Spirit Tribe of the Eland. SOT2023 (writer)

Somewhere in the vast tawny bush-veld of the Kalahari desert walked a band of nomadic Bushmen (San) hunter-gatherers.

In a chattering single-file they were led by 9 men and boys dressed in loin-cloths, some with bows and quivers slung across their shoulders. Following them were 16 women and girls, some carrying infants, but little else but karosses, digging-sticks and slings with ostrich egg-shells containing their last seasonal water.

But signs about their intended destination seemed alarming odd.
First they noticed that the birds over their water-wholes in the distance were missing.
And then they almost stumbled into a fence ... made from metal wire.

The settler's dreaded fence. The invader's dead-end fence. First black invaders; now white invaders. With herds of foreign sheep and cattle, and their lust for diamonds and gold, and now their faraway wars and armies making fences and trenches on the lands of the band's ancestors.

The band decided not to touch the fence.

Instead, as dusk descended, they lit a fire and began a trance-dance.
They women singing, pleading with their voices; the men circling around them with rattles around their ankles.

The hypnotic clapping, rattling and chorus echoed through the moonlit night.
And at dawn an enormous Eland buck walked into the camp.
Muscular and tall, like a horned brown camel, with white stripes along its flanks, and a majestic black mane beneath it's head.
It bellowed like thunder, as a sand-storm blew from its nostrils, streaming and encircling the entire landscape and blotting out the sky.

When the mist of sand had cleared, the people saw the fence was gone!
They saw the swarms of birds flocking in the sky ahead, indicating their ancient water-holes.

Pleased, the band picked up their bows and and digging-sticks.
Without leaving footprints in the sand, they continued their migration to the precious water.

Rejoicing, they thanked the Eland that the fence was gone, and the bullet-wounds had once again vanished from their bodies.

The End.

Thanks for the story, but it is too late for this story to count.
The next contest should start on August the First, and run the whole month.

a reply to: halfoldman

Excellent, halfoldman!

Your vivid narration placed me right there amongst the Nomads. It's a shame you posted too late for the contest, but you deserve a prize... Some brownies for the soul!

a reply to: Encia22

Thanks so much.

As long as some people read and enjoyed the story I'm very satisfied.
(Especially as it is about southern Africa and its indigenous peoples.)

I already had writer's status anyway, and glad to let other members have a go.

a reply to: halfoldman

Great read that, put me right in mind of Wilbur Smith when he was on song

Don't miss the deadline of the next one!

Of course some acknowledgement to Manowar's classic metal song "Spirit Horse of the Cherokee".

Although the title, I thought, was an obvious reworking.

Because I thought the indigenous peoples in so many places have got a similar history, but Hollywood or major record labels will never show it.

And the sands of time - soon all those identities may be gone.

a reply to: halfoldman

Brought a song to mind...