OUT&ABOUT: God’s bridge to the unknown

The story goes like this: a contractor, hired to usher into the present, brave world of technology a landmark that has stood for years, probably since the world came to shape, laid the foundation, pouring out concrete.

Not too long after that, the foreman arrived in the morning to a startling scene. The foundation, the metal, the concrete had vanished, swept away by a sudden, furious rain that had pounded the land the previous night. The baffled man didn’t know what to make of the situation. But the people knew, and the answer was simple: you do not touch the workmanship of God.

Tell us, they said, where in the world are you likely to find a bridge that has remained intact, sturdy for uncountable number of years? Who else could have built the bridge long before technology became part of life if not God himself?

The bridge builder, the story continues, folded the blueprint and abandoned his mission, and the waters of the ponderous Nyamindi River gurgled downstream unbothered, and the bridge stayed on, aloof, untouched and stubborn.

The story of the contractor’s failed mission might be true, or maybe not. But what is beyond question is that Ndaraca ya Ngai (God’s bridge) that straddles River Nyamindi at Mururi in Kirinyaga County is a mystical architectural marvel.

The bridge acquired its legend, and deity-invoking name after the earliest inhabitants of the region couldn’t establish how the bridge came to be without the aid of human hands.

This belief was handed by word of mouth generation after generation, the mystery growing bigger and gaining traction especially after modern technology crept into the affairs of men.

Mururi town is located on the Embu-Nairobi highway. I board a vehicle in Nyeri town on a Sunday afternoon. The road runs through the rice paddies of Mwea where the land jogs forever, flat as a pancake.

It is scenic, the green rice stalks taking on the texture and appearance of a green floor rag speckled with the chalk-white egret, an occasional ox-drawn cart and the solemn grey of the donkey.

When I reach Mururi town, it’s already evening and the sun is low, which is fine as the camera won’t have to compete with light, plus the absence of light always carries with it an eerie soul, and I am looking for ghosts. From the town, I take a dirt road carpeted with red dust and walk down to the river.

DIVINE CONNECTIONS

Ascending the thicket-chocked sloping face of the ridge is treacherous, and a loose foothold could likely pitch you into the hard-boiled tea waters of Nyamindi. It is as if the climb was designed to off keep off intruders.

It is easy to understand why Ndaraca ya Ngai is held in so much awe and regard. The bridge is about 15 feet thick, with a rock cluster and shale so tight and intricate that one gets the impression that no human hands or his machines could have welded together. It is one big slab, or a giant ore.

The roots of a scrawny mugumo tree scurry down the rock clutching like talons, an octopus. Some of the tangled roots appear like mesh wire that constructors install to hold stones to hold ballast.

There is an almost-ethereal feel to the place, yet somehow reassuring. Near the banks of the river are several holes wide enough to accommodate an adult human.

“There are animals that live in there,” a local young man tells me. “I don’t know, but they look like wildcats.”

Before the catlike animals took up ownership of the quarters, the caves were a safe hideout for Mau Mau fighters during the struggle for independence. Also maybe fittingly, the area served as a shrine where elders sought divine intercession when the skies failed to shed rain or an ill wind swept across the land, the blue smoke of the veal of unblemished lamb wafting up, beyond the bridge and into Ngai’s living room.

TOURIST ATTRACTION

Ever since the legend of God’s bridge made its way past the borders of Kirinyaga, it has become a popular tourist attraction and is identified by Kirinyaga County government as one of the tourist attractions in the county.

When I visited I stumbled across an obviously love-struck couple taking selfies in giggly abandon. The rocks are tattooed with names and short messages left by tourists as souvenirs and acknowledgment that indeed they saw the bridge of God’s own masonry.

But beauty is also fraught with peril. Not too long ago, one of the visitors I found at the site told me a trio of university students visiting the bridge pitched into the river for a swim, and two of them drowned.

“I feel that we are missing out on a great opportunity to promote the bridge and encourage people to come see this place,” says Lucy Njagi, a university student studying public relations and marketing, and who has lived all her live in Mururi.

“It would be beneficial too if we have a tour guide stationed here, not only to narrate the history of this bridge, but also to ensure the safety of patrons.”

When I packed my bag, the clouds overhead had gathered with the promise of rain. And soon enough, the skies began to shed. Later, as the rain pummelled the land I thought about the story of the bridge builder railroaded by a sudden rainfall.

I imagined him pondering whether indeed the bridge had been laid down by an unseen force incensed by calumnious humans, or was it merely a result of the comings and goings of life and fate?

It surely must have baffled the constructers. Maybe not; hasn’t the eternal Great Wall of China withstood centuries of rain and human hooves without buckling at all?

The answers are still at large, still out there. On my way to the bridge, I had marvelled at the beauty of the flat land, the avocado-green of the still supple rice stalks.

And now looking out the window the land looked even more awe-inspiring. I must have succumbed to the charmed presence of the bridge and the foamy song of Nyamindi River, because everything seemed to be okay with the world.