Green Sahara

Walk the Plains

The sun was high over the grassy plains as the group of thirty-some made their way along a winding creek, following the same route they took every year and their ancestors took before them. Each footstep towards the Ancestor Pillars was draped in tradition that extended far beyond the memory of any man or woman in the group. This journey was different from all previous ones for a young woman named Tella because this year, when her tribe reached the Ancestor Pillars, she would wed.

Her husband-to-be was a young man a few years her senior named Atta. He was from a different tribe than Tella. While Tella’s family hailed from the north where they hunted and were tasked with bringing the finest of furs to the Ancestor Pillars for trade, Atta’s family lived just south of the holy site where his people were charged with guarding sprawling fields of wild wheat and harvesting enough for all of the tribes.

Tella had known Atta all her life, although she had only seen him for just a few weeks each year during the pilgrimage when all of the tribes met at the Ancestor Pillars to trade goods, share stories and reconnect. All of the girls her age had married the previous year, but Tella, who had been promised by her father to Atta, had to wait because he had been chosen by his tribe to trek north, to the sea where the Ancestors lived. This great honor was bestowed upon only a handful of men each year. The trip was long and dangerous, taking the selected few away from their friends and family, out of the familiar and to the lands where the Ancients lived. The journey, more special than even the trip to the Ancestor Pillars, was essential to the memory of the lost homeland. The chosen men carried with them the best spears and daggers, furs, baskets and potteries as gifts selected specifically for the Ancestors.

Once on the shores of the ancient sea the Ancestors once called home, the men scoured the surrounding forest for the straightest and strongest tree they could find. It is from this tree they carried a boat just big enough to hold the pilgrims and their offerings. They would row the choppy waters to specific points above the murky depths, the locations of which were passed from generation to generation. They dropped the offerings into the water with the utmost reverence for the past, destined for the ruins of the old villages swallowed by the floods millennia earlier.

Although Atta left on the journey merely out of boyhood, he returned a man of respect and prominence. With this status, he could have had any woman from his tribe as a bride, but he and his father had to honor the deal made with Tella’s father. It was something Atta was more than happy to do. On a larger level, this trust between tribes was essential to prosperity and security. Without faith in the word of one to another, the whole system was in danger. This is what the pilgrimage to the Ancestor Pillars was about—not only keeping the memory of the Ancestors alive, but keeping the individual tribes linked as the ravages of both time and circumstance struggled to pull them apart.

Although excited to see the friend she hadn’t seen in two years and for her upcoming union to Atta, Tella was anxious about the changes on the horizon. She would join Atta’s tribe and from then on, only see her family once a year at the Ancestor Pillars. It was the way of life.

Sister! Sister! Senk, her younger brother, shouted happily as he ran to catch up with Tella. He was a slight boy of fourteen. Although he stood on the precipice of manhood, Senk was short for his age and devoid of the budding facial hair all of the other boys his age were so proud of.

Senk, Tella scolded, annoyed by her brother as he tugged at her waist, where have you been?

Back with Father and the other men, he answered as he walked side-by-side with his older sister. They don’t believe the stories about the people from the south. Senk spoke with labored excitement as he caught his breath.

Because they are just stories.

I heard them last year at the Ancestor Pillars from people in other tribes. They say they sail in boats made from dozens of trees pieced together and live in houses of stone and melt the earth to make weapons harder than rock! Senk’s eyes were wide with wonder, his hands gesturing wildly and his words spoken with such fervor they jumbled together.

Listen to what you are saying, Ayshum laughed. Houses made of stone and melted earth! Boats made of dozens of trees that sail the sea? You can’t sail the sea to the south, it is impossible. Those are just stories made to scare people. Rumors spread from tribe to tribe and grow into unbelievable stories like these. She waved her brother off. I’m not having this argument with you again.

Whatever. Senk was annoyed by his sister’s disbelief. Oh, Father says to tell you the elders say that tonight you will tell the story of the Ancestors once we make camp, he said before hurrying off to find his friends, people he could actually get to believe the stories of the people from across the sea to the south.

Tella took a nervous gulp and nodded. Although she knew the story by heart, like everyone else, she was still nervous to stand in front of the entire tribe, elders and children, and tell the story of the Ancestors. It was a tradition, done every year on the eve of their arrival at the Ancestor Pillars, and this year the honor fell on the already preoccupied bride-to-be.

The Ancients

Night had fallen as the tribe gathered around the flickering camp fire, their bellies filled with food, a feast matched only by the one they would have the following night at the Ancestor Pillars. The men were exhausted from hunting, the woman from cooking and the children from playing. Everyone fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position for their achy legs, weary from weeks of walking.

A hush fell over the crowd as Tella stood to tell the tale of the Ancestors. It was as if they could see her words played out in the dancing smoke as she spoke:

The Great Ancient Sea spread as far as the eye could see. It gave the ancestors water to drink and fish to eat. It was our lifeblood, the source of the Ancestors’ existence. They lived in permanent tents made of mud and wood, never moving from the supportive bosom of the sea. It fed us like a mother feeds her children. So many people lived along the sea that at night, it was so lit by campfires that the outline of the water was visible to the hunters in the mountains. They always knew where home was. This was the home of our ancestors, the Ancients, the Land of Nede.

Then, as the years changed, in one lifetime, the Great Sea started to die. It gave the ancestors less and less but it expanded with each passing month until villages disappeared, swallowed by the Sea itself. The great ice to the north vanished and the game the Ancients hunted spread. Life had changed and suddenly one day without warning and with a roar, waters not from the Great Sea rushed over the land and poisoned it, poisoned the sea, the land and killed countless of the Ancestors.

The Land of Nede could no longer provide for them so the survivors left—left everything they knew—and headed south. Their paradise was gone. No longer did the Ancestors live in one place, but instead were forced to roam, following herds of game and searching for fields of grain. Although the Ancestors spread, they created one place, the Ancestor Pillars, where they and their children and their children’s children could meet again before the winter fell. Here, the strong could help the weak, the inequalities of the year would be leveled and each man, woman and child would need not fear the coming winter nor the other tribes. This spot was to be one of peace and prosperity, where memory would live for all of eternity. For generations our people have continued this tradition, making the trip to the Ancestor Pillars, expanding the Pillars and building on the memory of those who came before us. This is our duty, once a year, to journey to this most sacred of places on all the land to remember our past, reinvigorate our ties, and push forward separate but united by our shared history.

Tella’s mother and father beamed with pride as they watched their only daughter, their eldest child, conclude the powerful telling. Some of the Elder’s wiped tears from their cheeks while children slept with their heads on their