Maasai Warrior by Margrit

The Recount Of My Return


He walked along the bank
Searching for a shallow end,
And found nothing of the sort.

This part of the river
Trickled in shallow streams,
Before the dam was built.

The dark blue water,
Was too deep to see the bottom 
Where he glared into it.

He could not turn back now,
And had to swim across
If he was to get away.

For a few moments he considered
To find an alternate crossing,
But that was too dangerous.

And it would soon be dark,
He watched the water from a rock
To see any signs of its inhabitants.

Then decided to stop stalling,
Took a deep breath and dove
Into the cooling water.

Strong swimming brought him
Quickly closer to the opposite side,
Where he rested while he dried.

Now a few more miles
And he’d be across the border,
To return to where he’d be safe.

Finding a place to rest,
Eating the fruits he’d gathered,
Knowing he’d get little sleep.

All his life he loved the bush,
And never failed to answer
The innate call of the wild.

But never expected that
He’d be forced into the wilderness
Of that dreadful urban madness.

He was running for his life,
From new city minded relatives
And his parents poor choices.

Mostly he was trying to escape
The abusive domineering shrew,
Of his arranged marriage.

He made it by morning
To an uncle in his village
Who was sympathetic.

After the in-laws left still angry,
His uncle took him to his father
Who was disgusted with him.

For ruining the agreement,
And running through the night
Back to the skirt tail of his family.

He wept in his mothers lap,
Swearing to never go back
To the bitter mule they chose.

While the woman he desired
Had been mourning since he left,
Almost as much as he had.

In a year he’d join with the warriors,
His beloved gave birth to their son,
The marriage and run forgotten.


Ria 2016