The bruised and broken clouds parted to present the gleaming sun. The people of the Pula tribe fled from their cabins. The end of the rain symbolled the start of the wake and there was work to do.
As the men and women moved to rivers and fields to begin the chores; the children followed a few paces behind idly watching whilst also playing in the dampened dust. The wake would last until the next rain and they villagers refused to be unprepared this time and so they worked.
There came a burning hot day, with the sun high in the sky when figures clouded the Pula tribe horizon. They stood tall, bodies strong as they paraded up the hill. The people of the village glared into the flaring sun as the strangers approached.
“Why have you come?” The leader of the Pula tribe pronounced once the outsiders had come to a halt.
“We have come to see the land of the never ending sun, the never ending day.” The Chief of the Letsatsi tribe spoke with a powerful orotund voice.
“I’m afraid you have come to the wrong place, the day ends with the rain.”
It was then when a new kind of thunderstorm poured into the atmosphere. Angry words flew from mouths as the tribe argued. They did not care to consider the others opinions for they were too blinded by malicious beliefs to see.
The land fell to war, misery and pain. Two groups of people fighting over what defined time. Tears of blood rained from the people and dirt turned to sludge; the distasteful mix of blood and sand.
The war raged on for many rains and many falling suns; until such a day came when new leaders came and took their rightful place. The decided that the sun would rule the day and the rain the year.
“So you see my young ones: Yesterday is history – for we must forgive the mistakes of the unwise but learn from their mistakes.” The old man’s voice was solid but gruff. “Tomorrow is a mystery – for we cannot know what the dawn of the new sun will bring. Today is a gift – as we have all the opportunities in the world to right our wrongs, and this is why we call it the present.”