Sound Of The Lowveld Sentinel Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

I lived in a valley,
Where sounds hit back,
Against the hills across,
And echo back at me,
Where one boy would shout,
Aloud and announce the arrival,
Of us school children who came,
For we were late and needed telling,
That there exists our own,
Self made lowveld sentinel,
In the echo that hits back,
To tell us we are part of a world,
That is bigger than what we see.


For here big rocks and trees,
Drenched wet and glistening,
Monkeys, snakes and frogs,
Announce the rains happily
Joining sentinels that called,
Messages of life assured,
Like hyenas of the night,
Amidst howling that rang out,
And splintered my soul,
And left it in tatters,
Of nervous laughter that rang back,
At me down in that valley.

Sounds going into me,
Shouting in that hot lowveld air,
That would catch me and throw me,
Down on the ground in bouts of laughter,
Sometimes in search of gulps of air,
That could help me yell back at the sky,
For I had to get my chance too,
To change the song of the sentinel.


It was the sentinel of barking dogs,
Coming from nearby and far,
Chasing bellowing bulls away,
From people's fields full of corn,
The whip that explodes after the span,
Of oxen that plow the rows,
Neatly letting out its noise,
To the rhythms of a life,
Announcing its existence so sure,
Like the smoke that comes out of the sides,
Of the huts on rainy days,
Announcing that it is time for fires to cook,
The only meal of the day,
And lie down and forget,
About all the sounds that invade the night,
Far away in the distant mountains.


Walking in that valley's sandy roads,
On wet rainy days amidst thunder,
Left me thinking the lightning,
Had struck me right in the head,
As I walked drenched listening to the lid,
Of the sky that had opened and poured itself,
All over my childhood self wetting,
Even the inside of the soul of me,
For I was a lowveld girl,
That would join the sentinel,
And cry back in words forever.


I walked pathways to these rhythms,
And went homewards to mushroom like huts,
That promised warmth and food inside,
Their warm round heaths with cast-iron pots,
Where I would open the door and smell,
The smell of home that announced,
That the golden sunlight had come,
Into the hut to bid us goodbye,
Followed by the night that often fell,
Behind the mountains telling me I was home,
And could watch this sundown for I am here,
Where rest tells my body it has come.
For family will gather soon,
And we will lie down to hear the sentinel,
The wolf that howls in the distance,
Telling us that ours is the world.
To be shared with the likes of them,
As they also get out to hunt for food.
Like we had done on this day.