As I follow through with this story, some beautiful poems do manage to find themselves in here. They are quite sporadic at best, here and there mostly at the end of chapters or at the beginnings.

As I end a chapter and obsess with how best to continue, I often reread previous chapters like 100 times and then procrastinate for like forever as ideas come and go, and in some moments a poem or a simple rhyme surfaces and yea that's how the poems come to be.

At first they seem odd, but I hope you enjoy them as part of the story.

The initial plan is to write an epic trilogy, in the pre-colonial African setting. A tale of two souls completely different in every way, their struggle in the search for meaning. A tale of two villages, of their festering past and perilous future. A tale of love, hate, magic and war. A tale of a journey inwards and outwards. Most of all a tale of life and all that's sacred.

I hope you read and get hooked. Feel free to comment and share your thoughts. Alerts for any typos or misspellings are highly appreciated and I will act on them asap.

Much love and gratitude.

@nightskies92

#teamjohari.

#teammoseti.

Two hills stood visible as one entered the Turkona lands. They stood separated by a small stretch of plateau, forming an elongated letter M against the skyline from afar. One was Mariani, the other was Lekuta.

As one came closer to the hills, grass thatched rooftops and thick thornbush fences betrayed the two villages perched at the top of each hill. They were named after their respective hills.

Beyond the hills to the north lay rugged, rocky terrain that stretched for miles and miles beyond. Ghastly hyena howls could be heard deep in the night and rumours of dark forces residing within made sure it remained uninhabited and desolate, the forgotten lands.

The flowing Sereti grasslands lay west and south of the hills. A vastness of tall savannah grass undulating in the wind, with patches of acacia and baobab trees. Several clear streams intertwined and trickled through, that with the amazing array of wild animals and birds added to the magic of the land. They all roamed freely in this vast circle of life.

All was at peace.

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Brave Souls.

We all ,

simply come to exist.

how we choose to live,

what we choose to leave,

shall be testament,

of how bravely our souls,

endured the pursuit of true self.

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Dusk in Turkona was breathtaking. Insects and birds chirped in that melodious harmony of the morning, bringing the vast land to life. Up high the clouds parted at the feel of the majestic African sun as it peaked its first rays down, way off beyond the horizon.

A young boy, with a long herding stick strechted across his shoulders, his hands loosely hanging forth walked downhill. Down a misty trodden path, his eyes half closed. Johari Tembo followed a small herd of cattle down Mariani hill south of his village into the grassy plains.

He already knew the path by heart and he struggled to half sleep half walk, a forlorn effort to relive last nights dream. It was a futile effort. His nights were of late a bottomless dark pit and it angered him when he realized this. He was a dreamer and it was in his dreams that he found escape, where he knew no constraints, where adventure was abound. But now even this eluded him of late.

He cursed and inhaled the sweet morning air and sobered up just as the cattle neared the foot of the hill. Johari rushed to his left and with his herd stick guided the herd past some rocky terrain at the hills base and into the grassy Sereti plains. His eyes hovered for a while over the distance as he chose a suitable untouched area next to a cluster of baobab trees.

Pleased he whistled to Bozo the head bull and soon the whole herd followed. Johari enjoyed the feel of the soft Savannah grass brushing softly against his feet as grasshoppers and ladybirds jumped and leaped away with his every stride.

Sure that the cattle were settled and grazing away in their usual oblivious nature, Johari eased at the base of one of the baobab trees.

"Let me share your shade patient old friend." he whispered as he lay his head on its trunk.

Gazing up, he let his eyes and his mind wander as long and wide as the wise baobabs branches . Soon he fell into a dull sleep, one with dark dreams, of images he could not fathom.

***

He did not know for how long he had dozed off but something had woken him up. Silence. Johari sat up and noticed that the herd had strayed off a little. He thought of getting up to round them off then he heard it again, the soft crack of a dry branch stepped on cautiously. A not so stealthy intruder.

Johari quickly retreated back behind the huge baobab trunk. Scanning the vicinity, he knew what to do and he repeated this in his mind. First have eyes on the threat, if he could he would protect the herd but if it was a predator or worse raiders then he must escape unseen and with all due haste rush back to the village, to its protectors, the morans.

He could feel his heart racing fast, a mixture of fear and excitement. But all this deflated drastically as a small figure came into view. A young boy walked towards Johari , he seemed to be neither in a hurry nor with a sense of direction. He wore the traditional shuka hanging from his left shoulder up to his knees, tightened at the waist by an intricate beaded buffalo hide belt. His herd stick was too short and was also decorated with beautiful bead work.

Johari stood transfixed at the new intruder not sure of what do. He was clearly not from Mariani and he was too clean for a common herds boy, a messenger or royalty perhaps.

Moseti Kalibari had noticed the herd of cattle as they grazed while up his favorite tree where he had been hiding and dozing off. He had hoped it was one of his friends but as he neared he saw no one tending to the herd which was beginning to scatter. He thought of rounding them up first, something he had always wished to try.

"I don't think I asked for your help herds boy," Johari spoke out stepping from behind the huge tree trunk.

"Go play with your own herd."

Startled Moseti turned around to see a tall scrawny boy emerge to meet him. His hair was rough, unkempt and his attire was quite rugged, however his face was serious, his jaw set.

"Uh, I don't have one. Its only me out here."

Johari sensed some disappointment in the boy's voice but he hardened his jaw even more. He would not show emotion.

"Off you go then, I don't have time to babysit Lekuta's rich kids."

Moseti Kalibari clenched his jaw. His face stung as if the bitter words were a slap across his face. Was he that obvious, even to this poor haggard stranger in front of him. The chief's pampered little boy, forever ridiculed by all his age.

Johari smiled inwardly, his jibes were hitting home but suddenly the 'rich kid' surged forward with a cry of rage. He swung his beaded herd stick forward aimed squarely at Johari's head. Instinct had Johari raise his herd stick up fast, the collision numbed his fingers and before he could counter a kick in the gut had him reeling back in pain.

"I do not take insults especially if its from lowly herds boys from lowly villages." Moseti was breathing heavily but trying not to show it.

The plain was quiet, only the wind blew softly stoking the embers of hatred that was in their eyes, and all their pent up personal frustrations were the spark that ignited their rage and they erupted furiously upon each other.

But unknown to the two struggling young fighters, destiny had played them a vicious hand. As they tussled and tumbled down on the dusty ground, never did they realize that their fates strings had deeply intertwined and that only in death would they unfurl.

****