2017 2018 complete

Kenya’s Elephant

Yasmeen Sharipova and Sahana Vaidya [story and illustration]

Johari sat criss cross on her mat beside her father and was about to begin praying. “ Baba, who is this woman?” she asked as she pointed to the small statue in front of them. “This woman’s name is Kenya. Although wood is the most common medium used for sculptures, other mediums include copper alloys, ivory, pottery, clay and rarely stone. Did you know that small figurines of clay were excavated in a mound at Daima near Lake Chad in levels that date from the 5th century BCE and earlier! This shows that African sculptures and art were important even long ago.” “Wow, Baba! How old is this statue?” “Well, it has been passed down from my great grandmother’s grandmother. So it must be very old.” “It sure is. How did this girl become a goddess?” “Let me tell you a story, my binti . “It was a very hot day in Mali and the scorching sun was hitting Kenya’s back. She was looking for the right sufuria to bring so that she could fetch water from the river. Sweat glistened on her forehead. “ Jambo, Baba ,” she said to her father. “ Jambo, Kenya. You must set on your journey to collect water from the river. Be back before the sun sets.” Kenya simply nodded. “Remember,” her father started, “Collecting maji is a very important task. You are going to be fourteen next month. You will be married in a couple years and collecting water will be essential for your family.”

Kenya began her journey to the small river with her large sufuria. She panted for breath and Still, her heart was pounding, and her palms

wished she did

became sweaty. She peered into the brush. Another pair of sad grey eyes were staring back at her!

not have to collect water on a day like this. Yet she knew it had to be done one way or another.

Kenya decided to take the shortcut to a smaller river near her home that nobody knew about since their clan had just settled here. Another advantage was that none of the other mean girls would be there to harass her and the path was mostly protected by the shade of the trees. One foot in front of the other, a sufuria on her head, and a pep in her step. Kenya was almost there. To keep herself company, she sung the famous Bambara tune: “Fanga alifia, a she-e, a she-e Anga amefariki. Bado litakuja Kupanda kwa mali, kupanda kwa watu Kenya walked along the river, slowly, quietly, when she heard a noise in the bushes next to her. Then another one. This time it sounded like her uncle’s horrific trumpet playing. If it was a lion, it would have pounced already, so it must be something else. Still, her heart was pounding, and her palms became sweaty. She peered into the brush. Another pair of sad grey eyes were staring back at her! A baby elephant. Unfortunately, Kenya had noticed that the mali”

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