And again confusion came because of the two lads refusing to be separated. Osongo refused to go alone. But afterward he, knowing of his mother’s jealous disposition, changed his mind, and said to Obĕngi, “No, I think you better stay.” But Obĕngi refused, saying, “No, I have to go too.” Osongo then told him the true reason for his objecting. “I said this because I know that my mother is not like yours. So please stay; I will be gone only two days, and will then come and meet you.” But Obĕngi insisted, “If you go, I go.” And Ngwe-nkonde said, “Well, let it be so; I will take care of you both.”
So they went. When they reached the town of Ngwe-nkonde’s family, the people were glad to see them. She also was apparently kind and attentive to the lads for the first two days. On the third day she began to think the care was troublesome. “These lads are big enough to take care of themselves like men.”
She did indeed feel kindly toward Obĕngi, liking his looks, and she said to herself, “I think I will try to win his affections from his mother to myself.” She tried to do so, but the lad was not influenced by her. When she noticed that he did not seem to care for her attentions, she was displeased, began to hate him, and made up her mind to kill him.
All the days that the lads were there at the town they went out on excursions to the forest, hunting animals. As soon as they came back they would sit down together to chat and to eat sugar-cane [with African children a substitute for candy].
Ngwe-nkonde knew of this habit. After she had decided to kill Obĕngi, on the next day she had the sugar-cane ready for them. She rubbed poison on one of the stalks, and arranged that that very piece should be the first one that Obĕngi would take. He had taken only two bites, and was chewing, when he exclaimed, “Brother, I begin to feel giddy, and my eyes see double! Please give me some water quickly!” Water was brought to him. He took a little of it. Others, spectators, became excited, and began to dash water over his face. But soon he fell down dead.
Then Ngwe-Nkonde exclaimed to herself, “So I’ve been here only five days, and now the lad is dead. I don’t care! Let him die!”
By this time Osongo had become greatly excited, crying out, and repeating over and over, “My brother! Oh, my brother! Oh, my same age!” His mother said to him, “To-morrow I will have him buried, and we will start back to our town.” Osongo replied to her, “That shall not be. He shall not be buried here. We both came together, and though he is dead, we both will go back together.” The next morning Osongo said to his mother, “I know that you are at the bottom of this trouble. You know something about it. You brought him. And now he is dead. I charge you with killing him.” She only replied, “I know nothing of that. We will wait, and we shall know.”
They began to get ready for the return journey, and some of the people said, “Let a coffin be made, and the body be placed there.” But Osongo said, “No, I don’t want that; I have a hammock, and he shall be carried in it.” So they prepared the hammock, and placed in it the dead body.
As to Ngwe-Nkonde, Osongo had her arrested, and held as a prisoner, with her hands tied behind her, and he took a long whip with which to drive her. And they started on their journey.
On the way Osongo was wailing a mourning-song, and cursing his mother, and weeping, saying, “Oh, we both came together, and he is dead! Oh, my brother! Oh, my same age! Obĕngi gone! Osongo left! Oh, the children of one father! Osongo, who belongs to Ngwe-Nkonde, left, and Obĕngi, who belongs to Ngwe-Vazya, gone!” And thus they went, he repeating these impromptu words of his song, and weeping as he went. As they were going thus, while they were still only half-way on their route, a man, Esĕrĕngila (tale-bearer), one of his father’s servants, was out in the forest hunting. He heard the song. Listening, he said to himself, “Those words! What do they mean?” Listening still, he thought he recognized Osongo’s voice, and understood that one was living and the other dead.