A dry whistling wind sweeps across the land of Silanga village, a few miles away from the local railway station,
Threatening to scoop away our grass-thatched roofs, but within a fraction of a second it whirls away,
It’s been half a year since we saw rain, once again famine dominates our mother land,
You can hear the steps of a desperate hunter stepping on dry crunchy leaves from a distance far away in the woods,

Rays of an angry morning sun smothers upon the sandy valleys,
Monitor lizards, squirrels and lizards are hibernating, the leafless trees offer a better resting environment,
I can hear a cluster of ageing men murmuring about the worsening situation as they trail along the dusty village road,
One of them proposes that they should slaughter a youthful white lamb as a sacrifice to the angry gods,

In a unison way they all agree on the same, the event is scheduled to commence after two working days,
As I contemplate upon the words of the old men, something hits up my mind,
I sit down under a baobab tree that rests squarely on our garden, it is the only tree that has it’s leaves intact,
It’s enormous roots penetrate through the brown clay soil in an aggressive manner,

I look at everything around me, for sure there’s nothing to smile about!
Fumes of a boiling land can be seen at the furthest end of the rural habitat,
A small dark cloud covers the sun in a manner to prevent the wrath of the red-hot star,
That’s the moment I realize that the world is full of pain, tribulations and misfortunes, truly, the world is not our home!!!