Prologue
Kigali knelt down in the gray and rainy twilight, sinking his knee into the mud. The iron smell of blood mingled with the moist air, and his labored breathing was lost in the raindrops. His traditional garments, once glitzy and proud, were now torn and dirty. The decorations, once abundant, hung there faded and lifeless. He was surrounded by chaos. His wounded and dying men were screaming, their pain echoing in the battlefield. Swords clashed, and the ground was dyed red. The warrior clutched his sword, his fingers numb with cold and fatigue. His vision was blurred, but determination still burned in his eyes.
He had not expected this kind of an ending. He had dreamed of returning triumphant to his village, to be welcomed as a hero. But now, his strength was deserting him, and hope crumbled like the walls of a besieged castle.
His men, comrades in so many battles, were falling one after the other. Their lives would be extinguished, and he could do nothing to save them. The rain, relentless, was washing away their blood, and the ground turned into a field of mud and death.
But his warrior’s mind clung to a thread of sheer will. He could not surrender, he would not give up. His people, his family, depended on him. He still had resources, even though they seemed to have been used up. Anger and despair mingled within him, fanning a tenacious flame.
Kigali clung to the last thread of hope. With his eyes closed, he plunged into his deepest self, searching for resources that seemed to have vanished. His ancestors, silent and powerful spirits, had witnessed countless battles. He summoned them, begging for their guidance.
Suddenly, the rain ceased, the wind subsided. The battlefield, once an inferno of shouting and swords, was wrapped in an unreal silence. Kigali felt transported to another dimension, where time and space bowed to the laws of the soul.
He was surrounded by a warm and enveloping presence, as though the earth itself offered him its energy. His wounds, cuts and bruises pulsed with life. His sword, now light as a thought, shone with an ancient light.
Kigali opened his eyes. His vision, sharp as ever, scanned the enemy. His movements, fluid and precise, seemed guided by unseen forces. His heart, a war drum, beat to the rhythm of an ancestral melody.
Surprised, the enemies faltered. Kigali confronted them with a kind of ferocity he did not know. Their swords fell, one after another. His own blood and that of his enemies mingled with the mud. His voice, a cry of vengeance and redemption, echoed through the clouds.
The battle, now a deadly dance, wore on. Kigali moved like lightning, cutting, parrying, striking. His men, those who were left, followed him. Their confidence, now renewed, poured into each stroke.
At one point, the gray sky split open, and a ray of sunshine cut through the darkness.
Kigali, sword in hand, found himself surrounded by enemies. Their armor glittered, and their fiery eyes stared at him. It was the crucial moment, the point of no return.
A mammoth warrior in black armor hurled himself at Kigali. His weapon, a two-pronged spear, sliced through the air with superhuman strength. Kigali bent backward, feeling the wind of the blade graze his face. But Kigali was not alone. His men, those who were still standing, hurled themselves against the giant. Though their swords were small compared to the enemy’s huge spear, they struck together. The clangor of metal echoed, and the giant faltered.
Kigali rose again. His sword, light as a thought, hurled itself at the enemy. The blows, fast and accurate, sought the cracks in the enemy’s armor. The giant, surprised, tried to parry, but Kigali was faster and his blade, like lightning, crept into the armor. Black as the night, the giant’s blood gushed out and he screamed a beastly sound, then fell. His spear, now useless, stuck in the ground.
Kigali turned around. His men, their eyes burning with vengeance, had freed themselves from the enemies.
The battlefield, once an inferno, was now a sea of bodies. The victory, bitter and at a high cost, was theirs. The enemy, now routed, fled. Kigali pursued them, his sword a relentless scythe. Though bittersweet, victory was his. Invisible yet present, the ancestors had responded to his summons.
And so, under the cleared sky, Kigali stood as a hero. His name, now engraved in history, would be sung by musicians and storytellers for generations. His soul, intertwined with that of his ancestors, would continue to fight, even beyond death.
“This song celebrates the heroic feat of the valiant warrior Kigali, known as the savior of the village and the hero of the people. Through his extraordinary daring and dedication to duty, Kigali protected the village from outside threats, emerging as a beacon of hope and courage for the community. This song commemorates his sacrifices, his loyalty and his indomitable spirit, which will forever remain engraved in the memory of our people.”
Silently, in the deep of night,
Between the starry sky and stray clouds,
An ancient, rich and fruitful land is born,
Under protection of ancestors, always shining.
Brave spirits, protectors of life,
In the darkness weaving dreams of infinite light.
A new day rises, dancing the dance
a promise of hope, in the hearts of lovers.
Pure innocence in the children’s smile,
Unhesitant and unrepentant, the warrior finds courage, world’s
The village will be defended, with strength and dedication,
The village will be saved, with love and passion.
In the land of the ancestors,
deep roots,
Now and forever,
Beyond the world’s horizons.
Oh, land of the ancestors, under a sky so great,
Your children walk together, hand in hand.
Oh land of the ancestors, with undeterred courage,
Protect our dreams, today and tomorrow, forever.
The moon keeps silent vigil, eternal guardian
Of the golden fields, under his native light.
Lovers whisper promises, under its brotherly light,
And the children sleep peacefully in her maternal embrace.
The warrior, under the stars, renews his oath,
To protect the village with its every movement.
And when the sunrise colors the sky pink and orange,
He knows that like an ancient spell his mission is sacred.
Oh land of the ancestors, under a sky so great,
Your children walk together, hand in hand.
Oh land of the ancestors, with undeterred courage,
Protect our dreams, today and tomorrow, forever.
And so, in the eternal cycle, between day and night,
The ancient earth lives, breathes and renews itself.
Protected by the ancestors with their indomitable strength,
The story continues, a melody never to be found.
Now it’s forever, in the hearts of those who love,
In the smile of children, in the strength of the soul.
The village shall be defended, the village shall be saved,
In the land of the ancestors, now and for eternity.
Oh land of the ancestors, under a sky so great,
Your children walk together, hand in hand.
Oh land of the ancestors, with undeterred courage,
Protect our dreams, today and tomorrow as well .
Born in Camerun, Gaius Tsaamo (Josias Gaius Tsaamo Momo) has been living in Italy since 2008. He has written numerous articles for La macchina sognante, has contributed to many poetry anthologies and in 2015, with Qudu edizioni, published his first novel in Italian, Maya e il mondo degli spiriti (Maya and the world of the spirits).
