Anakrosa has been working in the field all day. Despite the many pauses he took, his body was screaming for a final break for the day. He felt the glue in his waist holding lower and upper body together was weakening and if he did not pause his activities on the farm, he was sure to break into two, literally.
He rose from tilling the land with his hoe, floods of sweat trickled down into his shorts, gumming the old shorts to everything between his waist and knees.
The sad reality is that sometimes the rains were unstable and every effort injected into the food crops dried and died with the crops in the withering heat of the tropical sun.
Someone once spoke about irrigating the farm. But if river bodies are dried up due to prolonged draughts, what was the farmer to do? Carry water in a spoon from his home miles away to sprinkle on lifeless plants, hoping for a mechanic resurrection?
And those government officials who always come to their community during elections. Anakrosa found them to be comedians. They were never serious, though they speak with so much passion about building the nation and uniting to fight for a bright tomorrow for “our children”.
They never reveal how they intend carrying out the big promises they make till they come into power. That’s when controversial policies are enacted without the consent of the people and while the people are lamenting over hardships, some idiot’s bank account is gloating and bloating night and day.
“Their day will surely come one day.” Anakrosa reminds himself.
The fatigue, which initially seemed to have diffused into his blood, now surfaced in his joints, spreading into places he couldn’t name. Anakrosa is forced to kneel in the young maize farm he’s been weeding all day.
And while he knelt, he saw how beautiful the view from below was. It was as if he was seeing the sky and the rest of nature around him through the lens of the young maize plants among whom he knelt. The setting sun, the gentle breeze, birds returning from hunting in groups, the sight of other farmers on their way home on bicycles with wives and children, butterflies and grasshoppers fleeing in fury for the nuisance caused them by intruding humans, and the sounds of some creatures screaming incognito in the forests nearby, it was all glorious beauty to behold.
While packing his tools and a bundle of firewood to be tied to his motorbike, Anakrosa felt something was missing.
“Oh yes! “ He suddenly remembered the jar of water.
Hurrying towards it under the grand baobab tree, Doumbiyé’s words surged into his thoughts again. It was the third time in a day those words have replayed themselves on his mind. It meant he needed to pay attention.
He stood for a while, pondering over his conversation with the elderly man. Those were certainly words of wisdom.
Indeed, he was young, energetic. But this strength won’t remain with him throughout his life. At a certain point, he was going to become weak. He needed to start converting proceeds from this farming business into something else. Something more stable, more reliable. Something that irrespective of age, he could still do. Or even perhaps lucrative enough to hire others to work for him.
Doumbiyé was certainly calling him to a higher life, higher thinking, higher ways of seeing and doing things. The carefree lifestyle of many of his mates seems appealing, but in the long run it didn’t pay.
Look at Samba and Opuni. They were once tough men that every youth in the community looked up to. But now see what women and alcohol have turned them into. Their end is wisdom sold for free and he Anakrosa wasn’t going to insist on buying those lessons with money by repeating them. He couldn’t afford such costly mistakes knowing that as the firstborn of his father, the family was going to be dependent on him and he had to be solidly positioned financially.
But there was a part of what Doumbiyé said that was a bit controversial: to not have anything to do with broke girls. Alya was from a broke family. She was always broke and he had to support her. She seemed a good girl, well brought-up. Wouldn’t it be sheer wickedness to abandon a friend just because she was from a broke a family?
Doumbiyé and his words. Controversial. But those who have listened to him have all made it. Doumbiyé himself was generous, so why would he say that?
Reflecting deeply upon Doumbiyé’s words, Anakrosa could see the sense in them. By constantly helping Alya, his savings towards starting a new business had been slowed down. Money was hard to come by these days. And besides, they were not a couple.
But visiting Alya’s family evokes lots of pity in him. Their father was no more and the poor widow is left with many children on her hands. The items she sold was unable to feed the entire family and Alya wishes to learn a trade but no money to pay for the apprenticeship. If he doesn’t help, who else would?
She tells him all their relatives have turned their backs on them after freezing their father’s assets.
Or perhaps, he was giving himself the impression that he was the sole savior of the Alya family?
Before Alya met him, how was she and her family surviving?
As Anakrosa thought about all these, he realized he might not find his way home if he had to grope the falling darkness to get home.
Hurrying with the items to be bundled up, he sparked the motorbike and zoomed off.
It was a long ride home as Anakrosa was lost in his thoughts.
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