The Last Corn
By Rohini Bajekal, Age 15

Kicking Bird had never seen anything like them before, for they had never come to Little Chitick for all the years she had been alive. The first time she had seen the pale men had been whilst she was on her way to the forest, to collect berries for the tribes to eat after hunting. She had heard something whilst picking her way through the cornfield. It was first light, and as it was still dim, Kicking Bird had to peer hard between the corns to see the pale ones. She looked down at her own bronzed skin and inky black hair. They were different and certainly not from any tribes around, she was sure of that. Who were they? Her feet sunk into the rich, brown soil, watered and loved for years by her people, as she crouched down on all fours. It wasn't hard to go unnoticed. She was small for her age, but being quick and sharp, she was sent out to gather food more often than her brothers, Red Cloud and Good Fisher. She liked being out there at daybreak, with the sun just breaking the cloud barrier, warming her back as she made for the trees. She straightened up now, keeping her head low, and resumed watching the men. They had raced up to the village on horseback, in a cloud of swirling dust, and then to her surprise stopped. There were at least thirty of them. They were all men with wide-brimmed hats wearing worn-in, brown, leather boots. She was too far away to hear them speak but watched as they unburdened the weary horses of the packages they carried. For some reason they made her neck prickle with a feeling she had never experienced before. She had to tell Moguago, the chieftain, of these arrivals. As swift as a gazelle, she sprinted through the weaving rows of corn to the teepees beyond.

*****
"We have some news. Some pale-skinned strangers have come to Chitick. They have not caused us any harm so far. But I warn you, they have weapons unlike any I have seen before. Someone is keeping guard to make sure we are all safe. Pamtepe, Makee and I will go and talk to them. We will try to find out who they are and why they have come here. Now get some rest, people. We'll do what we can." Moguago stood up, his brawny chest rising and falling with every breath he took. He was well-built with bear prints painted red on his body, a sign of bravery and strength. Pamtepe stood next to him. He was very serious and Kicking Bird knew very little about him. On the other side was Makee. He was the youngest and he had always been kind to Kicking Bird, sometimes going to collect water with her and once engaging in a hilarious chase to watch a particularly elusive butterfly. She felt reassured watching them and it seemed that even the women in the gossiping corners had stopped whispering and were watching the men leave in hushed awe.

As night fell, the inhabitants of the village began to enter their teepees, hang up the coloured dream-catchers and finally drift off to sleep. Kicking Bird slid into the warmth of her bed, mulling over the day's events, and watched the darkness through a tiny opening in the roof. She was too far away to hear the gunshot, the almost animalistic cry and the heavy thud of a body as it met the earth. She only realised what had happened when she woke at dawn. Fragrant smoke wound round her, blown through a wooden pipe. Soft subdued singing could be heard and pain lingered in the air like an unwelcome visitor. The villagers were weeping for the loss of one of their own. Makee had died. The white people had got him.

******
Kicking Bird bathed in the cool water which greeted her from the heat of the blazing sun, which was setting now, staining the sky with its furious war-like colours, reminding her of blood seeping through a canvas. Makee's ceremony was due to start soon and she scrubbed her body hard, but she stopped when she wondered if this was how the pale people had lost their colour, if they had simply scrubbed it away. Would they come for her and her whole family? They had shot one man, and although the others had escaped they couldn't hide forever. The chief had said they looked like they were going to stay and they were not here to make friends. One woman, Quao, had said they had killed twenty buffalo already. She gazed at the amazing, lumbering dark masses, grazing on the cliff top. She remembered how she would eat the searing pink meat on a stick, as she watched the men and women leading the Buffalo Bull dance, leaping round the crackling fire from the height of a crowded teepee. She balled her fists and shouted, "You won't win! You can't take my life," the sound reiterating all round the enclosure, frustrating her as no reply returned.

*****
Thegamoqua bowed his head respectfully as they scattered the last grains in the fire and chanted as the ceremony drew to a close. Kicking bird, was tracing the beautiful ornate sculpture, created with mineral colours, which the women had made for Makee's memorial. She traced the smooth wood, marvelling at the skilled workmanship.

"One day you'll make one like that," said her mother's sweet voice behind her. She lifted her and clasped her daughter to her bosom, swathing her in the softness of the dressed deerskin.

"Not for this kind of ceremony, I hope. Oh mama." her voice trailed off as the thumping of a drum, like a bison's stampede, sounded. Her mother released her, as people reacted. This was the warning that the pale men were coming. People rushed for weapons-clubs, spears and arrows appeared and everyone stood in wait. Even the bravest seemed scared; their stance showed it all and within minutes the pale men appeared on horseback, racing round the village. They shot two young men. Kicking Bird, scared by their jeering faces and twisted smiles, hid behind her mother. People rushed to help the wounded, leaving their weapons, knowing that they could do no proper damage and that they were useless next to the black firesticks which glinted slyly in the sun. The men stopped in front of them and Moguago put down his club and held a hand out for peace. They ignored him, but they gestured towards Kicking Bird's cousin, Eshsha. She was a beautiful, young girl, with large, brown doleful eyes, who had just entered adolescense. They brandished their weapons at anyone daring to object and seized her. She was helpless and vulnerable and when her father stepped forward in anger, her distressed mother grabbed his arm and stopped him. He would die. The tribe broke down as they watched the girl thrown onto a horse, her tumbling dark locks spilling down one side of the animal. She lifted her head, and wrenched her feather necklace from her neck and sent it soaring through the air, a bird on its last flight. It landed in the dirt in front of her mother, who kissed it, holding it to her chest so it wouldn't ever fly away.

*****
That was the last time she ever saw Eshsha. Her life has changed completely. She does not live like the way she used to. The inhabitants of Little Chitick do not have time to listen to stories and weave cotton. The settlers have brought their diseases and their firewater. They have brought their sins and their suffering and they have taken away the people's lives, slowly but surely, reducing them to mere existence. The last time Kicking Bird went to the cornfield was fifty years ago. Harvest had come and she had nearly filled up one basket when she was heralded by shouting. Once more she peered over the corn. She could see more of them just like before. This time there were women and more men. She slumped against a plant and walked back, swinging her basket. This was when she knew. Just a small child then, she whispered to the wind. She knew that they all bore the heavy hand of the pale people and nothing would ever be the same again.