From the lofty snowcapped peaks
of Kilimanjaro
The morning mist envelopes its verdant foothills in a tight embrace,
No need to hurry, this is not a race,
Beads of sunlight dancing across the glistening dew.

As the plains of Amboseli reveal their golden hue,
There's movement spied where none existed moments prior,
A herd of Zebra lounging in their elegant attire,
The lush grasslands beckoning them for yet another day.

The few Wildebeest amongst them if only they could talk they'd say,
We're happy to be safe in this weird and motley crowd,
Despite the fact these Zebras are so boisterous and loud,
What's a little banter when the promise is of grazing in contented peace.

Double is their luck as the pert Egyptian geese
Act as wary Sentinels, their honks resounding loud,
Alerted by the pride of crouching lions, their countenance so proud,
Scouting for that meal for their young to feed.

A Wildebeest or two would fill those hunger pangs indeed,
Were it not for those Hyenas prowling on their scent,
To steal their hard-fought prize definitely hell bent,
Neither party cowered, neither will give
ground.

But what's a little tiff when prey does so abound,
A fragile land of bounty, God's country that's for sure,
Where every single creature finds ways to gainfully endure,
Africa in all its glory, nature’s living work of art.

I live in Moshi,Tanzania,
As a child,one day I got lost,
A maasai took me to his home.
He lived at the foothills of the majestic Mt.Kilimanjaro,
His home was a kraal (hut)
made of  stone,sticks and cow dung.
I cried for my parents,
So he fed me milk and blood from a cow,
He pierced a hole in the cow's neck,
He put a bamboo and told me to drink the blood,
It was warm but I vomited,
Gradually, I got used to it.
The maasai's  way of life is communilism,
Hunting,gathering and raiding neighbours cattle.
Theirs is an age set system for men,
The children look after the herd,
I joined them having fun,
No  school, no lessons or homework.
Then,there were the Morans,the youths,
They wore black **** cloths,
Carried a spear in one hand,
Their faces were painted with white ochre.
They protected the clan and the cattle,
From predators and other tribes.
They lived in a circle of huts called manyatta.
After being circumcised the Morans were taught the art of warfare
The bravest warrior got to wear the feathers of an ostrich.
The senior morans could marry and settle down,
The Moran who jumped the highest got the best girl.
The Laigewenanis trained the morans to be warriors,
My maasai was a laigwenani,
Like all maasais, he was tall and lean,
He wore a bright red shuka cloth with black stripes,
A red tartan blanket was slung on his shoulder,
He always held a long bladed stabbing spear,
His long hair was tightly braided,
He had ochre painted on his body,
He had no children and treated me like his son,
He would take me to teach the morans about warfare.
But,he had to take the permission of the chief, the Laibon.
The Laibons were the chief religious leaders,
They settled disputes,
They decided when and on whom to attack.
Luckily,after two months my maasai and I had gone to a game reserve for hunting,
A game warden found me.
He alerted the police and I was taken home safely.
But,I missed my maasai and their pastoral way of life.

delirious and dazed
in the silence of the beating,
artificial wind
I sit,
thinking of a beating,
artificial wind in a far away land.