Krotoa, Mother Termite, lived in the largest termite mound, in Namibia. Her mound was taller than an acacia tree, and her hive almost as deep as its roots, underground.
Mother Termite was worried.
The air in the mound felt dry, dusty and hot.
''Why is the air so dry?'' She asked one of the termite generals who was responsible for defending the mound against invaders and predators.
''It has not rained for a long time, Mother,'' he answered.
Krotoa, who spent most her days underground, asked: ''A long time?''
''Yes, Mother,'' the general replied. ''The rain has not come for many, many seasons.''
Many, many seasons of no rain was a long time, indeed.
Krotoa summoned one her loyal termite workers who was responsible for building and maintaining the mound. The workers also kept it moist, cool, and fed the termite larvae.
''Have you been to the old acacia tree before?'' She asked the worker.
''Yes, Mother.''
''Could you give a message to the weaver bird, from me? His nest is on the far side of the tree.''
''Yes, Mother.''
''Please, tell the weaver bird that Mother Termite is dying of thirst,'' Krotoa said.
''Yes, Mother,'' the termite worker answered, and scurried away.
***
Carefully, the termite worker made her way to the old acacia tree closest to the mound.
The tree counted time, its sacred duty, to announce the beginning and end of seasons.
The termite worker became thirsty, very quickly, on her way to the acacia, because the air was dry. The thick red soil beneath her little body was scorching hot.
Bravely, she continued, until she reached the scattered shade of the acacia.
She looked up at the big, old tree. It would be an exhausting climb but she went ahead, nonetheless, compelled by duty. The rough, grey bark of the tree made climbing difficult.
When she reached the top of the tree, the earth had almost turned away from the sun. She noticed that the distance to the large weaver bird nest, on the far side of the tree, was equally long.
It was completely dark when the termite worker reached the nearest nest. All the weaver birds were at home and spoke to each other, excitedly. At the entrance of the nest, she asked for the weaver bird.
''We are all weaver birds,'' two weaver birds laughed at her. ''Which one are you looking for?''
''I was sent by Mother Termite,'' replied the little worker.
Upon hearing this, they directed her to a scraggly nest, dangling off a branch, swaying in the breeze.
Warily, the termite worker walked along the branch and stopped at the entrance to the nest.
''I am looking for the weaver bird, please?'' She asked, hesitantly. ''I was sent by Mother Termite, Krotoa.''
Inside the nest, she heard rustling and, then, a dignified-looking weaver bird peered out. On its face was a peculiar mark.
''Yes, what is the message?'' He asked, immediately.
''Mother Termite is dying of thirst,'' the termite worker replied.
''Thank you for the message and thank you for your sacrifice,'' the weaver bird said, and ate the termite.
***
Early the next morning, before this side of the earth faced the sun, the weaver bird shook his feathers, hopped onto the branch, and swiftly flew south.
It was a long, difficult flight because the wind was against him. Throughout his journey, the weaver bird flew high and floated down at an angle, to decrease the force of the wind. High and low.
He was strong because the termite had been a nutritious meal.
Low, above the big hot plain in the far south, he swerved right and flew with the wind to an outcrop of boulders and bushes.
Once there, he waited until the earth turned away from the sun, and darkness arrived. He was exhausted.
Before him, silhouetted against the sky, was an old quiver tree.
When the darkness was full and settled, a hoarse hoo sounded from the tree.
The weaver bird darted to the quiver tree and perched on a lower branch.
''Grey owl,'' he called out in a small voice. ''I was sent by Mother Termite.''
The owl blinked and turned her head to look down at the small weaver bird.
''What is the message?''
''Mother Termite is dying of thirst,'' the weaver bird said.
''Thank you for the message, and thank you for your sacrifice,'' the grey owl said.
She dove down to the branch and ate the weaver bird, beak and claw.
***
That very night, the grey owl spread her wings and flew north.
She flew quickly and was strong enough to do so because the weaver bird had been a nutritious meal.
The owl floated on the wind, for long distances, and flapped, furiously, to reach her destination, faster. She flew and floated, in turns, through the dark air.
Before the earth turned its face to the sun, she reached the great northern river where she settled in a tree on its banks, and waited. She was exhausted.
When shafts of sunlight speared the depths of the river, a fish swam to the surface and swallowed a water fly, whereupon a shadow raced across the water; a fish eagle gracefully lifted the fish out of the river with its claws.
The grey owl darted out of the tree and rushed after the fish eagle.
''Fish eagle!'' She shouted into the air, struggling to keep up with the other bird. ''I was sent by Mother Termite!''
The fish eagle stopped beating its wings and descended to the owl. He dropped the fish into the river where it disappeared in a silver flash.
