Jinggo's Seed

Dawn – The Fishing Lesson

The dawn crept hesitantly through the mangrove canopy when “Maboui” woke his son, Jinggo, with a tender touch on the shoulder. He didn’t need words; the boy had learned to read his father’s silence as easily as he read the movement of waves on the shore. Jinggo rose lightly, barefoot on the cool, dusty ground, and picked up the small wooden spear his father had carved for him on his eighth birthday.

Together they walked toward the riverbank, where a soft, gray mist still enveloped the shores. Maboui was a tall man, his skin the color of polished ebony wood. His muscles were sculpted by years of fishing and swimming. He walked ahead of his son with quiet confidence, and Jinggo followed, trying to match his father’s steps, placing his feet in the same spots where he saw Maboui tread.

Maboui stopped at a curve in the river where fish usually gathered in the early morning hours. He gestured for Jinggo to squat beside him, then whispered in a voice as soft as rustling leaves: “Look, my son... the water tells us everything.”

Jinggo stared into the calm surface of the water, trying to see what his father saw. At first, he only saw reflections of the sky painted with pink and orange, but after moments, he began noticing small circles forming on the surface, and black shadows moving slowly beneath the water.

“Now... breathe slowly. Don’t move.”

Maboui raised his spear in a smooth movement, remaining motionless like a statue for long seconds. Then, in one quick instant, like a flash of lightning, the spear pierced the water, emerging with a large, silver fish that writhed and shimmered in the light of dawn.

Jinggo clapped excitedly, but his father placed a finger to his lips: “This is the first lesson, Jinggo: A good fisherman knows when to be silent, and when to celebrate.”

The boy smiled and nodded. Then his father handed him the spear and said: “Now it’s your turn. Remember: Patience... Calmness... then the decisive blow.”

The Day – Melodies of Daily Life

They returned to the village with their woven basket filled with three beautiful fish. The sun had risen now, and the village was waking up to the sounds of roosters crowing, laughter, and greetings exchanged between the huts.

The village of “Ambizi” consisted of no more than twenty round huts thatched with straw, scattered in a harmonious randomness among coconut and palm trees. It was a small, peaceful village, unaware of war or conflict. All that occupied its people was the sea and its bounty, the earth and its harvest, and their children and future.

In the hut’s courtyard, “Nekisa”—Jinggo’s mother—was already sitting by the stone hearth, next to her eldest daughter, “Asha,” who was transitioning from a girl into a graceful young woman. Asha was grinding corn in a wooden mortar with regular rhythmic motions, while their mother cleaned the fish Maboui had caught yesterday.

“You returned quickly today!” Nekisa said with a smile upon seeing her husband and son.

Maboui held up the basket proudly: “A good teacher makes an even better student. Jinggo caught two fish today.”

Jinggo’s face flushed, embarrassed and proud at the same time. His younger sister, “Niambi”—a girl of six with wide, curious eyes—ran to him and jumped into his arms:

“Jinggo! Jinggo! Did you bring me something?”

He laughed while embracing her: “Soon, little star. I’ll take you to collect some fruit.”

Niambi: “Promise?”

Jinggo: “I promise.”

After Jinggo ate a piece of bread toasted with honey, he dashed off with Niambi toward the nearby forest. She held his small hand and chattered nonstop about everything and nothing: about the butterfly she saw yesterday, about a strange dream she had last night, about her friend who was getting married today.

Niambi: “Will I ever get married too, Jinggo?”

Jinggo: “Of course! And you will be the most beautiful bride in every village.”

Niambi: “And who will marry you?”

He laughed: “I don’t know... maybe a big fish!”

Niambi burst into laughter and hit him on the arm: “Fish don’t get married!”

They reached a massive mango tree laden with ripe fruit. Jinggo climbed down with agility and picked the yellow-red fruits, tossing them carefully to his little sister, who collected them in her basket while giggling.

“One for you, one for me!”

When the basket was full, they sat under the shadow of the tree and ate two mangoes. The juice dripped down Niambi’s chin, which Jinggo wiped gently with the corner of his tunic.

