The Pride

In Sankandi the pride of the jungle gathered animals both small and great in their colours of representation. The Hummingbird trickery and lively, the African Antelope bearing brave flags as region after region, the North West Wolves were driven from their position of power. Now Sankandi was the dent of the Kingdom on the river bank with lions spawning wide in its thick jungle fields and pigs roaming free. The White Antelope born along the tide of the river bank, in the Island on the largest administrative district had been crowned King after it learned the tongue of polished animals whose wilderness sprouted of the treasures of Sankandi and its neighbouring Kingdoms.

When the White Antelope had attained power, the Stag Queen reigned over a wealth of nations backed by wolves of equal stray whose views had kept stagnant the female animals until they fought back and made their claim to the right of Liberty, gender equity and equality, of decent work and equal pay. So when flags were raised in Sankandi of the kingdom colours, earth, sky and sea, Sankandi became an independent Kingdom. However the White Antelope overstayed and the Pride of the Jungle thieves and rebels who swore an oath to ensure the protection of the Kingdom broke a pride of lions. And so a mess began and the white Antelop whose native tongue was common in Kerr Musa, sort out help and a nation built of collaborative principles, justice and independence for a once colonized state. But Kerr Musa had a master of its own, still clued to its captors. And in the order of all Independent Kingdoms, the continent had learnt the tongue of captors. That in the matter of military negotiation and aid, a Kingdom had to protect its interest on another Kingdom.

The Pride had been dismantled once, yet in its bicker a treason of once founded reason encroached stealing a crown from a King and words from a nation. So Sankandi, the White Harlem, a gem of lion became King. And his was the rule of equal glory and doom.

Isidore was an animal of colour, a white stag, a black kangaroo, and a genie of insecurities. And so he bellowed in primal astonishment threating a nation to a democratic stagnation where even lions and elephants hid in their dens for fear of execution. Isidore had made once the pride of independence,  a shamble and shark of injustice. And even when the internet came and the Willy Willy heroes declared the animal right to life and property, Isidore became a black stag, and so each educated animal, pengiums and turle doves, became a trained puppet in his council.

But the black stag was an animal of colour and splendour, he built narrow raods and gave rice to the animal clans choosing his favourite. He sent their children to school unwatched drawing them out on days he trolled the land sprawling the baobab fruit unto them as they sang his hymnal songs. Yet he kept their parents on a windmill of fear. But the Bakoto Giraff challenged him every election cycle and he never won. However, it was the Pellican bird who had the wisdom all along but he was just a Pellican bird without numbers of his tribe, he stood no chance.

When the Bakoto Giraffe was shacked in the treason court and the vision came to him with many others, that clans big and small of all animals, those strayed, and those without backbones included must all unite to dethrone the black stag, the black kangoro, or whatever animal skin he now wore. The Bakoto Giraffe supported by many named the wealking of the Chameleon as commotion officer instead of the Pellican bird, and so the Pride said, feed in justice and democratic vision, they narrated the stories of the Driving Bus.

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The piles of sand glitters on the road

Leading to our different homes

The rains have come again

And Oh the roads are flooded

Running in mad red sand

Looking for a face to paint

All of us, homes and things we own

The waters running into our homes

We are on the streets again

Scrambling for dry ground

There is a bus stuck on the road

Mud red and clueless

The driver is waiting it out

Stuck in his own mind

Hoping to get us a lead

And when we approached

Fettered to our modern realities

He had assured us

He’ll drive us to solid ground

Come in he says

I’ll be worth the ride

The passengers  hurl in

The ones at the front are 

seated crossed leg

The waters not splashing in

On them

The passengers at the back

Are screaming in discomfort

The waters tailing their faces

Making a frown of wet tears

Where smiles once resided