The Guardian
By jinnis
(Picture by Kudra Abdulaziz, Bukavu/DRC — this is a brief version of a story that came to mind while reading about the so-called killer lakes on the African continent. The prospect of using the methane in lake Kivu from a deadly danger to something beneficial was intriguing. Unfortunately, my health didn't allow me to explore this theme further. Perhaps, one day...)
The old man sat in front of the straw hut and contemplated the sunrise over the Kivu lake. It was his favourite time of the day, before the heat scorched the land and made sitting outside unbearable.
"Good morning, grandfather."
The young girl rushed up the slope with an agility and energy he envied.
"Good morning, Ndagala. Are you ready for the lesson?"
"Of course." She sat down cross-legged opposite him, but her glance darted over her shoulder to the lake. Its water glistened and beckoned in the sunlight.
"What is it?"
"They are fishing today. Damal says it's a perfect day for the catch."
He suppressed a sigh. Yes, he could read the signs as well, but this young one should have her mind on other things than fishing if he had anything to say in the matter. "Fishing is important. But what we do here is important too."
She lowered her head. "Yes, grandfather. I'm sure it is." Doubt and disappointment were obvious in her voice.
"What do you know about the before-time?"
She tilted her head. "What you told me, grandfather. That everything was destroyed in the terminal war except our beautiful country."
"Very well. Let's build on this, then. Our land was poor enough to be of no interest to anyone. They forgot about us. That's why we were spared."
The girl shook her head, sending her braids flying. "How can you say our land is poor? We have everything we need. Our plantations, the fish in the lake, the limitless power from the methane plants—what else could anyone wish for?"
He had heard these arguments before, and from people with more experience and social weight. "These were different times, Ndagala. Humanity hadn't mastered the power of the earth yet, not fully. While some hoarded their wealth, many craved for just a meagre meal at the end of a hard working day. There was greed and hatred between humans, individuals and entire nations." He recalled the pictures in the documentaries. All the material he would show this young one, one day. If she was the right one.
"But why?"
He held his breath. There it was, the spark of interest he had hoped for in vain for years in all the children brought before him. The inquisitiveness that led himself to become the guardian so many years ago. Perhaps today was a good day, after all.
"This is an excellent question, Ndagala. You must know back then, the human community spread out over all the continents."
Her eyes narrowed. "But the other continents are dead. A wasteland. Every child knows this."
"They are, now. And it is our task to prevent this one ending as a wasteland as well. That's why we need the guardians of history."
"Like you."
He nodded and reached for the ancient record case. "Like me. And like you, if you choose to walk this path, Ndagala." He ran his thumb over the symbol of life, death, and eternity carved into the box's lid and held it out to his potential pupil.
The girl hesitated, her glance darting down to the lake and back to the carved box. Then she brushed her fingertips over the symbol, a new light of determination glowing in her eyes.