The Tiny Giant of the Wicked Marsh

Being a female in this man-dominated world has been difficult. And my difficulties were compounded when I chose to become an engineer. Despite the hardships, I managed to become one, and here I was, in a god-forbidden country full of thorny bushes, snakes, and crocs in the marsh that spread in front of me. My assignment was to build a bridge over this swampland that would make life easier for villagers living in the Wazulu village. This marsh had been a boon as well as a bane for the poor villagers. The swamp was lush with reeds and plants and teemed with fishes that provided food and a source of income to the poor inhabitants of this far-flung village. For almost 150 miles there was no other settlement. The dusty road that connected this village to the outside world was intercepted by this marsh, which was full of crocs. Several people had vanished while attempting to cross the "wicked marsh". People were superstitious about the marsh and believed that the ‘Giant’ of the marsh kills villagers when they venture to cross it. I heard this and laughed at it. And, here I was, determined and enthusiastic to help these beautiful nature people and lessen their hardships.

My first day in the village was not that bad. Villagers were perhaps happy to have me there but I had a feeling that they were uneasy about something. The very next day I came to learn about the cause of their concern. My briefcase, in which I had kept my documents, maps, and a pistol went missing from my tent. My inquiries yielded nothing. By then, villagers had gathered in groups and heated discussions ensued; I felt as if I were in a fish market. I was confused and angry. One of the older persons was keenly examining the ground outside my tent. He came near me and whispered - ‘it is the giant’. I couldn't understand a thing. I went to the spot where he had been examining the ground and then I saw huge footprints, apparently of an extraordinarily huge person. All the people who had gathered seemed shocked; fear was all over their faces. I, too, felt a cold shiver going down my spine, but only for a moment. I recollected my senses and decided to get to the bottom of the mystery. I had also made up my mind to recover my lost documents and especially my pistol for I was worried that it might reach the wrong hands and that could be dangerous.

I decided to follow the footprints. Some of the young men agreed to come along. We followed the footprints for almost half a mile and then the footprints vanished. Only a furlong away from the marsh under a huge Jackalberry tree, the footprints had suddenly disappeared. I was at a loss, and so were my companions on this blind trail. I looked up, but I could see nothing in the tree as thick foliage obstructed visibility. Suddenly a thought crossed my mind; I became eager to explore the tree. I asked one of the village folks to climb the tree. He backed out. Then I decided to do it myself. My tomboyish childhood had made me an adventurer, so there was a challenge and I was ready to hold it by the horn and bring it down from up the tree whatever it was. I threw my boots away and shinned up the tree in the native style.

I could find nothing till my eyes caught a piece of cloth dangling through the top branches. I climbed further up and then I saw the ‘giant.’ I couldn't help laughing loudly at this sight for the so-called giant was a tiny little village boy not more than twelve-year-old. He had my briefcase tied to his waist with a piece of rope and in his one hand was a wooden frame cut out in the shape of a big human foot. The boy was startled to see me; he began to climb further up. Worried about his safety, I decided to climb down. I came down laughing; everyone was bowled over when I told them about my find. I asked the son of the village headman, to climb up and coax the boy to climb down.

When the boy came down, he narrated a sad story that was mired in pettiness and hatred of his father. The boy was the son of a villager named Galubasi, who was the archrival of the village headman. To give a hard time to the headman and his supporters in the village he had created this myth of this giant inhabiting the marsh. In this heinous design, this mad villager included his innocent child. All the killings by the crocodiles were attributed to the giant as Galubasi used to instruct the boy to make footprint marks around the marsh to mislead villagers.

Galubasi was exposed, he was produced before the village council, and despite his repeated apologies, he was banished from the village. Village folks became my friends and with their help, I built the bridge in six months. There was no fear of the giant or the crocs now as nobody walked through the marsh. They walked over it.