“You are the best brother in the world,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

Jinggo felt a strange warmth spread through his chest. He loved these simple moments—his little sister beside him, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, the sound of birds, the sweet taste of mango.

He loved his life.

Evening – The Wedding Night

When they returned to the village, preparations for the wedding had begun. “Kamba”—a young man in his twenties—was marrying “Zouri,” a girl from a neighboring village. Everyone was excited; weddings in Ambizi were rare and joyful occasions.

Jinggo and his older brother, “Oudambi”—a powerfully built youth of seventeen—helped stack firewood for the great fire that would blaze in the center of the village. Oudambi teased his younger brother:

“One day you’ll be the groom, Jinggo, and I will help you prepare your celebration.”

“And who will marry you?” Jinggo asked.

Oudambi smiled, casting a quick glance at Asha, who was helping the women decorate the square with flowers and brightly colored fabrics: “Perhaps... in the near future.”

Jinggo understood. He knew his brother had admired a girl from the neighboring village for some time.

As the sun set, people began gathering. The great fire was lit, and tongues of orange flame rose toward a sky painted in violet and crimson. Drums were brought out—large drums carved from tree trunks and stretched with animal skins.

The musicians began beating the rhythms slowly at first, then gradually increasing their pace.

Dum... dum... dam...

Jinggo felt the rhythm enter his chest, his heart, his feet. People began to dance—men and women and children—in a circle around the fire. Their bodies swayed, leaped, and turned in harmony with the drums.

Jinggo danced with his family. His father danced with strength and dignity, his mother with grace and beauty, Oudambi with youthful enthusiasm, Asha with beautiful shyness, and Niambi jumped here and there like a happy bird.

Dam... dum... dam...

Then the bride and groom entered, and celebratory shouts rose up. Zouri wore a white gown adorned with colorful beads, and her hair was decorated with white flowers. The couple stood in the center of the circle as the village elder gave them blessings.

Jinggo felt happy. He felt belonging, security, and love.

He did not know that these were his last moments of true happiness.

Midnight – Hell

The celebration was at its peak when the first sound was heard.

A whinny.

One of the drummers paused, raising his head. But the others continued, and the laughter and singing drowned out everything else.

Then another sound... clearer this time.

Hooves.

The drums suddenly stopped. A disturbing silence descended. Even the fire seemed to stop crackling.

“What is this?” someone whispered.

And then hell exploded.

From among the dark trees, horses burst forth—dozens of them—ridden by men wearing strange clothes and white turbans. They carried long, gleaming swords that reflected the firelight, and their sharp screams tore apart the stillness of the night.

“Run! Run!” shouted the village elder before his head was severed with a single sword strike.

Chaos erupted. People ran in every direction; mothers carrying their children; men attempting to fight with bare hands or crude clubs and spears.

Jinggo saw his father jumping towards one of the cavalrymen, dragging him off the horse and wrestling him on the ground. Maboui was strong and managed to choke the man until he stopped struggling. But another rider came from behind and stabbed him in the back.

“Father! Father!” Jinggo screamed, but his voice was lost in the shouts and chaos.

He saw Oudambi—his older brother—fighting three men at once. He managed to break one man’s arm and disarm another, but the third sword pierced his chest. He fell onto his knees, his wide eyes staring into nothingness, then collapsed face down.

“No! No!” Asha was screaming while running towards him, but a strong hand grabbed her hair and dragged her away roughly.

Nekisa—the mother—ran toward her children, trying to gather them, but an arrow struck her in the back. She stumbled, fell, and reached out her hand toward Jinggo...

“Run... my... son...”

It was her last word.

Jinggo felt a small hand holding his. It was Niambi, her face covered with tears and dust: “Jinggo... I’m scared...”

He tried to run with her, but someone struck him on the head from behind. He fell to the ground, his vision blurring. He saw Niambi being pulled away by its arm; he saw Asha being dragged toward the horses; he saw the fire spreading to the huts; he saw the blood...

Then, he saw nothing.

TBC...