Makoye and the Tree

Makoye lay down on the parched dusty ground. Face down. Earlier he
had made a bedding from some large fallen leaves in the midst of the
tree shade. At least the dust would not get into his ears, and his
white cotton school shirt only slightly stained with the day's sweat,
would last for tomorrow. The leaves felt cool against his face as he
settled down with a sigh. He had some time before his shade would creep
away and leave him exposed in the afternoon sun.

His belly mumbled with midday hunger.. he rubbed and kneaded it with
his hands.. his mouth salivating at the thought of the sating thick
ugali and meat stew.. still that was at least two hours away.. an age..
and he pressed his midriff harder against the ground to dull the ache
growing within.

From his side vantage, facing the tree trunk, he rolled his pupils
around. There just a few inches from his nose was a red soldier ant,
with magnificent oversized jaws, waving its antennas at him. He stifled
the urge to flinch. It was now moving away. Without shifting his head
he followed its obstacle filled journey towards the gnarled tree trunk,
hoping he was not in the path of its friends.. but too lazy to
check.

He scanned across, taking in the detailed sights and sounds stretching
to his familiar tree trunk and beyond into the bush. He was alone here,
under his tree, doing what he loved doing best. Watching and listening
intently as little creature stories unfolded.. birds, insects and small
mammals going about their daily adventures. He followed the spiralling
path of leaves as they surfed rising air currents before being drawn to
the ground. He watched the dappled tree shadow dance into new patterns
as now and then a slight breeze rattled the leaves. This was new he
thought.. as he noticed little swirls of dust arise from the ground and
chase each other in little smoky games..

It had been so hot, so dry, so dusty for so long and now here, at last,
was a sign. A small one at least, little winds, that bode the long
awaited rains. His mind wandered to the arrival of the first rains..
his favourite time of year.. the first few heavy droplets falling onto
the parched earth, raising plumes of dust in little mushroom
explosions. The glorious healthy, earthy damp smell that that rose up
to meet dry nostrils.. then followed by unrelenting torrents of water
dropping down from the sky. Little rivulets forming crevices everywhere
and scarring the previously unmarked drylands, and Makoye, drenched to
the skin running around feeling fresh, clean and reborn, joining the
dogs, goats and chickens in their frenzied rain dance. The
transformation of pale dusty plains to a rich dark fertile earth
struggling to contain the abundance of life giving water, that
surprised and delighted every time, would be complete.

Like he had done so many times in this spot, after school and before
lunch, Makoye drifted off into a hot, hazy, deep and dream laden sleep.
This time was to be different though. The dust first settled on his
mildly sweating scalp.. in between the little black curls of his hair..
over hours.. then over days.. he became pale as the dust and
indistinguishable from his surroundings. Insects found a new permanent
obstacle on their meandering paths.

When his mama got back from the market that afternoon, her head
delicately laden with her heavy unsold produce, there was no Makoye to
grip her around her ample midriff. No Makoye to tug at her brightly
patterned kanga, dragging her towards the cooking pot. No Makoye to
gently chide as she struggled to maintain her poise, her balance and
her basket of plantains with little recovery dance steps.

At meal time, the extra large potion of ugali and fish stew she had set
aside for Makoye lay uneaten. Grudgingly, later on in the day, she let
the rest of her brood polish off the communal steel dish mirror clean.
She caught a fleeting reflection and was surprised to notice the extent
of the gloom now pervading her features.

Over the days the gloom thickened and spread through neigbours and
village. The scattered animals that were as much a part of the village
life as the humans sensed something amiss, indeed the presence of the
little human who made their life so frenzied and hectic. They settled
into an animal apathy, which lasted for weeks.

The end of that week the air was permeated with pitiful wailing in the
tradition of the women of the village. The women vented their lungs in
the hut.. outside the men silently pawed the dirt with their feet,
spat, and drunk themselves into a stupor on the potent local
brew.

Frantic searches by the villagers had yielded nothing. The children's
local haunts, the fast flowing parts of the river, the close bush and
the hills were searched in a growing desperation. Rumours abounded and
were investigated by the elders.... there was a suspicion of black
witchcraft, and tales of sightings of hyenas and other wild animals
down from the hills. There were lots of reasons after all for a little
boy to disappear in the bush.

Makoyes body was never found.

The rains came and went. With every season Makoye's remains seeped
further into the ground. What was a gentle caress of the earth turned
into a white and clawing urgency to disappear from view. And gradually
he did, over the decades, leaving only a slightly raised mound where he
once lay.

In subsequent seasons the centuries old tree had a new lease of life.
It blossomed again after many barren years and its leaves took on that
deep lush green sheen that comes from an abundance of life giving
spirit. Makoye had become a part of the tree, the grass, the insects
and animals he had so loved. Yes, even the wind and the rains.