The rainy season arrived earlier than expected.
For several days, dark clouds hung low over the plains surrounding the Sikalima Farm. Heavy rains soaked the grazing fields, filled the streams, and painted the countryside a brilliant shade of green. The cattle seemed happier than ever, grazing on the fresh grass that had sprung up almost overnight.
Life on the farm was busy.
The expanded herd demanded more attention.
The poultry business continued to grow.
Workers hurried from one task to another as Mubita coordinated daily operations.
Despite the increasing workload, one thing remained constant.
Every morning before work began, old Hamusonde walked slowly around the farm with his weathered walking stick, greeting every worker by name.
"Good morning, Jacob."
"Morning, Tata Hamusonde."
"Morning, Brian."
"Good morning, old father."
Even after more than thirty years on the farm, everyone respected him as though he were a member of the Sikalima family.
---
One cool Monday morning, Mubita noticed something unusual.
Instead of leading the inspection of the western paddock, Hamusonde was sitting beneath the mango tree.
He looked tired.
Very tired.
Mubita approached him.
"Tata, are you feeling alright?"
The old man smiled faintly.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"It's just old age."
Mubita sat beside him.
"You've never missed a morning inspection."
Hamusonde chuckled.
"My body is reminding me that it has carried me for many years."
"You should rest today."
"I'll rest when God tells me to."
"You sound exactly like Mr. Sikalima."
The two men laughed together.
But even as he laughed, Hamusonde placed a hand against his chest.
Mubita noticed.
"Tata?"
"It's nothing."
---
Later that morning, workers gathered near the cattle dip tank.
The veterinary officer had arrived to inspect several breeding bulls before an upcoming agricultural exhibition.
Mr. Sikalima stood proudly beside Mubita.
"Our breeding program has produced some excellent animals this year."
The veterinary officer nodded.
"You've done remarkable work."
"The district has been talking about this farm."
As they walked toward the holding pens, Hamusonde followed slowly behind.
He insisted on attending despite Mubita's concerns.
"I've watched these cattle since they were calves."
"I wouldn't miss this."
Halfway across the yard...
He stopped walking.
His breathing became heavy.
He placed both hands against his chest.
The walking stick slipped from his grasp.
"Hamusonde!"
Before anyone could reach him, the old man collapsed onto the ground.
---
Everything happened in seconds.
Workers abandoned their tasks.
Mrs. Bwalya came running from the veterinary shop.
Chipo hurried over carrying baby Mutinta.
Luyando, who had returned early from school because of a teachers' meeting, froze in fear.
"Grandpa!"
Mubita knelt beside the old man.
"Tata!"
Hamusonde's eyes were closed.
His breathing was shallow.
Mr. Sikalima immediately took charge.
"Mubita!"
"Bring the pickup."
"Brian!"
"Call the clinic."
"Jacob!"
"Clear the road."
Within minutes, they were racing toward the district hospital.
---
The journey felt endless.
Mrs. Bwalya sat beside Hamusonde, gently holding his hand.
"Stay with us."
"We're almost there."
The old man slowly opened his eyes.
"I'm making everyone worry."
She smiled through her tears.
"You've earned the right."
---
At the hospital, doctors immediately rushed Hamusonde into the emergency room.
The family waited anxiously outside.
No one spoke.
Even little Luyando sat quietly beside Mubita.
After nearly an hour, a doctor finally emerged.
"Who is the closest family member?"
Mr. Sikalima stepped forward.
"He is family."
The doctor nodded.
"The patient suffered a mild heart attack."
Mrs. Bwalya gasped softly.
"Is he going to be alright?"
"We've stabilized him."
"But..."
Everyone held their breath.
"His heart is weak."
"He must avoid strenuous work."
"He needs medication."
"And plenty of rest."
The doctor's words hung heavily in the corridor.
For the first time in many years, everyone realized that Hamusonde was no longer the strong young shepherd who had once walked miles every day.
Age had finally caught up with him.
---
When they were finally allowed to see him, Hamusonde smiled weakly.
"I told you..."
"I'm getting old."
Mr. Sikalima sat beside the bed.
"You frightened us."
"I frightened myself."
The two old friends shared a quiet laugh.
Then Mr. Sikalima became serious.
"You're retiring."
Hamusonde immediately shook his head.
"No."
"You are."
"The doctor said—"
"I heard what the doctor said."
"But who will teach these young people?"
Mubita stepped closer.
"You will."
The old man looked confused.
"You don't have to walk the fields anymore."
"You can teach."
"You've spent your whole life learning."
"Now it's our turn to learn from you."
For the first time that day, Hamusonde's eyes brightened.
"I suppose..."
"That would be easier on my legs."
---
A week later, Hamusonde returned to the farm.
The workers gathered at the entrance to welcome him home.
Someone had decorated the veranda with flowers.
Mrs. Bwalya prepared his favorite meal.
Luyando ran forward and hugged him tightly.
"I missed you."
"I missed you too, my boy."
Mr. Sikalima addressed everyone.
"From today, Tata Hamusonde will no longer perform heavy work."
"He is now our Farm Elder and Trainer."
The workers applauded enthusiastically.
"No one knows this farm better than he does."
"He will teach us the wisdom that cannot be found in books."
Hamusonde smiled humbly.
"I may not be able to run after cattle anymore."
The workers laughed.
"But I can still teach you how to think before you run."
---
That evening, as the sun set behind the distant hills, Hamusonde sat beneath the great mango tree with Mubita, Chipo, Luyando, and little Mutinta sleeping peacefully in her mother's arms.
The old man looked at the children.
"One day..."
"They will inherit everything we are building."
Luyando looked up.
"What should I learn first, Grandpa?"
Hamusonde smiled warmly.
"The first lesson is simple."
"What is it?"
He gently tapped his old walking stick on the ground.
> "Never measure a person's wealth by the size of their land. Measure it by the number of people who thank God because that person lived."
Everyone fell silent.
The evening breeze rustled the leaves of the mango tree.
As darkness settled over the farm, none of them noticed a black pickup truck parked on a distant hill.
Inside, Kelvin lowered his binoculars.
He smiled as he watched the lights come on in the farmhouse.
"The old man is getting weaker," he murmured.
He started the engine.
"And weak families are easier to break."
The truck disappeared into the night, carrying with it the promise of trouble yet to come.