Tribal Stories: Groundswell

Her fingers nimbly secured the knot around the vine and the stake. She had done so many of those knots now that it had become second nature to her. Noticing the row of crops in particular with droopy leaves, she looked up at him. Their eyes met for a brief second before he picked up the watering jug and walked in her direction.

Her heart danced as the ground beneath them began soaking up the water. Much time had passed since her arrival in the southern lands, and this had become the new normal -- their new normal. Daylight hours were spent in the vegetable patch, tilling and sowing, watering and staking, and occasionally, harvesting. Their days were busy and their lives were full, and for a moment, she wondered in awe at the way that life was now.

The southern lands were not at all as she had expected. The first days were hard as she struggled to find her place. The desert people had a way of life they were committed to, and she struggled to even learn their pigeon dialect. It was a far cry from the routines of the city where everything was polished and refined. Desert life was rugged, and everyone dug deep, and it wasn't long before she discovered joy in painstaking labour and returning home with dirt under her nails.

"You're thinking again, aren't you?"

His voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up at him as she whispered a word of thanks to the forces that brought them together. The early days at the vegetable patch felt foreign and strange, but he came along and helped her understand their work. Their pulse had been in sync right from the beginning, and it didn't take long for them to begin creating a life together.

"Just... life since the city walls... It's been a while, that's all."

He nodded and continued moving the big planters around, without saying a word. She watched from a distance as he exchanged a laugh with the farmer from the next block. Smiling, she picked up another stake and drove it into the ground. The desert chiefs had a particular way they liked the stakes to be in the ground. It frustrated her to no end that it was a long and tedious method that felt like a waste of resources, and she and he had had long conversations about better ways to work the land. The long days in the vegetable patch often ended with resignation that as long as the ways of the land remained unchanged, their hands were tied.

She thought back to her tribespeople and the last news that had came from the north. A new governance was about to descend, and there was much fear about what this could do to their way of life. Her heart ached for her tribespeople who had long held out for peace and the well-being of the people, and the possibility that the dawning of the new governance could be the undoing of everything they had worked towards. Driving the stake further and further into the ground, she thought of the numerous occasions where both she and he had similarly been witness or casualty to the decisions of a few in their times in the city walls. All the pain and hurt from the years of holding peace resurged within her.

"Any harder and that stake is going to snap."

The farmer's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. With one hand shading her eyes from the sunlight, she finally noticed that daylight was ending. Dusting off her hands, she mopped the sweat off her brows and headed for the water vessel where he and the farmer were washing up for the day.

"Don't interrupt; she's probably come up with another new way to irrigate the vegetable patch and will probably launch another monologue about the chiefs and how obstinate they are about the way things are done."

She narrowed her eyes as she flicked a few drops of water at him. He was jesting, she knew, but she was struggling to find humour in the present agony.

They washed in silence for a while, aware of the heaviness of the news from the north.

"Groundswell."

She and he exchanged a brief look before turning to the farmer. Like she and he, the farmer had his own story with chiefs and governors.

"Groundswell," the farmer said again. "The decisions of a few can very well change the way of life as the impact trickles down. But we, the ones who work the ground, we have it in us to undo the impact of those decisions. One stake at a time. One knot at a time. One seed at a time. We create our everyday for our people. That is something chiefs and governors cannot take away from us."

She and he nodded in silence. If the years since the exile had taught her anything, it was that no exile, chief or governance can take away the way of life that had been passed down from her mother and mothers, her grandmother and grandmothers, the sages and her tribespeople.

Her hands found their way to the rocks. He had put holes in them so she could put them on a rope to hang around her neck.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind."
"You shall love your neighbour as yourself."
"Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God"

As the last rays of sunlight faded for the day, she whispered words of blessing for her tribespeople in the north, and gave thanks for the wisdom from the generations. Most importantly, she gave thanks that the forces held them together.