BANA BILAKA by Milo IBATA

The sun rose over the savannah, spreading its golden light across the vast and rolling grasslands of Africa. The animals began to stir, the few lions that remained stretching and roaring feebly, while the gazelles not one to be seen, the elephants trumpeting and swaying their great trunks in rage. But one figure remained still, a solitary figure on the horizon, his long, wild hair blowing in the wind.

Abiya was sleeping dreaming of the usual dance of clouds in the sky, usually noise could be heard across the street of the village, kids were playing with toys made of wasted cans, young adult males were drinking some palm wine which gave them the courage to face the day ahead. Later they would go beat their fields or hunt while the women remained behind taking care of the children and the elderly. The people there lived hard lives, struggling to eke out a living in a land that was unforgiving and harsh. Drought was a constant threat, and hunger never far away. Many of the villagers spent their days tending to their fields, trying to coax a harvest from the barren soil.

As the sun was rising over the small African village, the young girl of nine, woke up from her sleep. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms, feeling the cool morning air rush into her lungs. As she looked out the window of her hut, she saw two men walking by slowly, deep in conversation and almost whispering so no one could hear. Their names were Kofi and Bisi, and they were two of the village's hunters. Abiya was listening to the two villagers, Kofi and Bisi, who now sat outside their huts, discussing the events of the day.

"Have you heard the rumors?" Kofi asked, his voice low and serious. "They say that the mad man, the one they call the Insanity, is coming to speak here today."

Bisi nodded, his expression grave. "I've heard the whispers too. They say he brings a message of madness and deliverance, that he promises to save us from the troubles that have befallen our village."

Kofi sighed and leaned back against his hut. "I don't know what to believe. Some say he's a prophet, sent by the gods to guide us. Others say he's a madman, a danger to our community."

Bisi shook her head. "We've faced so much hardship lately. The rains hasn't come, the crops have withered, and the game has grown scarce. People are desperate for a solution, for someone to save us."

Kofi nodded. "That's true. But still, I can't help but wonder, what if this mad man is just making things worse? What if he's stirring up trouble where there was none?"

Bisi sighed. "I don't know, Kofi. But I do know that we'll find out soon enough. The mad man is due to arrive any minute now."

The two villagers fell silent, lost in their own thoughts, as they waited for the arrival of the mad prophet.

With her curly hair and wide, curious eyes. Abiya was always eager to learn and explore the world around her. Has she heard the voices of the two grown-ups talking, curious, she crept closer, trying to listen in on their conversation. She could hear snippets of their words, but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying further as they were walking pass the window of the hut. She frowned, straining her ears to hear better. Suddenly, she heard a mention of the Mad Prophet, and her heart started racing. She had heard whispers about the Mad Prophet before, of course. Everyone in the village knew about him. They said he was a wild man, a madman who wandered the savannah, preaching about the end of the world. Some people feared him, others saw him as a sign from the gods. But Abiya had never seen him for herself.

Abiya's curiosity was piqued. She had to go outside to hear everything. She leaned closer, trying to listen harder. Suddenly, Kofi caught sight of her, and she sprang back, embarrassed to have been caught.

"Why are you spying on us, little one?" Kofi asked, his voice kind but firm. "You shouldn't be listening to grown-up's conversations."

Abiya hung her head, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Ya Kofi," she said. "I just wanted to know what you were talking about."

Kofi chuckled. "Well, you're lucky I don't mind telling you," he said. "We were talking about the Mad Prophet. He's coming to the village today to give another of his speeches." Abiya's eyes widened. "Really? I've never seen him before!" Kofi nodded. "Yes, he's quite the talk of the village. People are both fascinated and frightened by him."

Abiya was eager to see the Mad Prophet for herself so she asked Kofi if she could come to the speech. Kofi agreed, and she scampered off, excited to see what all the fuss was about.

The hunters of the village found it increasingly difficult to find food as each day passed. The once fertile savannahs were slowly turning into barren lands, and the animals were becoming scarcer and scarcer. The lions were hunted to near extinction, the gazelles grew fewer and fewer, and the elephants were nowhere to be seen.

The villagers relied on the hunters for food, and as their numbers dwindled, so did the hope of the people. One hunter tried his best to provide for them, venturing deeper into the wilderness, braving the scorching sun and the unrelenting wind, but to no avail. The land was barren, and there was nothing left to be caught.

And yet, he persisted, driven by a force greater than himself. For he knew that if he were to give up, the villagers would have no hope left, no food to sustain them, no future to look forward to. So he would rise with the sun each day determined to bring back what he could. And as he walked, he would whisper a prayer to the land, asking for its forgiveness, promising to protect it, to care for it, to nurture it back to health. For the hunter knew that the land was not just a source of food, but a source of life, of hope, of deliverance. And as long as he had breath in his body, he would not give up on it, or on the people who relied on him.