''What is the message?'' He asked the grey owl.
''Mother Termite is dying of thirst.''
The fish eagle lunged at the grey owl and crushed her body in his great talons. He settled in a lush, green tree on the banks of the river, and ate the owl.
***
Just before the sun reached the middle of the sky, the air warmed. A great wind arose in the north and blew south, in long strong gusts.
The fish eagle spread his wide wings and lifted out of the tree.
He turned south and floated on the wind, high into the sky, far above the great river.
To rise even higher, he beat his great wings.
The mountains became smaller, the rivers shrunk, and still the fish eagle beat his wings to rise ever higher.
Higher and higher the fish eagle flew, lifted by the wind, until he reached the clouds.
There, the fish eagle struggled to breathe in the moist, thin air because he was exhausted, but beat his great wings again, and finally, after much effort, disappeared into the clouds.
He was surrounded by a thick, white mist.
With his last breath, he fish eagle uttered his unique, haunting call.
Suddenly, a cold, wet gust of wind blew him sideways and he collided with the frozen wall of a cave.
The fish eagle shook his feathers at the entrance to the cave. He was soaked through.
Again, he uttered that remarkable, unique call that is his very own, like the call of water.
In the distance, through the mist, he heard thunder and saw sparks of lightning.
A stream of water emerged from the cave and crawled towards him.
The fish eagle watched and waited.
The thunder became louder. Closer.
A woman, made entirely of water, appeared at the opening of the cave. A misty cloud surrounded her body and head, and from her fingers flowed never-ending streams of water. When she spoke, the fish eagle saw that a waterfall tumbled out of her mouth.
''Turos, rain queen, water creature,'' the fish eagle said. ''I was sent by Mother Termite.''
''What is the message?'' Turos asked.
''Mother Termite is dying of thirst.''
Turos, the rain queen, the water creature, who pushes mineral water from deep underground into springs and fountains, who seeps into boreholes and wells, who swells rivers, and blows mist over the Namib desert every morning, who sleeps in quiet pools of water, and who makes rain-clouds, began to cry.
''My mother is dying of thirst,'' she wept. ''I must go to her.''
The sound of thunder became louder and out of the mist emerged a magnificent bull, made entirely of water, like the rain queen. From its tail, hooves and long, wide horns gushed fountains of water. Lightning flashed under its hooves, and at every step thunder boomed. It was the sacred water-bull.
''Thank you for the message,'' Turos said and leapt onto the back of the water-bull.
She lifted the exhausted fish eagle into her arms.
With a thunderous gallop and blinding lightning, the water-bull dove into the clouds.
High above Namibia, Turos thanked the fish eagle for his sacrifice and snapped its neck. She plucked and spread his feathers on the wind as a sign to all the earth's creatures that he had fulfilled his duty. That's why we look out for feathers floating on the wind, just before it rains, and keep them.
Then, she held one flowing finger up high and stirred the air and moisture to make thick, heavy rain-clouds.
***
Far below, on earth, in the biggest termite mound in Namibia, the air became damp and heavy with moisture.
The termite workers hurried to fortify the walls of the mound. Hastily, they moved soil from below, into the chimney and peak.
The sunlight was eclipsed by bulging, grey fast-moving clouds. A cool wind rushed close to the ground, shook the bushes and the trees, and twirled in the dust.
When the first, fat raindrops fell like stones from the sky, the termites crawled into their fortified passageways, and waited. They were relieved.
At the bottom of the mound, in Mother Termite's chamber, underground, a small drop of water swelled through the wall. It gleamed, brightly, and did not fall.
''Welcome back, my daughter, I am happy to see you,'' Krotoa said, with a smile. ''Thank you for your sacrifice,'' she said, and drank the drop of delicious water.
***
Similar to earthworms in more moderate climates, the four (4) termite species in Namibia, are prodigious movers of soil. Macrotermes michaelseni, for example, moves several kilograms of soil to the surface, every day. Three (3) of the species live above the surface, in mounds, and one below, and all the colonies of the species are located underground. Interestingly, despite variations in height, depth and width, all the chimneys of the termite mounds in Namibia point north.
Turos (pronounced: too-ross) is a water creature in southern Namibian mythology. It is said that she was the cause for the break between two brothers, the Great Namaqua and Red Nation tribes, when the leader of the Red Nation chose to believe in her. Sadly, few alive, today, remember Turos, after the Namaqua tribes, including the Red Nation, converted to Christianity.
Image credit: Termite Mound, Michael J. Flaherty
This story is an original work by Anya Namaqua Links.
Dedicated to my beloved rescued dog, Olive Maria Links (2015 - 2021)
All rights reserved.
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