[CENTER]Songs of Our Lands by
John Evans Bwire[/CENTER]
We became a militia for selfish reasons. But that’s not the whole truth. Our dreams extended as far as our hopes could reach, far beyond the peaks of the mountain. For three long years, we’ve fought for our cause with unrelenting determination, defying the odds fate had thrown at us. And yet, even in May, hunger and cold have trapped us in a perpetual cycle of struggle and survival. Our hopes and dreams have dwindled in the face of this hideous ordeal, and even here on the northern slopes of Kopsiro, where trees are scarce and our rations dangerously low, we aren’t exempt from the toll of the unyielding elements.
Our meetings with Kanai were fraught with tension, each moment weighed down by the threat of another deadly airstrike. The cold seeped into our bones, our hunger gnawing at our insides. We pushed forward. We knew we had to keep pushing forward, no matter the cost.
The soldiers brought a strange attitude with them. I had thought of it so many times, and others had frequently spoken the same: that it didn’t matter greatly to them. They fought fiercely, but didn’t seem to care about the outcome. We had come to expect this, but Kanai wondered how much longer we could hold out. All we could do was hold our breath and hope for a respite from the tension that seemed to snap at our nerves. But relief never came. I was left to wonder if we were just a small, insignificant part of a larger, unending war. The soldiers gave all in a piece, when they drew back
For weeks, every day was the same, a steady stream of suffering. I was amazed by the resilience and fortitude of my fellow men. We faced an unending barrage of physical and emotional pain, enduring battle, famine, and fatigue. It was a test of endurance only few could’ve imagined. Previously, I had believed such a life impossible, but now I knew better.
But amidst all of this, passion burned within us, a fierce desire to return to our wives and children, to return home. Yet as destruction and chaos raged around us, I couldn’t help but wonder how it came to this. How so absurd, people would destroy each other for greed? As men, we forget this, until it withers away, leaving us with nothing but sour memories.
It was a strange feeling, being so detached from society. It was as if the entire world narrowed down to our small group, struggling for survival on the mountain. A man must have emotions for this, but the emotions I once had towards society, other tribes, and the government, I thought them dead. My singular focus was to stay alive. We had been reduced to our most basic instincts, like machines carrying out a mission without feeling or attachment. Yet, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was truly the case. Could we get through this without a personal connection? Or was it just a defense mechanism, a way to protect ourselves from the horrors we had seen?"
As dusk descended upon the land, I crawled out of my hideout and met the cold, an icy chill that pierced me to the core. I’ve seen my friends die on the battlefield, one after the other, the ones who stood guard with me – met their peril without a quickened pulse. Something had changed within me; I was sure of it. I was once a man driven by courage, whose heart raced at the thought of a battle. But now, I felt nothing. It wasn’t until a small man muttered his frustrations with the war that I was reminded that I was still alive. His words struck me deeply, as I realized that our efforts were being undermined by our closest neighbors. For the first time in weeks, I felt that I wasn’t alone in my feeling of disillusionment. Yes, there was truth to his words!
Sh-shh…,” said I. The other two drew closer. Kirui, my closest friend, gripped my arm tightly, leaving a welt where his thumb had pressed.
Kirui shot me a quick look and whispered, “Saying ‘sh-sh’ is just as bad as what he said, if not worse.”
Yes, even in the coldness, there was a thrill to that it all. Maybe, just maybe, we thrill at the first breath of that which is to come, knowing that it’ll change us forever.
For five days, the soldiers had put up a remarkable resistance, and for five days, we stayed put. But the 40-meter waterfall stood like a sentinel, guarding our position from the enemy. Its thundering roar and constant spray were a stark reminder of nature’s might, even amidst the chaos of war. We had dug in creating trenches, ready to defend this position at any cost.
A round 8 o’clock, I received orders to head to the east side of the camp. When I arrived, Kanai, Sichei, and a few men were gathered near a vacant house, encircled by rocks. It didn’t take long for me to realize that Kanai was struggling to motivate men to press forward in the later stages of the battle. The sight of our fallen comrades lying black and lifeless upon the waterfall only added to their despair. This wasn’t good for our men. This grim reality reminded Kanai; men needed something to uplift their spirit.
