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It was a crisp, winter morning, just like any other. But this day wasn't. This day has a twist to it. Our leader, the mighty Shaman, was preparing for battle. Warriors, firewarriors (warriors with sacks of fire in their hands), preachers and common folk were also waiting for battle. The enemy you ask was the Matak tribe. We had to move fast before they came and wiped us out!
It was precisely two declines since the height of the sun when some soldiers said their last goodbyes to loved ones that they would never see again. The Shaman made one personal and private visit to my house. My brother Orkama was a warrior - the chief warrior to be exact. He was only eighteen and deemed as the 'best warrior seen in centuries'. I wasn't there to see the old Shaman. My mother was pregnant with me.
Orkama had to arrive on the hill of Gomak overlooking the enemy tribe. They too had a Shaman. We didn't know if her powers were as strong or stronger than our Shaman. Orkama
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was going to be the first one into the camp - the one to give the signal by fire. He carried a small candle given to him by the preachers still at the temple.
As dusk descended upon us, so did Orkama. He went down the slope and into the vacant market place. All the stalls had been shut but some vegetables and fruit remained scattered on the ground, being consumed by rats, mice and stray cats. Orkama held the candle firmly and continue walking. He started to raise his hand to give the all-important signal when something caught his attention. There were three guards walking down. Due to fright, he dropped the candle. The guards came up to him and spoke. Orkama replied to them and it resulted in the guards tying him up. They bound his hands with rope and led him away. My family were distraught - so was the rest of the tribe.
Without this signal there was no beginning to the battle. Thankfully, the guards hadn't suspected him of being a spy and my family was relieved that he hadn't been killed. But the rest
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