I have reached my destination; I trace calligraphies. My quill seems to pour its ink unto the banks of the Tanganyika Lake. The sacred place, to which from the other side of the frontier, I confined my boredom and worries when I was that youth. Nevertheless, always hence along my way.
How have I arrived at the kraal of the oldest wisdom?
These legendary drummers armed with virtues, keepers of tradition of tolerance and proudness. This is a story or yet another imagining. However, I am as often inspired and consoled by the lake.
We always went there together.
We are from the lake, she and I.
She who freed me every morning from the prison of my subconscious that shrouded me whenever languish sleep appeared on the horizon. She writes too.
She colors verses in the sand of the beach, or paints figures in the water on the lake
We are from the lake. She and I
We are very close because we had the lakes in common, our nuptial bed.
We are united, almost intimate, and love had never been so noble. She and I
Together in the lake, that nourishes our desires, passion for freedom.
Nandi belongs to the lakes, a beauty that surpassed that of the muses.
Moreover, in her eyes, as on the shores of the Tanganyika Lake, I found my liberty.