It was only then that I realized they were discussing Salome, the wife of Matakwei, who was renowned for her mesmerizing voice and fierce determination to fight for her land. I’ve met her a few times, and I had heard that since Matakwei was like Dedan, Salome was like Mukami. She was the least bewildered, as the story went, rather enjoying it all. Matakwei monopolized her, so we only heard her sing through the rumors that circulated around the camp. Her unconventional pretty face and contralto voice had inspired an additional 4,321 men to join the cause. Somehow, she had made us gossip to that extent. I eagerly anticipating her arrival.
She was supposed to infuse us with a sense of hope, reassure us, and sing us forward again. Yet, there was a pain in that. I glanced at the waterfall, and a feeling of ache washed over me. This was not for our entertainment, but rather to help us forget our dead. To remind us why we taken up arms and why our minds and hearts are in this war.
She arrived - a fateful woman and tall. They protected her well as the wife of Matakwei. Her presence wasn’t just for formality, as she was valuable in our cause, dreams, and struggle. So, they said.
A woman to save the day? I thought condescendingly to myself. She was the most distinctly unsoldierly person I’ve ever known, with a heavy jawline and broad shoulders. So dark and fat, standing at least six feet tall with a neck that betrayed a slight double chin. Yet, her unconventionally pretty face with a broad nose and small eyes gave her a feminine feature - sort of a perfect creature at an imperfect time. But her eyes were not innocent; something in them spoiled that.
“What is it?” asked she.
Kanai’s face showed concern as he delivered the news: four attacks have failed, and the men have faltered yet again at the thundering waterfall. The toll in lives have been grievous. A new inspiration was needed, and that inspiration was Salome. If the waterfall breaks, then floodgates of the government troops would open, and victory would be theirs for the taking.
“Sing to them for courage?” she questioned, her tone skeptical.
I h marked her voice. I saw now that she needed all the thickness of throat and bust.
“You want me to walk up and down the camp?” she questioned, incredulous.
‘Yes, singing.”
She puffed her cheeks and blew out a long breath, as if savoring the steam in the icy darkness
“Are they under fire?” she asked.
She made no bones about her fears, and I couldn’t fault her for it. She agreed to help us in her own way, and that was more than we could’ve asked for. But as she made it clear that she would withdraw once her part was done, hate within me began to grow.
God, I couldn’t help but hate her. It wasn’t because she was heartless - in fact, that was almost refreshing, given the circumstances. No, it was because this woman had the power to sing men to their deaths. We were like foolish chickens, and she, a decoy.
Her reply was bold, almost dismissive. “Fine, I’ll walk around and sing,” she said, as if it were of little consequence. As if she didn’t realize that her singing would soon lead men to their deaths.
As a man, not as a rebel, I harbored a deep desire to get her alone. I envision a future for myself, with my children and grandchildren gathered around a village bonfire, listening to her sing. It was then that I could have her, not as a man, but as a rebel.
But the reality of our situation quickly snapped me back to the present. We were in the midst of a desperate, cold fight against despotic government, planning to execute all rebels. The dead of the waterfall arose before my eyes… Perhaps within an hour, my own time would come. Still, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind, alive.
As I was called to join her escort, a curious hope welled up within me. Perhaps this would be the end for her, but not at my own hand. While uncertain, I wished she wouldn’t return hither among the living.
As I looked out at the vast pits stretching before me, despair settled in. The men who dug them had toiled away in harsh conditions, their voices echoing in the cold like wounded animals. Some lay dead, others barely alive. It was as though they’ve been forsaken by all, even God. Yet the reality was much worse. We’ve been forgotten by own homes. The thought of it made me sick
In that moment, in that darkness, I knew that death was the only truth, our only release from the unending misery that assailed us each day. It was a grim reality, but one that I have come to accept as the only truth in this world. As I listen to the mournful cries of my brethren, I knew that the bond that had united us had been broken. Only death seemed sure as the rising sun.
And Kanai followed her along, crying to us, “Make ready to charge forth!”
Salome’s voice rose above the sound of the river as she began to sing of the Turkwel River, her song ringing out loud and clear in Kalenjin
Songonya son of Kipruto, Kor son of Kiptoo,
The river of Kiptoo and Kipruto flows with a murmur,
Watering the land and filling the rivers,
Giving life, and bringing forth the fruit of the earth…
Salome’s voice carried on, now singing of Mount Elgon in Bukusu, her words rising and falling in harmony with the sound of the river.
Sacred spots of gods and holy rites,
Symbol of our land, both firm and loud,
Bringing life and bounty where they are bound.
