We lived on the land, by the law of the land. Then they came. They came and took it all. Before their arrival Kaguma warned us, that we would lose our land. He then paved the way with bread crumbs in our oral tradition on how we would get it all back. We allowed them time in our land, to settle, perchance to dream. We learn their ways, their books and culture, and found our fight, rising and uprising, with hopes and dreams, of a return to the old ways.
These here, their buildings, we return to dust. These here, their roads we return to paths, pot hole by pot hole, we remove their structures. The old ways sing to us, calling us back to the land, back to the time, of equilibrium with the mother nature. When we won the war, they gave us power to govern, suits to wear in parliament, but refused to let go of their created economy. Our fight continued, and we took their economy, now we tear and break it, so it is no more, and we return to the soil. To the old ways, with no carbon foot prints, no connection to machine, looking to the sky in endless time, for the promise of rain.
At night we light fires to cook crushed maize seed, avoiding the electric grid which we are slowly bringing down. We don’t need their electric power, our light comes from the above. Early morning we rise and wake up the sun, walk out into our fields, and work our land, till the sun tires, and falls from the sky.