Dating : The Advent Of War.

The soldiers had assembled in their body armor. Spears were set, swords drawn to tear through the toughest of skins. This was not a war they planned to lose. He stood on the mountain top and looked at those he was to lead to slaughter their own. It was not a glance that brought joy and pride to his heart. Seeing their colors arranged in a prepared and strong manner did not give him the boldness he usually felt when he looked at it for this was not a war they planned and neither was it one they were looking forward to. How had this happened?

Wars have been fought before. After all, it is one of the bed rocks of man and what feeds his ego while adding to his plate of conquests. But, what made this one different? These people they were going to war against were once upon a time their brothers.

Once upon a time, these villages exchanged wives, food and festivals. Excursions were carried out between both villages. Their kings had grown as brothers, their chief priests trained under the same spiritual head but, something changed. Someone got greedy. Their gate keeper; the gods they called Kajelo required a virgin, not just any virgin; the virgin with snow as hair and eyes that showed the colors of the Aiya Sea. The gods wanted the daughter of the priest! That was unheard of; no one ever dared to eye the property of the priest, not even the King but the gate keeper had asked and what the Gate keeper wants, the Gate keeper gets.

But the Priest; Condala said NO! Not this time! Not my precious! He spent nights plowing the short length of his shrine; thinking what he could do and how he could save his only child, his gold, his glory for that she was to him. So, he decided to steal from his brother tribe. He came in the day like he came to seek for oil but at night, he took the Priest’s daughter and before sunrise the next day, offered her to Kajelo as his sacrifice. The Mbati village woke up to hear wails! Kandidah; The Priest was mad! No one! Not even the dead stole from him. Questions were asked. The gods knew that giving the answer the people sought would mean the end of the peace and brotherhood that these two tribes had so they refused, but the people held their legs with sacrifices and vigils till in sorrow, they whispered one name: Condala. There was no argument, they were going to war.

Aanahil stole a glance at his army again and in sadness, he Looked up to the heavens and prayed:

“Jabon, please give me the right words to send your children away with”

As he drew closer to them, their chatter and noisy goodbyes were silenced. They knew the hour had come. The General always went up the mountain before every match out to war. He knew some soldiers speculated that it was to draw strength from his late wife. To others, it did not matter because he always came down ready to lead them to war and this time was no different. Aanahil looking at them said:

“Once upon a time, my father told me of the enemies that came centuries ago, who catered away our gold and art. They divided us, sold, bought and dehumanized us. By their actions they insulted and belittled us. These enemies leave beyond in the other world; long forgotten for some of us, strangers so we can overlook their actions. But the enemies we go against today are not strangers; they were our blood once upon a time. We bathed in the same rivers as children, ate form the same pot for years and received the same training. Nothing warned us of the advent of this war. These people no longer call us brothers and neither will they see us as such on the battle field. Neither should you. When you see the brother you gossiped with in your teens, don’t let emotions ruin you. Remember why you are on that field. These people have insulted us, used the blood of one of us to paint their hamlet walls and such jest never goes unanswered. We fight not just for our today but tomorrow, for our descendants that come after us. The victory we will come home with will secure our people and lands for centuries to come. Don’t just fight for vengeance or Mbati, fight for the loved ones you leave behind tonight and for the ones you see in your future. War is not new to us and this one should be treated no differently. May the gods sing through our weapons and remind our enemies of who we are: the Mbati tribe.

The speech was done but this was the part he was dreading the most.

“Papa! Papa! Would you come back to me, always? Like you promised?” His Six year old Son asked him with so much faith in his eyes.

“Yes, I will always come back to you and even if I don’t in flesh, I will always be with you in spirit” his replied.

“No Papa. Mama is the spirit parent. You get to be the one in flesh, remember you promised so” the look of faith has been replaced by terror and fear. Hugging him to strengthen not just his six year old but himself as well, he said “Stay Strong, my boy”.

Releasing him back to his caretaker, he screamed at his loudest voice “Fall in!”

In silence, they marched off. For once, no one had a hand in how this war will end, for the gods had refused to pick a side, but he knew for certain that very soon, Somewhere in deep unknown African, blood will flow into the earth and disappear, lineages will end and some children will not grow up with their parents. But in that same unknown somewhere, a message will be passed across and will become part of the Mbati people’s history:

“Even in death, we always protect our own”