As Told by Ncyzoyos Nusuzu: An Oral History of a Forgotten Voice

Prologue: The Whisper Beneath the Waves

The villagers speak of him still – As Told by Ncyzoyos Nusuzu.

In the tide-soaked archipelago of Ulozisa, a scattering of islands etched into the southern oceans beyond official maps, his name drifts in the salt air. Ncyzoyos Nusuzu—the chronicler, the outcast, the invisible witness. Yet, outside these shores, no textbooks mention him. No documentaries tell his story. Until now.

This oral history was compiled over seven years of interviews, sifting myth from memory, spoken in whispers from aging lips who remember. What follows is their collective remembering—as told by Ncyzoyos Nusuzu.

Part I: A Child of Silence

Eleni Zuberi, 87, village elder, Kalozana Island:
“When Ncyzoyos was born, the sea was quiet. That’s what the old ones say. The ocean, usually restless, stilled as if listening. His mother, Maruza, said it was an omen. But what omen, no one agreed.”

“He was not like other boys. While others hunted or played, he listened. Always listening. He’d sit beneath the mangroves, scribbling symbols into the sand. We thought he was drawing, but he was writing. Stories. Things he heard—arguments, lullabies, dreams. At six, he recorded the quarrel between our two chiefs that nearly led to war. No one knew how he remembered so well.”

Part II: The Chronicler’s Burden

Fiko Andaya, fisherman, former childhood friend:
“By twelve, he was our memory keeper. Weddings, births, even the secrets people wished forgotten—he wrote them all.”

“Some feared him. They said a boy who never forgot was dangerous. Memory can bind a community, but it can also fracture it. And soon, he recorded things that powerful men wanted buried.”

Dr. Alora Kessane, cultural anthropologist:
“In cultures without written history, the role of the living archive is sacred but precarious. Ncyzoyos became the thread weaving together the past and present. But threads can strangle, too.”

Part III: The Exile

Rula Masayo, midwife:
“The first exile decree came after he documented the Chief Council’s broken promises to the coastal dwellers—the ones whose homes washed away when the sea wall was neglected. When he read aloud his account in the village square, the sky turned dark. Not from a storm. From the glares of those in power.”

“‘Words are weight,’ the chief said. ‘And yours weigh too heavily.’”

“They cast him out not just from Kalozana, but from memory itself. They forbade his name to be spoken.”

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Part IV: The Silent Years

Ikeno Zulamani, hermit scholar:
“Most thought he died. But he wandered. To the smaller islets. To places even the cartographers dismissed. There, he gathered stories no one else bothered to hear—the fisher widows, the reef gleaners, the storm orphans.”

“They say he learned the language of waves. That he could ‘read’ the tides like sentences. A metaphor, perhaps. Or maybe not.”

Part V: Return of the Unseen

Amari Duluzu, activist and descendant:
“In the Year of the Great Tempest, when rising waters swallowed half the village, survivors found caches of sealed gourds. Inside—scrolls. Writings. His writings. A whole history preserved in waterproof resin. Everything from genealogies to love letters, from recipes to rebellion manifestos.”

“His exile had not silenced him. It had freed him.”

“Today, many don’t realize that the laws protecting our sea harvests, our oral literature preservation, even the women’s council reforms—all trace back to the wisdom he preserved. Without his chronicles, we would have lost ourselves.”

Part VI: Debating the Myth

Professor Mahir Eslanu, historian, University of Daureli:
“Some argue that Ncyzoyos Nusuzu was not a single man but a collective pseudonym used by dissenters across generations. The handwriting across the scrolls varies. The styles of prose shift.”

“Others maintain he was real but became mythologized. Like the griots of West Africa or the loremasters of Polynesia, he transcended individual identity.”

“Truth? Myth? Perhaps the distinction itself is colonial. For his people, the stories he preserved are their truth.”

Part VII: Legacy and Reckoning

Tazumi Belani, schoolteacher:
“Today, our children learn about Ncyzoyos Nusuzu not as a ghost but as a guide.”

“We teach them the power of listening. Of documenting. Not for control—but for continuity.”

“And we remind them that exile does not erase. Memory returns, always.”

Epilogue: The Listening Stones

Beneath the old council tree in Kalozana stands a ring of stones. Locals call them The Listening Stones. Pilgrims sit there to hear the sea, believing that in its rhythm, Nusuzu’s spirit still speaks.

The village, once silenced, now hums with remembered names, stories revived. Tourists come seeking mystery. Scholars debate timelines. But for the people of Ulozisa, no explanation is required.

“We are here because he remembered us,” Eleni Zuberi says, voice weathered but resolute. “And now, we remember him.”

Author’s Note

This oral history was assembled through fictionalized testimony, inspired by the narrative traditions of marginalized historiography, memory studies, and the anthropological methodology of blending ethnographic storytelling with cultural mythmaking. While Ncyzoyos Nusuzu is not a documented historical figure, his tale honors countless real-world memory keepers whose voices were silenced or sidelined.