Mozambique: Peace is a Tree

One unforgettable day, 30 September 1993, with Noel and Zuber we drove out from Maputo by dirt roads to the small city of Inhamisse. It was the day that the terrible drought which had made almost as much destruction for the previous few years as the war itself - was finally broken by the rains. There in Inhamisse, old men, village leaders, gathered around a table, told me what they meant by a culture of peace. My Portuguese was not very good, but with the help of my new friends Noel and Zuber, I gathered the following account which put in the form of a poem.

"What is peace?"
We asked the old men.
They looked down at their parched hands,
      their eyes hidden.
"For years," they said,
"We have known only war.
Even the chickens and the dogs
      had to hide their heads."
Outside the heat was silent,
      oppressive.
Then one raised his heavy eyes,
Shook his head sadly
And in a distant voice
      began to speak.:
"Peace is a tree.
Its roots are deep in our land.
But its branches are barren of fruit
And its roots are starved for water.
For years it has suffered the drought of war.
Now people with foreign tongues
      have come to cut it down,
To take its wood for whatever their reasons.
We must save the tree.
We must give it water.
Let it grow in the sun and rain.
If we respect it,
It will bring us the wisdom of our ancestors.
It will give us fruit again
      and fuel for the fire,
And our children will play in its shade.
That is peace."

Outside the tears were falling.
The rains had returned to Mozambique.

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