I am now learning to farm at Tanilingwabati

Since I became a certified elder in my clan - which includes being a family man with a wife and kids who have this tendency to think that I am deputy to God Himself - I have always dreaded the month that is named ‘December’ in the Gregorian calendar.
This is the most notorious month which calls for self-assessment and evaluation of the plans, commitments and actions one pledged to implement this very year which is now coming to an end 33 days away.
And, at my now very advanced age, I naturally have diplomatically and politely been compelled to abandon my active duties for what they say is a well deserved semi-final rest. That was a year or so ago when I retired from formal employment.
It was then that I decided to commit myself that, come this year, I would put in place an action plan which would ensure that my semi-final rest would indeed be a well-deserved rest, full of the comfortable entrapments one needs before one’s final exit from this chaotic planet.
Therefore, last week I took the initiative to proceed to my family roots back at Tanilingwabati Village in the new Wanging’ombe District in Njombe Region.
This was only after I had joined the world in a global sigh of relief after it seemed that the end of Donald Trump, the ‘Twittering ‘US President’s era was finally here.
I do not know why he was failing to acknowledge that he had lost the Presidential election to one Joe Biden - or ‘Sleepy Joe’ as Trump ridiculed him. He had always termed losers as ‘suckers.’ Perhaps he and his ‘Make America Great Again’ chant was not ready to join the ‘suckers’ regiment.
Joe, in his magnanimous self, acknowledged the resounding American choice and victory by declaring that ‘America was Back’ - presumably back from the ‘Make America Great Again’ era which left the US, as he termed it, ‘alone’ and lonely in global affairs.
As they say: when the US sneezes the rest of us catch severe cold. Now that it seems it is in the course of recovering, the rest of us are also rising up fast from what could have been our death bed.
Well, back to my Tanilingwabati sojourn... As soon as I emerged from the scary Kitonga escarpment and touched the mother-soil in the Southern Highlands, I did what any sane Hehe or Bena would do: down a calabash-full of the native drink ‘Ulanzi:’ the sweet bamboo wine.
It goes without saying that, on account of my drinking the ‘ulanzi’ I reached Tanilingwabati inebriated.
The following morning - my throbbing head notwithstanding - I insisted on visiting my late father’s now unkempt farmland.
The intention was to take off from where my late father left more than 20 years ago, and bring back life to the 25 acres of the now bushy farmlands.
Indeed, that morning I visited the farmland - and decided there and then that I would become a bona fide farmer in my life-in-retirement. But, at issue is: I know next to nothing about farming, and in particular, about growing maize, wheat, beans, sunflowers, potatoes or avocados: the ‘in crops’ down here.
But I am determined. For starters, I have begun trimming the bushy bamboo shrubs around what is now my farmland. The bamboos will be my main source of ‘Ulanzi’ wine.
The rains are coming, and serious farming business is just around the corner. I am gleefully waiting for my tribe of wife and kids to join me during these coming school holidays so that I can teach them a few things about farming. They need to learn the hard way that there are potatoes, maize, beans, avocados and other crops to be farmed before food reaches the table. In a nutshell: they have to practically learn that it is potatoes before chips, cows before sausages; wheat before bread; and avocado farms before fruit salads. That way, I am sure, they will become responsible and productive Bongolander natives. And, they will also justify my spending a fortune on their school fees... Cheers!