Gumboli Village, Uganda
Kamukama Bonsu knelt on the damp ground and straightened
the crude wooden cross at the head of his best friend's
grave. Marco Messina had died two weeks ago. Kamukama's
nostrils twitched at the damp earthy odours that floated on
the early morning air. His breathing slowed, as sweat from
the effort of his run, trickled down the sides of his face
and dripped off his chin. The run helped him forget the
broiling in the pit of his stomach.
If only he'd kept a closer watch on Marco, reminding him
to take his medication whenever it was due, instead of
accepting Marco's casual waving of the arm dismissing him
as if it was of no importance. It wasn't until Marco was
bed–ridden, and Achen had kept a close watch on his
regimen, that he felt he had some control of Marco's
health, but by then it had been too late. Marco had lost
the will to live, and who could blame him? There was only
so much a man could take.
Insects buzzed around his face. ‘I miss you, man.
There's a hole deep inside of me I don't like.' His voice
became a forced whisper because his pain was too great.
Hot tears stung the backs of his eyes. Kamukama picked
up a pebble and threw it against a tree trunk where it hit
with a dull thunk.
‘You're sister hasn't come yet, Marco. You said she'd
come. Maybe she didn't get the letter...'
Kamukama swallowed and stared at his trembling hands,
another habit formed during the past couple of days because
he was alone as leader of Gumboli now. He was brough up to
be a leader of a Ugandan village and now he had the
opportuntiy to prove himself he wasn't sure he was the man
for the job. His first challenge was how to preserve the
excess food they produced. Dought would come again in the
future and they needed to be prepared by having money or
stores of grain to get them through bad times again.
He stood up to his full one hundred and
ninety–five centimetres. Yes, he was fit and strong,
but he needed more than physical strength. Marco wanted to
raise a team to build a better Gumboli with a modern
hospital, food surplus and safety for the people. They'd
begun to build the team, but now that Marco was gone, the
men had lost interest and were returning to their old ways
of idleness and expecting hand–outs. No time for
negativity. He had to push on and honour Marco's wishes.
As a child, he was told not to worry about tomorrow,
because he had to deal with today first. He never really
understood the meaning of those words until two days ago,
when people came to him seeking answers for their and
Gumboli's future. Only time would tell if he was the one
called to lead Gumboli into the twenty–first century