Nyakallang

For months, the rains had stayed hidden behind the clouds. The earth was parched, and the village’s spirits were as dry as the cracked soil. But tonight was different. Tonight was the night of the annual choir gathering at the old stone church.

They walked to the church, joining a stream of villagers. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and old wood. The choir stood, a humble group in mismatched blazers and vibrant headscarves. Nyakallang

Mmamotsamai smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. "Because, Thabo, Nyakallang is not a song for when things are easy. It is a command for the heart to find hope when the eyes see only dust." For months, the rains had stayed hidden behind the clouds