The sun shone, but not for the people. The wind blew each day but it seemed like it wasn’t enough to keep the villagers alive and breathing. The chief and his royal entourage were there, but they were all running out of the words that would encourage the people to keep on living. The soldiers were there but it seemed as if their weapons were useless – their eyes were open but they were blind, they couldn’t even see their killers.
The villagers were dying.
All people in the village had buried their hopes. They were living like they were non-living things. Death was like dinner – a dinner that fed off each and every family in the village. Even the grave diggers were tired, their muscles had become fatigued, and they were no longer hungry to dig the graves.
There was only one person who could stop the tragedy that had befallen the village. But he was nowhere to be found. All that was known about this hero, was that he was very old. This was according to the stories passed down from the villagers’ forefathers to their parents, and then to them.
The natural beauty of the place was a lie. Despite all the green and attractive nature, despite the beautiful streams, despite the mountains filled with trees…
“A chain is no stronger than its weakest link,” was a line from a song sung by Takondwa and Shinah, two people from the village.
But to the elders, the sound of this song was no good for their ears. They banned the villagers from singing the song.
The river had become a necropolis – a cemetery. The crocodiles of the river no longer enjoyed their daily supply of meat – the bodies of the dead villagers. Even they wished for a change.
Everyone in the village was mourning a family member. There were tears in the eyes of the ladies. On their faces were the marks of two long-flowing rivers, made by the constant stream of tears.
All the villagers were afraid – afraid that they would be next. In the dark, anyone could be the next victim.
Tell us: What is happening in this village? Why do you think so many people are dying?