The days rolled by, the seasons turned;
We do not know how long.
Things settled to uneasiness
Within the zebra throngs.
Across the plains the quaggas roamed;
They were quite unopposed.
Still cut apart, the zebra tribes
Could no great threat e’er pose.
Kiburi’s leading of the tribe
Had a subsistent style.
She took no risks and hid them from
The quaggas they reviled.
They had no hope to fight them off;
The best course was to flee.
But this course Maele loathed; a coward
She would never be.
And Maele’s plan of helping tribes
Grew into something more.
The tribes had always been apart
But now, she thought: what for?
There were some differences, and yet
All zebras seemed the same
When you took off some minor things
And looked at what remained.
But if the tribes could all be one,
The quaggas they could best.
For numbers were the main advantage
The quaggas did possess.
A tribe of zebras was quite small
Next to a bandit group.
All zebras and all quaggas, though?
The zebras had more troops.
They’d learn each others’ ways and laws
And syncretize their clans
To drive those roving bandits from
The zebras’ grazing lands.
But Maele soon found such a thing
Was easier said than done.
Kiburi kept them to themselves
And other tribes still shunned.
She never listened to the pleas
That came from her old friend
For isolation was the means
By which she would defend.
Still, Maele nursed this small idea
And fed it what she knew.
It coalesced, took greater form,
As her ambition grew.
One day, while in the foothills of
A lofty mountain high
The tribe changed course when they observed
A quagga band nearby.
But not ’fore Maelewano saw
A group of zebras chained.
They were the bait the quaggas used
In drawing out more prey.
So as Kiburi left them there,
A plea did Maele strike;
She yearned to free the chattel poor
For it was good and right.
Those were not from their kindred tribe,
But zebras still they were.
And with more zebras, then their tribe
The quaggas could deter.
Kiburi, though, she closed her ears,
To Maele coldly said:
“It isn’t safe, for if we lose,
Then we’ll be slaves — or dead!”
One reason, too, was personal,
For she had recognized
Them from the tribe who’d caused the wound
From which her mother died.
Still Maele pleaded, begged, and wept
’Til she made up her mind:
“Kiburi, if you will not help,
Then I renounce this tribe!
Our zebra kin are suffering
And yet you still stand by!
Whichever way you spin your words,
That can’t be justified!”
By now, their arguments had drawn
The other zebras’ gaze.
’Twas with an audience they had
A parting of their ways.
Kiburi took the tribe away
While Maele stayed behind.
She tried to make a rescue plan,
But it escaped her mind.
She was but one; how could she help?
She had no way to aid.
Then, from the path Kiburi took,
Returned some warriors staid.
They gave to her their brains and brawn
For with her they agreed;
The quagga bandits must be stopped,
The zebras must be freed.
Although they were outnumbered still,
They now had greater hope
And with some luck, they could now put
The quaggas on the ropes.
They watched their targets, where they camped,
And where the sentries stood.
With much discussion, work, and hope,
They made a plan thought good.
Then Maele’s group at midnight came
And like the wind they raced.
They killed the sentires, every one,
And laid the camp to waste.
The quaggas were caught unawares;
Morale was torn to shreds
The few survivors, terrified,
Far from the fighting fled.
Then Maele and her followers
Cast off the old slaves’ bonds
And raced into the hills to hide
Before the morning dawned.
The ex-slaves marveled at this act,
So Maele soon explained
Why she had freed the foes with which
She’d fought upon the plains.
“These fractured tribes the quaggas want;
It makes us easy prey!
But if we stand together strong,
We’ll drive them out one day!
Our rivalries cannot live on
If this is to be true.
Forget the past, forgive old hurts,
And we can rise anew!”
Now, she’d been known by reputation
As a shamare great.
Yet here she was, quite powerless,
Still governing her fate.
Tradition said they owed her nothing,
But it was soon hanged.
For through her words, one could imagine
Bandit tribes defanged.
They pledged to form another clan,
With Maele as their chief.
And every slave they came across,
They’d do their best to free.
They’d let no quagga fetter zebras
Or their hills pass through.
And so, ’twas with a humor wry
They named the tribe “Mbu”.
And Maele bade them to ignore
The hierarchies old;
They could not honor bloodlines if
Their pledge they wished to hold.
She needed aid from all the best,
Regardless of their line.
She knew that commoners could have
Great genius in their minds.
Moqapi was the first of those,
Once lowest in her clan.
But head tactician she became
For brilliant were her plans.
The low were high, the high were low,
And everything between.
Such casual shifting of the castes,
The zebras hadn’t seen.
But their results spoke for themselves;
The second band they hit
Was left destroyed by the Mbu’s
Great cunning, strength, and wit.
They made themselves the guardians
Of those green foothills low.
All slaves they freed took up their cause;
Their tribe did swiftly grow.
And when the bandits did avoid
The Mbu’s rolling hills,
They struck back out onto the plains
To harry quaggas still.
The quaggas found the tables turned,
Their menace gone away;
For where they once had stalked the weak,
They now became the prey.
As Maele’s tribe harassed the quaggas,
Quickly did word spread
That the Mbu were freeing slaves
And leaving bandits dead.
Her legend and her stories grew
’Til truth and lies were mixed
For zebras, young and old alike,
Were by the tale transfixed.
She’d hit rock bottom, as had all,
Yet never did give in
And by her rule, some whispers claimed,
A new age would begin.
The tribes most small and vulnerable
Began to gravitate
Towards Maele’s clan; for with her help
Perhaps they could be great.
Yes, Maele’s acts of doing good
Were bloss’ming like a seed.
But none could ever dream the route
On which this path would lead.