I stare at the clear blue sky, but the future is not that clear; blurred. This is the second straight year with no rain, and all the crops have dried in the fields. The usual Wednesday market day is no more, with the usual aura of the market bustling with eager farm produce sellers now confined to sheer memories. Why are the gods so angry with us? What have we done to deserve this? My only consolation is my one-acre farm densely populated with Eucalyptus trees; two more years to go before I sell them, as I was advised by my now rich neighbour. But the gods must have been angrier at me more than the other people. Years ago I had a natural spring in my piece of land which I inherited from my father, but it is now no more. Some city people who came here last month told me it was because of the Eucalyptus trees which I planted; I don’t fully believe so; I don’t know; I am totally confused! If I cut down the trees, where will I get money to feed my family and send my children to school?
The other day my son, from the city, wrote a letter saying that they too had a problem with water; that they had to queue for long hours at certain points to buy water, as their taps had run dry. Of late, I have been thinking of what will happen to the rest of my children whom I still live with. All they do is go to school three kilometres away, some days on empty stomachs; I wish they had a fun childhood like mine. My peers and I used to go for hunting in the village forest, the most fun part being setting traps for the small antelopes, but the forest is no more as the people turned to the trees as they burnt them for charcoal, all because the rains had failed on several occasions.
My heart sinks when I think of the long distance I have to trek so as to get some drinking water – the village river has dried up; I usually leave my home before sunrise and only manage to get back shortly before sunset. I do this three times a week, but now the surety of getting water is becoming more debatable. Oh what wonderful days I had when I allowed fellow villagers to freely withdraw water from my natural spring, and to even water their cattle, but that is no more now. I only have one cow left, and he is so thin that sooner than later – I constantly fear – he is going to succumb. I am now faced with a quandary: do I sell him for a pittance, or do I sacrifice him to the gods so that they remove this curse which has laden us so much.
As a last resort, everything goes for me. Oh, I almost forgot! Yesterday, some well dressed people from the city called a village meeting, presided over by the village elder, and talked about a project they were bringing whereby they would pay us to take care of trees. This was godsend for us, and now the gods may have started listening to us; but they singled a few of us who had planted eucalyptus and said that they could not pay us for planting and maintaining these trees, only those that they would give us. Ah! What do I do now? Once again the gods have singled me out for punishment; can someone please tell me what to do? Oh, hug a tree!