Surely we are not monkeys, are we?

I spent most of my early memorable years in this world in Benaland; that is the western lands of the present Njombe Region. This was in the early 60s. The Benas, like most other Tanganyikans then, were still euphoric with the newly acquired independence from the British and wondering how this would conform with their chiefdoms under the then powerful Chiefs Mbeyela and Mkongwa.

Actually I was in Class One when Tanganyika became independent in 1961. My life was basically centered on the then Wangama Lutheran Church Primary School where my late father was the head teacher. Then teachers were very powerful, actually they were the de-facto village authorities.

In Benaland then, and I believe in most pre and post-colonial African societies, young men and women went to school so they could become teachers, nurses and even doctors. In the case of Benaland there was also a strong trend of youngsters wanting to become priests. Actually in the case of my father, apart from being a teacher he also conducted Sunday mass in the local church.

Notwithstanding these emerging divergent occupations, every Bena was also a farmer. And farming in Benaland was and still is a very important occupation. It goes without saying therefore that I was also initiated into the farming industry at that very early tender age. We grew maize, beans, peas, cabbages, carrots, potatoes, wheat and several other green vegetables in our five or so acres family farm near the school.

No wonder the Benas enjoyed and still enjoy abundant harvests and therefore food is no big deal. Naturally, there were festivities for this or that event almost throughout the year with the exception of the period between September and November. This was the period when every Bena’s blood pressure shot up.

We, being young, did not understand why all mature Benas would, during this period, always check on the skies and after any greeting talk about the weather – British like - and in particular express concern in the delay of that year’s advent of the rainy season. The rainy season began between September and November.

But these worries dissipated immediately the rains arrived. There was joy and laughter all over villages in Benaland. Even the Gods opened up as new offshoots of the very popular bamboo wine – ulanzi – sprouted in abundance.

This mood also got ingrained in our tiny brains. We would be seen playing football or jumping up and down in the muddy grounds under these heavy rains. We indeed loved rain. This mood however did not last long because with the advent of the rains there came – unless you were in class - the attendant task of cultivating the farms, naturally using the hand hoe.

This was an arduous task and I believe it somehow motivated a number of young Benas including this columnist to pursue formal education with gusto.

To this date, the advent of rains, and I believe this applies to all Benas and members from other agricultural regions in Bongoland, brings unprecedented joy and relief. Though, from the current news from various parts of this country, and in particular urban areas, the same is not the case.

The same rains which bring joy and happiness in Benaland bring havoc and sorrow to these communities. They sweep away roads, bridges and even residential houses all over Bongoland. Authorities are responding to these calamities by promising to strengthen and improve infrastructure and, in most urban and some rural areas, ordering owners of affected houses to relocate to higher and better grounds.

Everybody concurs to these life saving steps. But as soon as the rains stop no action is taken. The same song is repeated every year when the rains come.

A story is told of monkeys; they are rained on every year and vow to build adequate shelters to ward off these natural hazards. But do they do so. No! Come rain they are rained on to their bare bottoms. Surely we are not monkeys!