Beneath the Grey Skies of Msinja

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In the rain-drenched woods of Msinja, beneath skies gone grey as ash, the two stood opposed: Mlauli, whose years hung heavy upon him like a wet cloak, and M’bona, the pupil whose name was yet young upon the wind.

Then M’bona raised the Malawi, the sacred flame that bound them together, and lo, the very earth did tremble and groan as if waking from a deep slumber. The heavens cracked asunder, and thunder spoke with a voice that had never before been heard in the memory of men. Lightning carved the clouds like the swords of forgotten gods.

A gasp fled from the throats of those who watched, huddled beneath the trees. And the rain that fell upon them was not as rain they had known; it came down as a hail of tiny stones, sharp and cold against their skin, each drop a dagger’s kiss.

They fled then, each man to his own hearth, knowing in their bones what had passed: The spirit of the rain had slipped from the old man’s grasp, and had found a home in the youth.

But this was not the end. This was but the first breath of a greater tale yet to be told.

Written by

Shadreck Chikoti

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