DANGEROUS TIME

Episode 3.

Everything that has an end must have a beginning, and this is the source that made me stand before you today. My name is Boniface Ngonyani, a Tanzanian boy born in the village of Likuyufusi in the Ruvuma region. The village that has a road leading to Peramiho and Mbinga. I am the first child in a family of eight children.

My respected African values ​​and I was given good values ​​and vowed to obey them to help me in life. I have experienced a life of hardship and great illegal wealth. The life I experienced was difficult in my childhood due to the poverty of my parents. I also have great wealth in my youth which raised many questions, it took people's lives and even threatened the safety of others' lives.

My wealth has come from tyranny, illegal trade and terrible robbery. My heart is bleeding and my soul has turned into a court. I would certainly buy a new soul because it is in a prison. My spirit has become a rag that is not even fit to be used as a patch, the blood of people is crying over me. I smell the blood that my soul cries for.

Why do I say I have gone through a life of distress? It is because of the many discouraging and difficulties I went through from childhood until I was studying secondary school. I remember soon after I finished Likuyufusi primary school, the results of my Standard seven came out and it seemed that I had done well. I was selected to join Njombe boys secondary school located in southern Tanzania in Njombe town. Due to the difficult economy, my parents lacked the money to send me to school, something that deprived me of sleep day and night, I was even ready to go to school on foot.

The distance from Songea to Njombe is more than 200 kilometers, it is a trip of three to four hours by car. Due to the love of the school shown by the me, they had no way, so the parents had to call a family meeting and explain to the family members about the matter of sending me to school. Mzee Ngonyani, who is my father, was a tobacco farmer, and his income was very low after the agriculture became unproductive in the region.

Distress is the clothing of the poor, the rich don't wear it; A big meeting of the two clans that unite our family was called. So the brothers came and crowded into the yard of our house. The house we lived in met our low income status, just by looking at it quickly. If you look at it from the front, it looks like it was built with burnt bricks and the tin roof was already old from being exposed to the sun over the years. Heavy rains that fell every spring, which lasted for a long period of not less than five to six months in a row, tired the tin with rust, let alone dew.

My father told me to attend the session, because he felt that I would need to be asked anything by the members of the session. I slowly moved closer to our kitchen built of burnt bricks and thatched roof, connecting with the brick walls of our big house and making a courtyard. I sat down in front of the kitchen, I left all the chairs and anything that was suitable to sit on to the brothers who continued to enter the house, while my heart was beating with fear of my request being rejected, the ground was raw as it had already rained the night before that day, while the cloud the big black one is preparing to rain another rain on the earth.

There was no wind or thunder, something that made us not afraid to hold the meeting in the courtyard. So the brothers continued to enter the house and sit on big and small chairs called vigoda, but they were not enough. Others turned the bucket over and sat on them, but they were still not enough, those who didn't have anything to sit on decided to sit down. They chatted here and there and then the session was opened by welcoming the brothers who were called delegates and the chairman of the session was my elder father. After his explanation that lasted for several minutes and then allowed everyone to speak a few words so that after the discussion the decision would follow, the session carried only one agenda to read to me. After many donations, Komba decided to break the silence that caused joy at home. Because due to our family's poor condition, Uncle Komba who was my uncle decided to tell the delegates that he has decided to volunteer to pay fees. Even though they were born from different fathers, blood was heavier than water. The idea was enjoyed by everyone, they held his hands to congratulate him, clapping and shouting while the brothers mentioned God and congratulated Uncle Komba.

My mother crawled down in the dust and walked on her knees thanking her brother and mentioning God's name as many times as she could. Komba's contribution shortened the session and became the decision and agreement of the session. Then delegates were allowed to go on their way.