The rains are here — literally pounding the recently dry and parched soils of Bongoland. And yes, a few months ago much of Bongoland’s terrain was almost a semi-desert, resembling the lands neighbouring the mighty Sahara Desert.
But lo and behold, the pregnant skies suddenly opened their gates and let out the gushing waters, flooding the plains and valleys of Bongoland.
And what follows now are the usual setbacks which always leave me wondering, just like in the old American song: “Oh, when will they ever learn? Oh, when will they ever learn…”
You see, every year at this very time the Meteorological Office forecasts the arrival of the heavy rains in several parts of Bongoland, and the necessary precautions that need to be taken to contain the situation.
And we, like zombies, never want to listen — let alone take the necessary actions. Sometimes I am tempted to think that we believe some miracle will eventually save us from these flooding forecasts.
But no — the torrential rains always catch us unprepared. Our wobbly huts are easily washed away by the subsequent floods; roads and bridges collapse; our settled valleys turn into mini-lakes; farms and produce are washed away; and most ground movement is stopped in its tracks.
And then we suddenly become very vocal — complaining against nature and urging the authorities to take the necessary action to solve the problems.
The authorities then come up with warnings and directives, exhorting Bongolanders to move out of valleys and resettle on higher ridges; improve drainage systems; and secure their residences, among others.
But as soon as the rains abate, life simply returns to normal mode. It is as if nothing — nothing at all — happened. The torrential rains and heavy floods might as well have taken place on Mars, for that matter.
And mind you, the same will definitely occur the following year, just as it happened last year. We simply cannot come up with a lasting solution.
But to millions of other Bongolanders, this is also the season for serious farming. The verdant and fertile lands are cleared and harrowed, and seeds planted in readiness for maize, beans, potatoes, peas, sunflower, sorghum, millet and other harvests.
Last year, for the first time in my many years on this earth, I joined these Bongolanders and acquired a four-acre farm in the southern highlands.
Pretending I was a modern farmer, I decided to go for sunflower. This I did, but to my surprise the harvest was dismal. But then, being stubborn, I considered the loss part of my learning experience.
This year, therefore, I am going for a six-acre farm of maize, beans, peas and sunflower. I have already sought the assistance of an agricultural extension officer.
So as I look at the heavens opening their pregnant water gates, I do not see floods and other rain-water disasters in the making.
I see an opportunity. I see the making of a rich farmer — me — in progress. And trust me, I will keep you posted on my journey to these riches.
God bless the heavens!
