It’s summer time yet again, the sun is glowing vivaciously, creating giant shadows all over,
The land is dry, you can feel the echo of your steps running away through the rocky vegetation,
The plains are so quiet, no hissing of snakes nor howling of jackals whatsoever,
With a gourd of swamp water swinging on my hip line, i sink into the world of imagination,

Born in a clan of pastoralists, a sharp sword coated with animal skin was mandatory,
It was a weapon of protection against fierce flesh eating members of the cat family,
Despite the calmness around, the cows are aware we are cruising in a perilous territory!
Alone in the jungle encircled by blood suckers everywhere, i had to study the land geographically,

I am barely sixteen summers old, but to my society i can bravely own the title of a warrior,
Having successfully driven the voluminous herd of cattle to the Mamba river severally,
My name was repeatedly uttered in the council of elders, among the community’s most superior,
I owned the title of the most potent young moran ever, raising the eyebrows of the village elders emphatically,