There was a wild and unkempt man, with hair like tangled weeds and eyes that gleamed with an inner light. He carried a large, battered trunk, and wherever he went, he preached his message of madness and deliverance.

He was a black man, born in the heart of Africa, where the sun beat down upon the scorched earth and the wind whispered secrets through the grass. From a young age, he had felt a sense of restlessness, a yearning for something greater that he could not quite define.And so, he had set out into the world, wandering from village to village, from city to city, seeking answers to the questions that plagued him. He preached to anyone who would listen, speaking of the madness that lay within the human heart, and how only by embracing that madness could one find true liberation.

At first, few paid him heed. But as he travelled further and further, his message began to spread, and soon he had followers from all walks of life, from all corners of the world. They were drawn to him by his charisma, his passion, and the strange wisdom that seemed to flow from him like a river.

As he walked, he closed his eyes, his mind reaching out to the spirits of the savannah, seeking their guidance and wisdom and he felt the spirits answer. A sense of calm and comfort washed over him. He opened his eyes and continued on, the sun setting behind him, his steps carrying him towards his destiny.

Bisi sat on a rock outside his hut, staring at the sun as it slowly dipped below the horizon. He was lost in thought, thinking about the upcoming speech of the Mad Prophet. Bisi was a hunter, he saw the villagers growing more and more desperate with each passing day. His father approached him, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Bisi, what troubles you?" His father asked.

Bisi sighed. "It's this mad man, this Mad Prophet. He comes to our village, promising deliverance, promising to solve our problems. But how can he do that? How can one man change the world?"

His father nodded, understanding Bisi's concerns. "I know, my son. But there is something different about him, something that draws people to him. Perhaps it is the hope he brings, the hope that things will get better."

Bisi shook his head. "Hope is not enough. We need food, we need water, we need shelter. How can this Mad Prophet provide these things?"

"Maybe he can't," his father admitted. "But what if he can? What if he is the answer we have been searching for? What if he can bring the change we so desperately need?"

Bisi thought about it for a moment, then looked back at his father. "I don't know, Tata. All I know is that life is hard, and it's getting harder every day. Maybe this Mad Prophet is the answer, maybe he isn't. All I know is that I have to be there tonight, to hear what he has to say."

Abiya was only 9 years old but she had a rich imagination. She would spent much of her days lost in her thoughts, daydreaming about all sorts of things, her thoughts lost in a world of possibility. Ever since she was a young girl, she had dreamed of a life that was more than the one she lived now. A life filled with adventure and excitement, where she could explore the world and discover its secrets.

Outside her hut was on old woman named Nana sitting her eyes closed in contemplation when she got stirred by the voice of the young girl ‘’Good morning, Nana," Abiya said, greeting her.

Nana opened her eyes and smiled at her. "Good morning, Abiya. What troubles you this fine day?"

Abiya sighed. "I was just thinking about my future. I don't want to be like everyone else in this village. I want to do something special, something that will make a difference."

Nana nodded understandingly. "We all have dreams, Abiya. What is it that you would like to do?"

"I want to be a doctor," Abiya replied without hesitation. "I want to heal people and help make their lives better. I want to travel to different countries and learn about their medicine, so I can bring back new techniques to our village."

Nana smiled. "That's a noble goal, Abiya. But it won't be easy. It will take a lot of hard work and determination to achieve."

Abiya's eyes shone with excitement. "I know, Mama Nana. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I want to make a difference in this world."

Nana reached out and took her hand. "I believe in you, Abiya. You have a kind heart and a strong spirit. I know you will do great things."

In the village, the children dreamed of growing up to be many things - but most of all, they dreamed of being doctors. It was a common aspiration, one that was shared by many in their impoverished community. For these children, the idea of being a doctor represented hope and a way out of the difficult lives they lived.

They saw the doctors who visited their village, bringing with them medicines and hope, which inspired them. These doctors, with their crisp white coats and kind smiles, seemed to be powerful figures, able to cure all ailments and bring comfort to the sick. To the children, they were like heroes and in their turn they dreamed of being able to bring the same kind of help to their own village one day.

For the parents of these children, the idea of their sons and daughters becoming doctors was a source of pride and a glimmer of hope in an otherwise difficult existence. They saw the possibilities that could come from having a doctor in the family - better access to medical care, improved prospects for the future. And so they encouraged their children to aim for this goal, even as they knew the odds were against them.