Standing tall and proud, over our fair land…
A roar rose up from us then, as the forgotten world rushed back to us, bringing with it memories of our children, mothers, and women.
Her voice echoed through the valley and over the mountains, a mighty roar that reverberated across the land. For too long, our world had been forgotten, left to wither and fade like an ancient memory. But now, it was rushing home, vibrant and alive, filled with the laughter and joy of our fathers, mothers, wives, and children.
Salome’s voice rose again, now singing of Our Lands in Swahili.
The land once given to the landless poor,
The battlefield for rebels, true and sure,
Against unjust eviction by the government hand,
Oh, this land, our home and our right,
We’ll fight for it with all our might….
Changing her voice now, singing of Us in English
Forced to rise up and take a stand,
As we fight for the right to keep it all,
We’ll ne’er surrender, we’ll ne’er fall,
For the right to keep it all…
We felt alive and fearless, like schoolboys on the brink of a daring adventure. Kanai’s voice echoed through the air, shouting to us to stand in our position and prepare for attack.
She was singing of Our Lands again, now in Swahili
Their history marked by compromise of old,
Once given as a gift to families, their spirits soared high,
But time wore on and power changed hands, new demands in the sky.
Evictions threatened from afar, the people took a stand…
She kept on singing, and I followed her like a child, caught up in the power of her voice. Soon, hundreds of others joined us, and the menacing voices of the outside world faded away, replaced by the sweet sounds of open weather and the earthy scent of our homeland. For this was the song of our lands, passed down to generations, a precious link to our past and our future. It was a song my father taught me, and one I longed to pass down to my children. The song of our lands from our lands. Thanks to her, I could almost smell the rich earth of our lands, hear a familiar comfort of ruminating cattle, and my mother telling stories of our lands in the unmissable darkness.
The stench of power suffocated us as we stood ready to face the government soldiery. Their iron shields gleamed menacingly in the darkness, a stark reminder of the force they wielded against us. And yet, even as the dead seemed to rise up from the waters of the waterfall and haunt us with their empty eyes, our bond have been rebuilt, and now, unbroken. Each of us seeing our fields, smelling our lands, hearing the voices of our mothers and fathers singing in Okiek dialect- Teret kaloloo menasinyoo keterenyo… (Our lands forever ours…).
We cried out to her as she briefly stopped singing. Our hearts were ablaze in her presence – not with hatred, but with a deep-seated intensity.
She sang of Our Children in English- and, Oh, my God!
Land for our children, for their future we fight
Forever bound to this cause with all our might
We’ll stand strong, and we’ll never back down
Our land is our legacy, our precious crown
I sung it with her
Lands for our children, a promise kept
Fighting for their dreams, we won’t accept defeat
For our sons and daughters, we’ll stand our ground
No giving in, to keep the soil where our blood begins…
She sang of Our Children back to us
To each man his children, by their mothers’ side weeping
Little hands held out, pleading and begging
“Come back daddy!” to us…
I saw Salome’s face in the crowd, but it was different now. It wasn’t the same face that I had known before. For, she lied to me and Kanai. This wasn’t a face of a chubby woman, but an angel, radiating joy. She has been waiting for this moment for so long, it seemed. Now, she was beaming like a child on her mother’s back. Her songs weren’t just ringing out across the camp; they were guiding us home.
Then I heard a gunshot, and saw Kanai trying to reach her, but we were there. We laughed and called her, “Sing us our children again” … “A promise kept,” a man said. “Sing us our lands!” … “People took stand – “another cried. Salome continued to sing about our lands near Turkwel river, as if it was her last song to the mortals."
Lo and behold, her voice came through us – not in the rich, somber contralto of song, but as the voice of God: “Rise, men! Our home awaits!”
But nay, I couldn’t go. A bullet stopped me. Thus, I lay upon my belly and gazed as they turned back - a small throng of hundreds, all eager to die for her. All who have heard her songs now made their way home. The soldiers from the west closed in on them, cruel fate that would bring their journey to an end. I struggled to prop myself on my elbow, but the pain was too much, and all I could do was watch as the courageous souls march into the abyss of the unknown. I watched until the blood drained away and blurred the scene. Yet, even in the growing dimness, I saw that there was great honor in their dying. For it was not a massacre, but martyrdom. And as I lay there, I knew that even in death, her message would live on. Embodied in songs of our land, her message will inspire all men to march forward, unafraid and united.
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