Mkuki na Nyota Publishers Ltd
Nyerere Road, Quality Plaza Building
P. O. Box 4246
Dar es Salaam, Tanzania
© Lisa Walker & Adrian Coyne, 2012
Illutrations by Cloud Chatanda
First Edition 2012
eISBN 978-9987-08-109-7
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the publisher, or be
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.
My name is Furaha. I live in Tanzania with my Mama in a
small village called Kwala. I never knew my father. He died
many years ago but my Mama smiles when she ever talks
about him. People always say that I have my mother’s shining
brown eyes and my father’s strong chin, my father’s wisdom and my mother’s
patience.
We live in a two-room house that my great-grandfather built. He built it with
mud and stick walls, and a strong tin roof. My mother says that many years
ago our home was considered to be one of the most beautiful in the village.
Sadly, over many trying years, it has begun to fall apart. One day I shall help
her in repairing it so that it is as lovely as it was in the old days.
Back when my great-grandfather was alive, he was a very important member
of the village community. One of his most valuable possessions was a huge,
beautifully-decorated drum. He would beat it to call village meetings, “Boom!
Boom! Boom!” When people heard this thunderous sound, they would gather
in his compound. When my great-grandfather died, the drum was passed to
his son, who passed it on to his son, and finally to me.
“This drum has great power!” Mama tells me. “It carries
the voice of the gods.”
Carved around
the barrel of the
drum are pictures
of the gods and
spirits of our tribe.
I remember Mama
teaching me the
gods’ stories even
before I could speak
“Look, Furaha,” she
would say, pointing to
the figures on the side
of the drum. “This
one pulls the sun
across the sky, and
this one makes the
stars shining every
night. Each god has
a different job,” she
would explain, “and
together they create
harmony and balance
on Earth.”
By the time I was five, I knew the stories as well as she did, and I began
sharing them with my friends.
Mama and I earn our living from maize flour. Every morning, we wake up
before sunrise to make ugali from the flour. “Use your muscles, Furaha!”
Mama laughs, “or you will be eating the burnt parts for breakfast, lunch, and
dinner!”
Laughing, I flex my arms for her and pound away at the porridge. Stir, stir,
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