Mr. Mahongo

An outsider, he was trained at polytechnic, hired by the bishop to save the school’s farm. It was a modern farm, tractor and power plant to grind the grain, but it did not pay its way or feed the children. Mr. Mahongo was a modern man, well trained, but not seduced by western ways. He understood the limits of technology. To their chagrin he traded, for two bullocks, their proud tractor and their power plant. The bullocks pulled the ploughs and wagons of the farm. They drove the pumps and carried goods to market days and in exchange ate naught but grass, returning nutrients to land. Their maintenance required no petrol or spare parts. He dug two ponds, and in them raised Tilapia, a fish much prized for taste and quality of flesh, and to control the snails that host Bilharzia, the bane of those who walk unshod in mud and waters still, raised ducks. The ducks ate snails, laid eggs, and with their flesh enhanced school diet and the cash obtained from marketing the excess produce from the farm. This only touches on his deeds, but he transformed the farm, a model for success. Or so he thought, but success may breed suspicion in those who can’t keep up.  Rumours of sorcery began to spread about the town. A charge most serious if made, tried in a local court, the guilty could face death. In vain he tried to win support by working with the local village head to demonstrate and prove that anyone could emulate his methods and succeed themselves, but pride and superstition worked against his goal. The rumours grew and he, Malawian, but not from in the village found himself at gravest risk. Against his will, he had to flee the superstitious envy and abandon everything accomplished with his toil.
© David E. Moon, 2014  All rights reserved

Mr. Mahongo

An outsider, he was trained at polytechnic, hired by the bishop to save the school’s farm. It was a modern farm, tractor and power plant to grind the grain, but it did not pay its way or feed the children. Mr. Mahongo was a modern man, well trained, but not seduced by western ways. He understood the limits of technology. To their chagrin he traded, for two bullocks, their proud tractor and their power plant. The bullocks pulled the ploughs and wagons of the farm. They drove the pumps and carried goods to market days and in exchange ate naught but grass, returning nutrients to land. Their maintenance required no petrol or spare parts. He dug two ponds, and in them raised Tilapia, a fish much prized for taste and quality of flesh, and to control the snails that host Bilharzia, the bane of those who walk unshod in mud and waters still, raised ducks. The ducks ate snails, laid eggs, and with their flesh enhanced school diet and the cash obtained from marketing the excess produce from the farm. This only touches on his deeds, but he transformed the farm, a model for success. Or so he thought, but success may breed suspicion in those who can’t keep up.  Rumours of sorcery began to spread about the town. A charge most serious if made, tried in a local court, the guilty could face death. In vain he tried to win support by working with the local village head to demonstrate and prove that anyone could emulate his methods and succeed themselves, but pride and superstition worked against his goal. The rumours grew and he, Malawian, but not from in the village found himself at gravest risk. Against his will, he had to flee the superstitious envy and abandon everything accomplished with his toil.
© David E. Moon, 2014  All rights reserved