The sea bent to a certain wind.
The fishermen said there were souls
Buried beneath the water,
Sobbing and stretching out their hands to murder.
There was a way around all these.
Music soothed them. It bought time.
The fishermen offered sacrifices;
Sometimes human sacrifices
To keep the sea gods calm:
A bunch of mad men and women sitting in the sand.
You can say they were inhuman
But the calming effect on the sea
Pushed fish into their nets.
They returned to the shore,
Laughing in their wooden boats, smelling of seaweed
The laughter was heavenly, or close.
About the Author:
Wanjala Njalale’s short stories have appeared on Brittle Paper and in The East African Magazine. His poetry is forthcoming on Aerodrome. Born to a Christian father and Muslim mother in western Kenya, he moved to the city, Nairobi, at the age of nineteen to pursue university studies. He currently lives in the Rift Valley town of Nakuru where he works by day as an English and Literature Instructor at a Girls High School. He writes during his spare time.