Growing up, I always had such an appetite that people often questioned whether I was one of those animals that chew cud.

And I was confident I hadn’t been swapped at birth. That appetite was a trait I shared with my mother.

She’d always say, “Eat this, it’s good for your mind,” or “Make sure you eat that food while it’s still hot.” And don’t get me started on her eating speed.

I only recently learned that most women tend to eat less and slowly, but I’m convinced some are just pretending.

Next to my childhood home was a garden that, to me, was Eden—filled with every fruit tree imaginable, from my favorite— the jack fruit to others I adored just as much.

The only problem was the owner of this Eden: Nalumansi. Nalumansi was something else. A myth and a reality at the same time.

She was the kind of character used in cautionary tales to scare kids into good behavior.

Where some parents threatened misbehaving children with garbage men or early bed time, mine relied on the fear of Nalumansi.

She was an old woman nobody dared to provoke—unless they were doing it anonymously.

I remember once she yelled at Meni—my aunt—until she cried. And Meni was gangster, one of the toughest women I knew. My perception of her changed in that moment.

Nalumansi quarreled with everyone. In her world, everyone was out to get her.

I was once so shocked to hear her speak calmly that I nearly accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior.

If Nalumansi could speak without anger, surely God could have a son.

It was Java plum season, and as the most skilled climber under my mother’s custody, I was entrusted with the mission to harvest from Nalumansi’s Eden.

The tree stood just past our backyard, and the only thing separating us from it was a trench that became a muddy trap when it rained.

I was sneaky—like a domestic cat, only better. It wasn’t just in my upbringing; it was in my blood.

People who knew me knew I was gifted in this area. I had learned the tricks to execute a risky operation.

The Eden harvest.

I had only one failure to my name. One time, I was swinging from branch to branch in an avocado tree and misjudged a healthy-looking branch. It snapped.

I closed my eyes and welcomed the fall. Gravity didn’t disappoint. I landed arse-first, and my friends—who had seen it all—looked on in shock.

This time, I had to be careful. First step: was Nalumansi home? That was all that mattered. Once I confirmed the coast was clear, it was game time.

My climbing instincts kicked in. I moved with precision, avoiding bug sanctuaries and weak branches. I was built for this, it was like making love to the tree.

But this was not a solo mission. My little brother, Jeni, had been recruited.

His job: collect the Java plums in a plastic basin and run them back to headquarters.

On his third trip, we heard a manly voice—an alarm. That couldn’t be Pookie, our lookout—Jeni’s baby sister.

It was one of Nalumansi’s tenants. And like a security guard he was happy he had been witness to this crime.

I wasn’t alarmed. If worse came to worst, I would just deny everything.

My job was to avoid getting restrained by him in hopes of collecting a bounty.

But this wasn’t the case because Nalumansi turned off the alarm herself.

Impossible!

We hadn’t taken extra safety measures, but everyone understood the risk.

There was no “No man left behind” or “We’re family”—this was survival of the fittest.

The tenant was unleashed on me. Jeni was already gone. Despite his feeble legs, he leapt over the trench like an Olympian.

Pookie blended in with the children playing nearby and if anyone confronted her, nall she had to do was cry and the cuteness would do the trick.

I was climbing down, but under pressure, it wasn’t easy. He was gaining on me. I was definitely in for an ass Whooping—until he stopped to catch his breath. That was his mistake.

We made it home. Doors locked. A haven.

Knock knock. And again. And again. The glitch in the plan— Tabena. She hadn’t been briefed.

Angry and half-asleep, she opened the door. Our plan was to ignore the knocking until it stopped, but Tabena didn’t know.

Nalumansi demanded to see the one in charge. Tabena, still groggy, felt disrespected. Before she could say anything, I stepped forward.

I didn’t want her getting in trouble for something I had done. I remembered what Nalumansi did to Meni, and I knew Tabena wouldn’t survive that wrath.

“I did it,” I said. “I’m sorry. I tried to ask for permission but you weren’t home. I figured I’d just pick a few and tell you when you returned.” Lies, all of it.

She was never meant to learn of this and if somehow she did, the perpetrators would have never been identified.

Tabena tried to pull me away, but I was stronger. She was older, maybe wiser, but not stronger.

She gave in, but I knew I’d have to catch one of her tantrums that she loved throwing later on. Right now, my expertise was needed.

Nalumansi was once dubbed a witch and cannibal in our childhood tales, she was called anything that makes a child terrified.

She tried to slap me. I dodged, that adrenaline deficit from the chase was still coursing through my blood.

She tried again. I dodged again. But she wasn’t aiming for my face—she grabbed one of my locs and yanked it out.

My God—The pain, unreal, out of this world.

This was it, she had done enough, I didn’t care about my offence because I was about to offend this old skunk even more.

Tabena was furious too, Nalumansi had messed with her masterpiece(my locs). She charged towards us but I and the witch ducked and Tabena went flying off the staircase.

The old lady by this time had exceeded her physical capabilities, she was out of breath by the time my hand hit her chest with a thump that shocked even me.

She must have been exaggerating by the way she fell. The boy inside me had died and the man had emerged. I was under the impression that I had done something heroic.

But to my surprise, Tabena didn’t think so, she pushed me aside as I was attempting a second blow and rushed over to the poor lady laying on the floor.

I had no remorse for what I had done and all I could think of was what she had done and how much she deserved a beating.

All I heard her say was, “You’ll pay.”

I grabbed my fallen loc—just in case her witchy powers were real. Some rumors are true. She got up, composed herself, and walked away.

I don’t know how or why, but I think I’ve been paying for that moment ever since.