few people had actually ever gone in, at least in the right way. Only elders. Only a few select elders for that matter. Nonetheless, whatever the people had not seen with their eyes had been seen in their mind through the powerful lens of the Rabai stories and traditions.
The gatekeepers of these traditions wore kangas and had braided hair. They were grandmothers, mothers and aunts. Often, they would convene in their characteristic coastal unhurriedness and share stories about the sacred forest with each other. Somewhere along the way, as it often is, these stories trickled down to the children, quenching their thirst for the Kaya and its mystery.