But despite the obstacles in their way, the children held onto their dreams, imagining a brighter future for themselves and their village. They saw the mad prophet's speeches as a sign of change, a harbinger of better times to come and they will listen to him with rapt attention, hopeful that one day they might find a path to the future they dreamed of. And in this way, the aspiration to be a doctor, in the midst of poverty and hardship, became a symbol of hope, a dream that would sustain the children through the trials of life in the village.

Bisi walked, his eyes fixed on the horizon as he tried to find a glimpse of the falling sun peeking through the trees. He was looking forward to spending some time in solitude before the arrival of the mad prophet.

As he walked he saw a figure in the distance, a man dressed in ragged clothes, with a wild beard, and a staff in his hand carrying a large, battered trunk. Bisi was curious, but he didn't feel scared, so he approached the man.

"Good morning, sir," Bisi said, as he came closer. "Can I help you with anything?"

The man looked up, and Bisi saw that his eyes were filled with a strange light, like he was looking beyond this world. "I am looking for a place to rest," the man replied, his voice surprisingly soft and melodic.

Bisi offered to escort the man to his village, and the man accepted. As they walked, Bisi couldn't help but feel drawn to the man's presence. They spoke about many things, about the village, about life, about the future. Bisi felt like he was in the presence of a wise sage, a wise man with a wealth of knowledge to share.

"What is it that you value most in this world?" the man asked.

"My daughter," Bisi answered without hesitation. "She was my everything."

He had lost his daughter years ago, and since then, he had felt adrift, like he was searching for something he would never find. He had never truly healed from the loss, and it weighed heavily on his mind every day.

The man nodded thoughtfully. "And what if I were to tell you that you're looking at the world in the wrong way? What if I were to say that what you value the most is not what's most important?"

When they arrived in the village, Bisi offered the man a place to stay and some food, but the man declined, saying he preferred to be alone. Bisi was disappointed, but he understood. He was just happy to have met the man and to have learned from him.

The man walked away from Bisi who couldn't shake the feeling that he had just met someone special, someone who would change his life forever. The man looked up at the sky, which was beginning to turn a brilliant shade of orange and pink as the sun set. "It's time for my speech," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

Bisi stood on the outskirts of the gathered crowd, still in deep thought from his conversation with the mysterious stranger. He didn't know how much time had passed, but before he knew it, the stranger was gone, vanished into the night.

Bisi felt a weight in his pocket and reached in to find a small stone, smooth to the touch and warm in his hand. The stranger had left it for him, he realized, without a word or explanation. Bisi turned the stone over in his hand, wondering what significance it held.

As the sun reached its nadir, more villagers of the small African hamlet ceased their daily tasks and made their way towards the central clearing, where the Mad Prophet was set to deliver his speech.

The rumors of his strange, otherworldly messages had been spreading for weeks, and everyone was eager to hear what he had to say. Kofi, who had lived in the village for as long as anyone could remember, looked on as the people began to gather. He had seen many things in his long life, but he couldn't remember ever seeing anything like this. The normally bustling street was empty, and the only sound that could be heard was the rustling of the grass as the villagers made their way towards the central clearing.

As the villagers gathered, Bisi caught sight of Abiya, her eyes bright with excitement as she eagerly anticipated the arrival of the Mad Prophet. Bisi felt a pang in his heart and remembered his conversation with the stranger. Abiya was what he valued the most, he realized. She was the reason he woke up each day, the reason he worked so hard, she reminded him of the daughter he lost.

Bisi thought of the man he met, tears welling in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for reminding me of what is truly important.’’ Bisi thought to himself ‘’ End your mourning, focus on those who are alive’’

The air was thick with anticipation as the villagers of the small African village gathered in the clearing. Torches lit the way, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the men, women, and children that had gathered to hear the mad prophet speak. The night was still and quiet, save for the distant hoot of an owl and the rustling of leaves as the villagers remained standing gazing at the center of the circle.

In the front row sat Kofi, a proud hunter and the leader of the village. His eyes were fixed on the path that the mad prophet would soon walk, a glimmer of hope in his heart that the man's words would bring a change to their struggling community.

Beside Kofi sat Abiya, a young girl of 9 with big dreams of one day becoming a doctor. Her eyes were wide with excitement, she had heard stories of the mad prophet's speeches, and was eager to hear what he had to say.

Next to Abiya sat her aunt and uncle, both of whom had lost their jobs due to the struggling economy of the village. They held hands tightly, their fingers interlocking in a symbol of strength and hope.

The mad prophet appeared suddenly, walking out of the darkness and into the light of the torches. The villagers fell silent as he approached the makeshift stage, his eyes scanning the crowd. He stood tall and regal, his voice ringing out as he began to speak.

He raised his arms to the sky, and the crowd fell silent, as if waiting for a divine revelation.

Credits: Milo IBATA, LAGRACE and my virtual assistant.